heard the words, Danny knew from the colonel’s face a heap of bullshit had gone down. Colonel Bastian always wore “the Pentagon stare” when he had to dish out a line he didn’t agree with. Today it was mixed with something else Danny saw even less often, genuine anger, though Bastian wasn’t venting.
“Bottom line, we continue monitoring the Chinese sub until further notice. Bree, your plane’s out in three hours, relieving Major Alou. My replacement will take Iowa six hours after that. We’ll keep turning it around until we’re ordered to go home.”
Zen raised his hand to interrupt. “Colonel, Jen and I have been doing a little thinking. With a little work, we may be able to squeeze the gear tightly enough and route things so Raven and Quicksilver can fly one of the Flighthawks and handle Piranha at the same time.”
“Well, that’s not really necessary,” said Bastian.
“It would keep the Chinese off us,” said Zen. “The way things are going, it makes sense for a Fligthhawk to be along.”
“Our orders are not to engage the enemy,” Colonel Bastian’s eyes were almost glassy — obviously that was the heart of the trouble.
“Flighthawks can help hold them off,” said Zen. “Bree wouldn’t have had to get that close to the Viking. Besides, if the subs surfaces, the Flighthawk can get up close and personal.”
The colonel turned to Jennifer Gleason. “Is it doable?” he asked.
One thing Danny had to give Dog — there was no visible sign that he was sleeping with her; his voice was as gruff with her as it was with anyone.
Another thing he had to give Bastian — the ol’ dog sure could pick ’em.
“We can do it, but only with Iowa because of the second control bay. I just don’t have the space to get the computer into Quicksilver and Raven. I mean, if we had more time—”
Dog held up his hand. “How long?”
“Six or seven hours. Tommy Jacobs is coming in on the next flight with the pilot, and he’s bring a full—”
“Okay,” said Dog.
“I’ll take Zen’s place on Quicksilver,” said Fentress.
Bastian’s Pentagon stare dissolved into a faint smile. He folded his arms in front of his chest. “So what else have you decided in my absence?”
“We didn’t decide,” said Bree innocently.
“We might have discussed it a little,” said Fentress.
Colonel Bastian shook his head and turned to Danny. “Captain Freah, you missed a little at the top there. I have business at Dreamland. The mission continues; reconnaissance only. You will continue to provide security for the Megafortresses. I realize it’s superfluous,” he added. “I trust the Marines, but I want at least a token presence. Work out what equipment and personnel we need to keep here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Danny.
“All right, well, let’s get cranking then. I have to pack. Commander Stein will be in charge of operation as of ten seconds ago.” Dog glanced at his watch, then back at them. “I expect everyone to follow orders to the best of their ability. And in some cases, beyond.”
Zen let his wheelchair slide down the ramp, rushing so close to Breanna he nearly spun her around.
“Hey, hot rod,” she said, grabbing hold of the side. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Gimps have the right of way,” said Zen.
“I thought you weren’t going to say that anymore,” Bree told him. “I hate that word.”
“I calls ’em like I sees ’em,” he told her.
“You like to piss me off, don’t you?”
“Favorite thing in the word, next to kissing you,” he said truthfully. “So you ready for the mission?”
“I can handle it.”
“No shooting down Chinese planes.”
“I will if I have to,” she said.
Zen laughed, but he believed her. “You going to be okay without me riding shotgun for you?” he said as they continued toward the planes.
“I don’t need you to watch my back,” she said.
“Hey,” Zen grabbed at her hand, but missed. “You mad?”
“No.”
“Bree? I was just kidding about the gimp thing.”
“I’m fine,” she said, still walking.
“Hey, what are you mad at?”
She turned toward the mess tent.
Zen began to follow. Ordinarily, she simply teased back. But this wasn’t teasing.
“Hey,” he said, rolling to the door.
“Just feeding my face before the flight,” she said, letting the screen door on the tent slam closed behind her.
Stoner let his breath flow from his chest softly, each cell in his lungs reluctantly surrendering its molecule of oxygen. A yellow light filed the center of his head. His body melted. Stoner’s consciousness became a long note vibrating in the empty tent. He slipped into a deep, meditative trance.
It was then he realized what had happened.
Deliberately, he unfolded his legs, then rose. He stooped down for a sip of water from the bottle near his bed mat and roll — he didn’t use a cot — then went to find Colonel Bastian.
“The lookout post belonged to the Taiwanese,” Stoner told the colonel when he found him. “All of them. the Chinese don’t need them. they must be helping the Indians.”
Bastian nodded. “Have you spoken to Langley?”
“Not yet. But it makes sense. I’ll talk to Jed Barclay too.”
“Why would they fire on us?” asked Bastian.
“Because they fear discovery. Possibly they expected the Chinese, but more likely they knew it would be us. Taiwan can’t appear to be taking sides or provoking a confrontation. They want to hurt Mainland China, but if they do something that looks to us like it’s belligerent, like it’s against our interests, we might crush them. simply moving our fleet away would hurt them.”
Bastian nodded.
“I’d like to join the next patrol flight,” added Stoner.
“The Taiwanese spy ships that have been tracking the submarine, I want to find out about them. I think there’s some operation under way.”
“They’re not part of our mission.”
“Their goal isn’t peace, or coexistence with the Mainland. They want the same thing the Communists want — one China. They just want it on their terms.”
“That may be,” said the colonel. “But at the moment, that’s not our concern.”
“I won’t be just a passenger. There’s no one here who knows more about Chinese and Indian capabilities than I do. I’m the one who found Kali. I’d be very useful tracking the Chinese submarines.”
“Okay,” said Bastian finally. “Work it out with Captain Stockard. Stoner—” Bastian pointed a finger at him. “This operation ultimately answers to Admiral Woods, not me.”
“Took him longer to kick you out than I expected,” said the CIA officer. “He must like you.”
Chen Lo Fann walked the deck of the former tanker, his mind heavy with though. Professor AI Hira Bai, the scientist who led the team that developed the Dragons, percolated next to him, bouncing with every step. The launch procedure was not particularly difficult. The small robot was lowered from the side of the ship onto the surface of the water, where it rested on a pair of skis. A solid propellant rocket propelled it into the sky; once it was
