detail the two scientific exchanges. One was on artificial intelligence and was rather broad; the other had to do with compression systems used in communications. The latter would have inevitably had applications for encryption and been subject to special scrutiny, though Rubeo thought it was more the fact that Jennifer might have come into contact with Chinese agents or spies that Cortend was focusing on.
“Chinese?” asked Dog.
“She asked specifically about Chinese. There were five hundred people at one of the conferences — it’d be news if the Chinese weren’t there. It’s all piffle, Colonel. It’s a witch hunt.”
Mack Smith was headed toward his base quarters after a game of tennis when he spotted Colonel Cortend heading toward her SUV, trailed by her flock of lackeys. He’d had a good session, demolishing a maintenance officer in straight sets. While Mack had played masterfully, his victory had taken a few minutes too long — he’d just missed inviting the women on the court next to him to dinner.
Their loss, obviously.
Cortend turned in his direction as he approached. Ordinarily he liked his women a little shorter, but she was definitely worth the climb.
“Hello, Colonel,” he said. “How goes the hunt?”
Cortend stopped. Her brown eyes focused on him with all the intensity of a Sidewinder homing in on a hot tailpipe.
“You are?”
“Smith — Mack. Remember? Hey, my friends call me Knife.”
She’d do for dinner.
“You like Vegas?” he asked.
“Las Vegas?”
“City of sin. Listen, I’m just on my way to hit a shower, then I’m going to split for dinner in the capital of sin. Come on with me and I’ll show you around. I know some clubs that’ll blow you away. The food is fantastic. You like to gamble?”
“Mack Smith,” said Cortend. She pronounced each consonant in his name.
“That’s me. Call me Knife. Kind of a nickname.”
She turned to one of her captains. “Is he on the list?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“In the truck, Smith. We have some questions for you.”
Mack laughed. Cortend didn’t.
“Yeah, well, maybe another time,” he said, shaking his head. But as he took a step toward the building, he found two of the lackeys blocking his way. At the same time, two of the security men got out of one of the SUVs.
“What’s the story here, sugar?” Mack said.
Cortend walked over to Mack. They were about the same height — but suddenly Cortend seemed to tower over him.
“The story, sugar, is that I have some questions for you to answer, and you will answer them now. Got it?”
“But I’m kind of busy.”
“You’re refusing to cooperate on a purely voluntary basis?”
The way she said the words made it clear to Mack that talking with her was about as voluntary as income tax. Still, he wasn’t going to let some good-looking but hard-ass colonel screw up his night off.
“I wanted to take a shower,” he said.
“I doubt it will make you smell any better,” said Cortend, heading back toward her vehicle.
Chen Lo Fann waited on the bench in the antechamber, soothing his troubled mind by staring at his surroundings. He had spent considerable time here as a boy, racing through his grandfather Chen Lee’s house; under ordinary circumstances, those memories would soothe him.
They failed to now. In fact, the more he stared, the further those days became, faded pages from a discarded book.
Chen Lo Fann had failed in his mission to provoke a war between China and India. The weight of that failure sat heavily on him, blocks of iron pressing him from every direction. Fann might believe in the endless surging of the universe, but it offered little consolation, for he must now face the one man he loved and feared above all others, and admit his failure.
Time passed; he did not note it.
One of Chen Lee’s secretaries stood before him. Without saying anything, Chen Lo Fann rose and followed the man through the hallway to the office where Chen Lee waited.
The old man stood gazing out the window. Taipei sat in the distance, a dirty gem in the rough land the old man had helped make prosperous. The old clock in the corner of the office ticked, slowly counting to itself as Chen Lo Fann waited for his grandfather to speak.
“Your mission failed,” said Chen Lee finally.
“Yes, Grandfather,” said Fann.
“History is a terrible force,” said the older man, still looking through the window. “It cares for no individual. It is like the ocean wave in that way. And yet it can be turned.”
Chen Lo Fann gazed at the back of his grandfather’s white head. The old man had given him many lessons here, allowed him to watch and listen. Fann’s education in America was nothing compared to those lessons.
“I have a second plan,” said Chen Lo Fann. “The ASEAN exercises can be disrupted.”
Chen Lee had clearly thought of this already, because he answered without his usual pause to consider.
“Simply disrupting them will not be enough. An attack must be provoked.”
“If the Americans participate,” said Chen Lo Fann, “I will succeed.”
The old man said nothing. Chen Lo Fann realized he had made the same promise in the matter of war between the communists and India.
“If the meeting is not canceled, we shall have to take graver action,” said Chen Lee. “Be prepared.”
He turned back to the window.
“Yes, Grandfather,” said Chen Lo Fann. He bowed, then left the room.
Zen rolled himself inside the office, surprised to find that everyone else was already there. Stoner had started the brief on the mission without him.
Zen banged against an empty chair getting in; no one seemed to notice.
“Major Stockard can give you the hard details,” said Stoner, nodding toward him. “Basically, we get their attention by flying near their territory, and then make like we’re testing a new weapon. The weapon is just a Hellfire missile with an ELF transmitter, but it’s different enough to attract attention. So if the clone is a spy plane, it’ll be worth checking out. You want to take over, Zen?”
“You’re doing fine.”
Stoner ticked off a list of areas to probe, starting with China and then moving to Vietnam — it was possible the Russians were using that country as a base. The ASEAN exercises were taking place about two hundred miles to the east of northern Vietnam.
“We’re going to locate in Brunei,” interrupted Colonel Bastian. “I realize it’ll be a haul, but the facilities are first-rate. There’s no doubt about that,” said the colonel.
Dog added by way of explanation that Dreamland would be fulfilling a secondary diplomatic mission by being located in Brunei. It was clear to Zen that Dog didn’t particularly like that part of the assignment, but he soldiered on with it, noting that the kingdom was constructing a new military air base near the international airport in the capital. The facilities would be made available to Dreamland, carte blanche. The sultan was rolling out the red
