rumbling through a vast array of intercepted and logged transmissions, trying to match the scripts she’d just harvested. Six keystrokes later, a Navy computer began doing the same.
The screen flashed. It had found the radio.
Several radios.
“Oh,” said Jennifer aloud to the empty lab. “Now I get it.”
She picked up the phone to call Major Catsman, who was over in the Dreamland Command Center getting ready to update the Whiplash Force in Taiwan.
“I know how they do it,” she said when the major came on the line. “Basically they’re using buoys and a commercial satellite. I should be able to narrow down the ship, but I’m going to need some help from the Navy. High-level help. We have to tap into their collection of NOSS intercepts, the Sigint data they collect to track ship movements.”
“Who do I talk to?” asked Catsman.
Rolling toward the small room at the far end of the hangar, Zen realized he hadn’t spoken to his wife, Breanna, in more than two days. While she’d certainly understand, he felt a pang of guilt, and told himself he’d catch up with her as soon as he could.
Dog — just in from Brunei with
Danny and Stoner had worked out a straightforward plan to secure the factory site at Kaohisiung.
Stoner would ride with the Marines in the Osprey, carrying backup detection gear and his own hot link back to Dream Command, where a team of experts would be providing real-time analysis of the data the assault team gathered. Major Alou and
While the site was being secured, Zen and
Undoubtedly to get the bomb.
If the robot launched, Zen would destroy it.
The
“Washington is worried about security concerns,” explained Dog.
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Stoner. “The ship captains may not think it’s a high priority. They ought to have the entire situation laid out for them.”
“It’s not my call,” said Dog. Zen realized from the sharpness in Colonel Bastian’s voice that he didn’t agree with the decision, but was prepared to carry it out. “The concern is not only to preserve the element of surprise, but to keep the Mainland Chinese from finding out. If they knew there were nuclear devices on the island, they might use that as a pretext to launch an all-out attack.”
Major Alou brought up a few practical issues about which non-Dreamland frequencies would be used during the operation, as well as the availability of refueling assets that were being chopped from Pacific Command. Zen found his mind drifting as the discussion slanted toward minutiae; he worried about Kick and Starship, who’d be working without a net.
And then he remembered he’d still forgotten to call his wife.
What was up with that?
He eyed his watch, waiting for the briefing to end.
Breanna Stockard had just finished packing her things when the phone on the bedstand rang. Thinking it was probably her mother — her mother had taken to calling her every hour on the hour — she blew off the first few rings. Finally, she reached for it, grabbing it just in time to hear whoever had been calling hanging up.
Probably Zen, she thought, instantly angry with herself for not picking up the phone. She took her bag and went out, glad to finally be out of the small whitewashed space.
As she rode the elevator downstairs, Breanna felt a surge of concern for her husband. She knew he’d deployed on a mission somewhere, but security concerns had prevented him or anyone else from saying exactly where he was or what he was doing. As a member of the military — not to mention the same elite unit — Breanna was expected to understand that there would be times when duty demanded she not speak to Zen. But it wasn’t easy, just as it wasn’t easy for the literally thousands of other men and women — and children — who found themselves in similar situations around the country. Breanna accepted this as a given, a part of her life. Even so, as she made her way to the elevator, she felt an undeniable ache, a longing to be near her husband.
The ache turned into something else in the elevator downstairs, something sharper, a jagged hole.
Fear. She was worried about him, afraid that something was going to happen.
She was sure of it. Convinced. Her hands began to tremble.
The door opened. Bree’s mother stood a few feet away, talking to some other doctors. Breanna managed to bite the corner of her lip and pushed herself out of the elevator. She forced a smile and suffered through her mother’s greeting and introductions, looking toward the floor not out of modesty as her mother bragged, but hiding the emotion suddenly washing through her. She signed herself out, the words on the papers at the desk invisible behind a thick fog.
Spotting a phone nearby, she gave in to the temptation to call Dreamland, even though she knew she wouldn’t get Zen himself. She dialed the number, her finger sliding off the keys.
No one would be able to talk to her anyway. It was an open line. All she’d do was make other people nervous.
The phone rang and was answered before she could hang up.
“This is Breanna Stockard,” she told the airman handling the phone. “I—”
“Captain, how are you?” said the operator, and before she knew it she was talking to Chief Master Sergeant Terrence “Ax” Gibbs.
“Everybody’s who’s anybody is out seeing the world,” Ax told her. “If you know what I mean.”
The twinkle in the chief’s eyes translated somehow into his voice. Breanna’s apprehension didn’t melt — it was too deep for that — but her hand stopped trembling and the ground beneath her feet felt solid again.
“Something up?” asked the chief.
“No, chief, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Sure I can’t do anything for you?”
“You have, kinda,” she said. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
