But there wasn’t time for finesse.
Boston ran to the side of the building, finger edged against the trigger of his gun.
He saw them, the oversized blowpipe on the shoulder of the taller man.
Boston fired his MP-5 as the missile launcher exploded. For a moment, he saw everything stop; for a split second, he was part of the museum tableau, a display in Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum.
And then everything turned red. Then black.
Dog had already started down the runway when Bison yelled that Boston had gone back. He had too much momentum to stop; instead, he took the plane off the end of the runway, winging back quickly to land.
As he legged around, he saw smoke rise in a misshapen cloud, covering the building near the end of the runway.
He steeled himself for the worst as he touched down.
It took forever for Bison and Stoner to get out of the plane. When he saw they were out, Dog took off the brakes and trundled around once more, heart pounding — not because he worried that more guerrillas or whoever they were would appear, but because he dreaded having lost another man.
It was his fault. He could have worked with the Thai government. He should have.
He’d chosen not to because it would have involved politics and bullshit and delay.
His impatience had cost him a man.
Where the hell were the others?
“Go!” yelled Stoner finally, rushing into the forward cabin. “Go!”
“Boston?”
“Go!”
Bison appeared behind the CIA officer. “He’s okay. He just can’t hear. The SA-7 flew into the side of the building and exploded. He shot the bastard just as he fired, and the missile went off course.”
Dog punched off the brakes and slammed the engines to full power.
“After you get a little more experience under your belt,” Mack told Starship, “you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know, Major.”
“Call me Mack, kid.”
Mack smiled at the young pilot. Even though the kid had the bad luck to be working for Zen, Starship was all right. Balls-out Eagle jock, just like Mack.
Well, not quite as good a pilot. But who was?
“Single-malt Scotch,” said Mack, raising his shot glass as he continued the young man’s education. They were sitting in a reception room that was part of Prince bin Awg’s lavish home. A butler had shown them here, and then vanished. “This is what real drinking is about.”
“Guess I can’t argue with that,” said Starship, downing his glass.
“Sip. Sip,” said Mack. “Like you’re going to be doing it for a while.”
“You sure we’re allowed to be drinking his Scotch?”
“Why do you think they parked us in this room?” said Mack, refilling the glasses. “You don’t understand Eastern hospitality, kid. It’s subtle, but it’s immense.”
“Immense and subtle at the same time?”
“Drink up.”
“There you are, Mack,” said the sultan’s nephew, entering the room. “And you’ve brought Lieutenant Andrews.”
The prince ignored Mack’s gesture toward the Scotch — he himself was an abstainer.
“The sultan wants you to attend dinner tonight,” said bin Awg. “He has been thinking over things.”
“Always up for dinner with the big guy. Right, Starship?”
“Um, I really have to get back.”
“No, no, Lieutenant, you come along as well,” said the prince. “Major Smith, His Majesty has a special surprise for you.”
“What’s that?” asked Mack.
“He’s going to ask you to take charge of the air force.”
“Which air force?” said Mack.
“Our kingdom’s. We wish to modernize, and with a man of your stature, this could be easily accomplished.”
Mack began to protest that he was happy as a member of the U.S. Air Force.
“But I’m sure we could make you happier,” said the prince. “The sultan will be able to work things out with your government, of course. We would merely borrow you. I believe a somewhat similar arrangement was made with General MacArthur and the Philippines, prior to the World War. That might be the model.”
MacArthur?
Head of the Brunei air force?
Why not?
“Well, it’s an interesting idea,” said Mack.
“Of course, you would be free to choose your own staff,” said bin Awg.
“Starship can be chief of staff,” said Mack.
“Um,” said Starship.
“Please, there’s much time to work on the arrangements directly,” said the prince. “Your secretary of defense is an old friend of the sultan’s. I’m sure he could arrange — what would you call it? A furlough?”
“I don’t know,” said Starship.
“And the arrangements would be quite generous,” said bin Awg.
“Maybe I oughta talk to Colonel Bastian,” said Starship.
“By all means. Mack?”
“Sign me up,” said Mack, thinking of how many babes he might be able to get on staff.
Heads turned as Chen Lee walked slowly into the large reception hall. He smiled and nodded at the government dignitaries and businessmen, making his way slowly through the crowd.
His granddaughter’s silk dress rustled against his leg as they walked. He did not actually need Kuan’s support, but her presence was always a balm to him, making more palatable the false smiles and lies that he found it necessary to countenance. The fidelity of his family strengthened and comforted him; a mortal man could hope for no greater achievement than the unqualified love of his offspring, and the girl’s willing presence at his side signified how truly rich he was.
“They are bowing to you, Grandfather,” whispered Kuan. “They know you are a great man.”
Chen Lee did not answer. He would not trouble the girl with the harsh reality that most of these men would be glad to see him pass on. They were appeasers, willing to sell their souls to the devil communists. For what? A few pennies and false promises. They were fools, and none so hardy as the president, who was holding court at the far end of the room, behind a phalanx of sycophants and bodyguards. Chen Lee waded in the other direction — let the president come to him, he decided.
Chen Lee had not heard from his grandson Chen Lo Fann, but he knew the young man’s mission had failed. The Chinese had lost three aircraft — Fann’s doing, no doubt — but aside from their usual hotheaded rhetoric, there had been no move against the United States, and no action to prevent the coming summit.
Chen Lee could not believe it. Had the generations that followed him become so weak, so puerile, that they did not recognize an act of war when they saw one? Did men wear dresses as well as false smiles now?
“Mr. Chen Lee, it is a great honor that you are here,” said the British cultural attache. The reception was ostensibly being held to commemorate the arrival of a British acting troupe in the capital, though of course it had many other purposes.
“You are too kind,” Chen said humbly.
