“Easier to keep it compartmented.”
“If we don’t go through Edwards or get a direct flight, this is the way we have to do it.” Barclay hit his radio scan, pushing the FM frequency to exactly 100.00. all they could hear was static.
A small cloud of dust appeared directly ahead. The ground began to shake. As Stoner stared, the cloud separated into two Ospreys, roto-tipped aircraft capable of hovering like helicopters. These were unlike any Ospreys Stoner had ever seen, however; beneath their chins were swivel-mounted chain guns similar to those used in Apache gunships, and there were triple-rack missile launchers on their wings and the side of their fuselages.
Stoner started to unlock the door.
“Uh, no, not until they say it’s okay.” Jed reached across and grabbed him. “They’ll blow us up if you get out.”
Stoner let go of the door handle. One of the Ospreys whipped past, its big shadow covering thee car. The other slowed to a hover about twenty yards away. The reflection of the sun made if hard to see, but from where Stoner was sitting there didn’t seem to be a pilot.
“Blue Taurus, license plate X-ray Tetra Vector, exit your vehicle and stand by for identification,” said a sharp, clear voice on the radio.
“That would be us,” said Jed, unlocking the door. Stoner watched and then copied his actions, taking a few steps away and holding out his hands. He looked upward as the hovering Osprey moved forward slowly, its gun rotating, there was a camera pod behind the weapon.
The Osprey leapt upward. Stoner waited as the wash from the second aircraft pushed his pants and shit to the side.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Jed, who was already trotting forward. The first Osprey landed about fifty yards ahead; the second, meanwhile, had plopped down behind them, depositing two fully armed Air Force special tactics team members to inspect and investigate the vehicle.
The door to the Osprey sprang open as Jed and Stoner approached. “Welcome, Mr. Barclay.”
“Hey,” said Jed.
“There’s nobody flying this thing,” said Stoner as he climbed inside.
“This is Dreamland,” said Jed. “What did you expect?”
The silkiness of his wife’s body worked like a drug, loosening knots Danny didn’t know he had. He ran his hand slowly over her belly and breast, gently skimming along the surface. The tips of his fingers tingled, as if electricity were flowing from her. He pulled her hip toward him, rolling on top to make love again. His mouth dove into hers. Jemma’s tongue slid along the bottom of his lips; something tight in his neck let loose and he fell inside her, his whole body plunging into a warm cave. He rolled through it, luxuriating in the liberating heat.
How long it lasted, Danny couldn’t say. At some point, he felt as if he were floating at the top of an ocean; shortly afterward, he washed up on a beach, still basking in the warmth of the summer sun.
“Good,” said Jemma.
“Good,” said Danny.
“We could do this more often.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Jemma reached over to the floor, where they’d set the room service tray with its decanter of tea. Danny slide his arm under the pillow, wallowing in the decadence of the large bed. Living halfway across the country from his wife sucked — but it sure did make things sweeter when they saw each other.
“I talked to Jim Stephens the other day,” said Jemma, slipping back in bed with her tea, an herbal blend that smelled like orange and cinnamon. Its perfume added to his intoxication.
“Uh-huh,” said Danny, not really paying attention.
“There’s a primary coming up this fall. A perfect shot. Happens to be the district where I’m staying — and it’s an open seat.”
“You should run,” he said, starting to drift toward sleep.
“Not me,” she said. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” she took a sip of her tea. “You did talk to Jim Stephens, right? I know you did, because he told me he had an excellent conversation with you. And he’s very, very high on you.”
Stephens — election. Jemma’s master plan make him the next President of the United States.
“I can’t run for office while I’m in the Air Force,” said Danny, still drifting.
“Oh, Jimmy can fix that. Don’t worry.”
Danny reached his hand over to his wife’s breast. His fingers slid gently across her nipple, brushing it erect.
“Changing the subject?” she asked.
“Fact-finding mission,” he said.
“Oh? And what fact are you looking for?”
“Whether you’re still horny or not.”
“Again?” She said.
She reached over and put her tea on the side table. As she turned back, Danny’s cell phone began to buzz.
Danny sighed, and immediately slide upright.
“Daniel.”
“They wouldn’t call unless it was important.”
“Everything’s important,” She reached her hand down to stroke his leg.
“Mmmmph.” Danny pulled the phone over from the stand on his side of the bed.
“Freah,” he said after clicking the talk button.
“Captain, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Whiplash order,” said Lieutenant McNally. “Colonel needs you ASAP.”
“I’m on my way.” Danny clicked the phone off and rolled out of bed.
“Oh, no,” said Jemma.
“I’ll call as soon as I can,” said Danny, grabbing his pants.
“At least put underwear on,” she called after him.
Danny, embarrassed — he had in fact forgotten — let go of his pants and dropped to the floor to retrieve his underwear.
“How do you manage without me?” said his wife, laughing and shaking her head.
“The political situation in both India and China is complicated, as you’d imagine,” continued Jed Barclay.
“Just a summary, Jed,” said Dog, trying to keep the NSC deputy on line. Barclay was a genius and a strong advocate for Whiplash and Dreamland, but his dissertations on international politics tended to sprawl.
“Yes, sir. Basically, the extremists in India are trying to improve their position in the upcoming elections. They calculate that China is a weak and easy mark due to the conflict with us and Taiwan — well, you’re all familiar with the so-called Fatal Terrain event.”
The dozen top officers gathered in the secure briefing room nodded. Though the details were still highly classified, most knew how Brad Elliott had chosen to give his life to help prevent an apocalyptic war — their interpretation, not the media’s.
“Of course, the Islamic Alliance and the connection with China plays right into this, yada, yada, yada, because now hitting the Chinese is the same as hitting Muslims as far as most Hindus are concerned. Those who care anyway,” continued Barclay. “And we’ve — uh, I better skip some of the political wrangling.”
He glanced at Dog, who nodded.
“On the other side of the equation, the Chinese, domestically, needed something to show they’re in power, that they’re not slipping. Because now, right, they look weak. As we saw with the incident in Tibet …”
