It was going to work!  The dusk sky over the stadium was now clear, the stars of the desert twinkling in the cooling air’s turbulence.  Pairs of the Air National Guard’s F-14s were patrolling hither-and-yon, making passes at four-thousand feet, every ten minutes or so.  Three active police helicopters were watching the lower altitudes as they slowly circled the huge parking lot like the hands of a vast clock.  Hundreds of police and stadium security members scattered both inside and outside, watched everything for signs of treachery or terrorism.  The huge crowd inside was oblivious to everything except for the excitement of the event.

John could hear many things from his location on the roof of the Hilton.  Even two miles away from the massive stadium complex, he could hear the music of the entertainment, the buzzing of the fans, interspersed with announcements from the public address speakers.  Standing under his camouflaged tarp, he could see the bright lighting of the field sending up a great flickering beam like a stationary searchlight.  Sparks from fireworks around the opening of the domed roof of the gleaming stadium rose high, scattering fiery cinders down the curving metal sides toward the parking lots below, while smoke drifted up and away.  The concussions from the mortar rounds echoed from the distant mountains, their tops still pink and orange as the sun disappeared.  The second half of the game was about to begin.  He made a mental note to keep an eye out for the spraying fireworks.  He knew that it would not help his reputation to get all this way and lose everything to a celebratory blast.

The teams, locked in a tie, were now coming back onto the field, and cheers, accompanied by new bursts of red, white, and blue fire, erupted in the distance.  John clicked on the main control panel of the JIL drone he had outfitted for this job.  The large, electric, four-motor drone, with its heavy-duty battery and stabilized camera system, could stay in the air for about two hours.  His plan called for a liftoff as the half-time show ended and within ten minutes, the drone should be hovering ten feet above the edge of the dome’s opening.  He was going to fly at six-hundred feet, which was one-hundred feet above the circulating helicopters and several thousand feet below the fighter jets.  His drone made little noise, less than sixty decibels at full throttle, or as loud as a normal conversation carried on outside in open air.  The crowd noise would easily cover its faint buzz.  With all its components painted flat black, and most of the thing made of plastic, it was almost invisible to both eye and radar.  He would easily circumvent the FAA’s “no fly zone” regulation and get the access he needed to complete his mission.  No one would see him.  No one could stop him.

John watched on his little color monitor as the referees and teams came out onto the field for the second half kickoff.  He smiled as he thanked the media for such good coverage of the inside of the event.  He could see everything quite well, courtesy of them.  The clusters of burly men in bright uniforms and stripe-shirted officials were taking the place of the young girl who had just entertained an estimated sixty-thousand in the stands and millions around the world on television.  The stage was gone, and the debris cleared from the field.  The first two hours had proceeded without a security hitch, and he knew that everyone would now relax enough for his plan to work.  It was time, and no one would be expecting him now.

John turned away from the monitor and flipped the toggle switch that activated the electric motors of the drone.  He switched on the drone’s camera and watched the large monitor as the lights of the city sprang into view and began to pan by.  The drone hovered a few feet above the roof of his hotel as he tested the feel of his controls.  Nodding his approval, he gently rocked the joystick controls and sent the drone out toward the practically undefended stadium.  He checked his readouts and made some small corrections to speed, direction, and altitude.  His little bird had to pass the first obstacle: the gauntlet of helicopters.  John bit his lip and slowed slightly as the nearest chopper slid below on its rounds.  Then he accelerated the drone across the wide parking lot and made it gain some altitude using the joysticks on his control board.

Shortly after the second-half kickoff, John reached the large opening in the roof and found a spot on the short, west edge, away from the source of the fireworks.  He hovered there, letting the drone pan slowly, watching for his target, Michael Franklin, a Seattle businessman.  He adjusted the focus of the onboard camera and searched through the faces in the crowded luxury boxes on the north side, upper level.  John did not see him at first and he felt a sinking sensation in his gut.  Then, the man approached the glass, coming back from the buffet table, his plate heaped with shiny things to eat, and a grin pasted onto his face.  John stopped the drone’s hover mode and carefully directed it along the long edge of the roof’s opening, positioning it exactly across from the unsuspecting Mr. Franklin.  He waited until Michael sat and began to eat, gesticulating with his fork as Seattle scored, taking the lead.  It was time, he decided.

John reached out and armed the trigger circuit on the control panel.  The little yellow light came on, telling him that the drone had received the command and was now ready to execute.  Like a good sniper, John took a deep breath, slowly let half of it out, and held the joysticks with a gentle firmness.  He blinked to moisten his eyes and then stared into the monitor as he began his run toward the target.  The image in the monitor grew with frightening speed as the drone made its dash across the opening and down toward the glass wall of the box.

Inside the glassed-in suite, everyone was cheering and leaning outward toward the glass front for a better view.  Michael had almost upset his plate with its dwindling load of food when Seattle scored.  He had taken his eyes off the field and secured his dinner just as someone next to him shouted in alarm.  Thinking that there had been something amiss on the field, Michael looked in that direction, overlooking the black drone hovering in front of his face, less than ten feet away.  Then, in confusion, he turned back and saw the evil looking machine slowly bouncing in the updrafts outside.

John watched as his target turned and looked directly at the drone’s camera.  He pulled his trigger and saw the laser’s immediate effect on the man.  He hovered for a few seconds and then began the escape portion of his plan.  He directed the drone back, up, and away, toward the stadium’s large opening.  He added speed once he cleared the roof’s obstructions and then aimed the drone out toward the open desert.  He would recover it later.

Michael’s mouth had dropped open as his mind registered the threat in front of him.  Before he could react, the glass in front of his face lit up with laser light.  He blinked in the brightness as his brain registered the message formed there.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Michael!  Please be Mine!  Sue”