aboard, and the fuselage was wide enough to carriage a good-sized air-to-ground missile.
“The difference in the physical design should eliminate any suspicion of spying by the physical team,” added Rubeo at the end of his brief. He seemed to be alone in the Dreamland Command Center, except for a skeleton crew. “Perhaps that will act as an enticement for our inquisitor to leave at least those people alone.”
“Come now, Ray, Colonel Cortend can’t be that bad,” said Dog.
“The colonel has completely changed my opinion of the Spanish Inquisition,” said Rubeo. “I now recognize it was a charitable organization.”
“What’s controlling it?” asked Zen, who was sitting next to Stoner behind Dog in the trailer’s communications center. “Where’s its control aircraft? We never saw it on the radar.”
“That remains a mystery,” said the scientist. “We are working on it, Major.”
According to the information from
“Ray, what’s the possibility that the clone is being controlled from a ship?” asked Dog.
“At this point, I wouldn’t rule anything out.”
“The closest ship was that civilian vessel that searched the area of the crash,” said Zen. “We overflew him. There’s no way he launched the clone, let alone recovered it.”
“We’ll look into all of the ships that were in the area,” said Rubeo. “But if they’re controlling it from a vessel, they’re using a system we don’t know about.”
No kidding, thought Dog. He started to ask if anyone else had anything when Stoner interrupted.
“Doc, getting back to the UAV for a second. You said it would have a lot of computing power aboard, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Stoner. Considerable computing power.”
“Gallium-arsenide chips?” asked Stoner. “Custom- made?”
“Perhaps.”
“I think I know where they were manufactured,” said Stoner. “I’d like to check it out. I need some information on what to look for.”
“You want a course in chip manufacturing?” said the scientist in a tone even more sour than usual.
“What the machines would look like, the plans, byproducts, that sort of stuff.”
“Do you have six months? You’re asking for a graduate seminar.”
“I have a plant that supposedly manufactured chips used for VCRs. I want to see if it could have done anything else.”
“VCRs,” said Rubeo. “Might just as well look for vacuum tubes.”
“Ray, maybe Jennifer can give Mr. Stoner a few pointers,” said Dog.
“Jennifer is not available,” said Rubeo. “She’s confined herself to quarters. She says she’s sick.”
“What?”
“In any event, her security status is still in doubt. She’s not allowed to use the computers, and she can’t go into sensitive areas. Which would preclude her from using the command center.”
“Is she all right?” asked Dog.
Rubeo put his lips together in one of his twisted scowls. Dog resisted the urge to press further — he didn’t want to mix his personal concerns with business.
Still, it was difficult to keep quiet. The briefing dragged on a bit, with updates on the Chinese military — every unit was on standby alert, and there were threats from Beijing about war. The top leaders were all blaming America for the shootdown.
“At the moment, we’re grounded,” said Dog. “We don’t want to incite the Chinese any further.”
“I hope somebody’s going to tell these jokers it wasn’t us,” said Zen.
“Washington will,” the colonel told him. “But they have to be careful about how much information they can give the Chinese about our own systems. Too much and we may jeopardize future missions.”
“Too little and these idiots will start shooting the next time they see us,” said Zen.
“Yeah, right now all they’re doing is trying to run into you,” said Stoner.
The CIA officer was so deadpan it took a second for everyone to realize he meant it as black humor and start to laugh.
After the session broke up, Dog tried again to get ahold of Jennifer. But she wasn’t answering the phone, either at her apartment or at the lab. He decided not to bother leaving a message — with the investigation still under way, it was bound to be misinterpreted.
Most likely that was why she hadn’t bothered emailing or leaving a message on his personal voice mail. Come to think of it, they usually didn’t talk much during deployments anyway. She knew he was busy and didn’t want to bother him.
Not that he considered talking to her a bother. Not at all.
Hell, he’d really like to hear from her right now.
Dog started to punch the numbers on the phone, thinking this time he’d leave a message and Cortend be damned, but then hung up.
Personal concerns came after duty. If he couldn’t get his priorities straight, how could he expect anyone under him to?
“Mack Smith.”
“Colonel Bastian!” Mack nearly knocked over the table jumping to his feet, surprised — astounded — that Dog had tracked him to the small club on the outskirts of the city. He’d come with Stoner and was wearing civilian clothes.
“Boy, you missed a hell of a dinner,” Mack told him.
“Thanks for filling in for me. Can Mr. Stoner and I sit down?”
“Colonel, of course. Ladies?” Mack gestured to the women who’d been fawning over him. As luck would have it, there were exactly three of them. Their eyes blinked as they did the math. One by one they took up positions.
“Actually, we’d like to be alone for a while,” said Dog.
Mack feared that the colonel was about to lower the boom for his accidental firing of the Badger’s machine gun. He told the women he’d see them later, then took a gulp of his drink as a final fortification against the inevitable onslaught.
“You just missed Prince bin Awg,” said Mack, wishing he had left with his host.
“The prince approves of this?” said Dog.
“Oh sure.”
“How about his uncle the sultan?” asked Stoner.
“Well, uncles, fathers, you know how that goes. Right, Colonel?”
Dog gave him a very disapproving frown.
“I don’t know that I saw any alcohol touch the prince’s lips,” said Mack, sticking up for his host.
“Mack, I need you to do me a favor. Or rather, I need the prince to do me a favor, I want you to help me ask him.”
“A favor?”
“We need to get to Thailand tomorrow, but not attract any attention,” said Stoner. “Bin Awg has a fleet of aircraft at his disposal. We’d like to use one.”
“Is that all? Hell, not a problem,” said Mack.
Was that really it? Was that all the colonel had come for?
Mack felt as if he’d been plucked from a den of jackals and delivered back to paradise.
Paradise being Brunei, of course. There was no more beautiful spot on the planet, especially if you were considered a national hero.
“Can do, Colonel. How about the Badger? It’s like driving an old Caddy, swear to God. Pickup’s a little slack, but it’ll remind you of the fifties. Not that you were around in the fifties, but if you were, I mean. It’s a great
