Zen listened to the
Refuel complete, Dog checked their position against the GPS screen and turned the helm over to his copilot so he could stretch his legs. But before he could unsnap his restraints, Major Catsman’s overstressed voice came over the Dreamland channel.
“Colonel, we have an update on that leased 767 that Chen’s company owned,” said Major Catsman. “We’re still trying to pull together information, but it was moved to Hualin two weeks ago. It underwent work there to one of the wings.”
“Where is it now?”
“Unknown. We also think there may be another UAV but we haven’t anything definitive. The thinking here is that the alterations to the wing would have been to air-launch the aircraft, or possibly to carry a bomb.”
Major Catsman had already done some checking and narrowed down the possible suspects to three 767s.
“We should get the airports shut down,” said Dog. “Let’s get the Taiwan air force involved. I need a direct line to the general in charge. Can you set that up there?”
“Will do. Jed Barclay wants to talk to you in the meantime.”
“And I want to talk to him,” said Dog.
Stoner closed his eyes and pushed down his head, knowing he was going to die but not wanting to give in. It seemed like a waste to go out here, when he hadn’t even figured out what had happened to the bombs the bastards had made.
Dirt pushed into his pores. He couldn’t hear and he couldn’t see.
Poor fucking Marines. Poor Marines. Shit. He couldn’t let those guys die.
He pushed up against the massive blocks that had smothered his head. They began to give way.
I’m like Samson, he thought. Where is this strength coming from?
A light flashed in his eyes. He blinked.
Was this what death felt like? Did God really send an angel out to get you?
There was a groan behind the light.
One of the Marines.
He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even buried. One of the Marines had fallen on him, probably trying to protect him.
Idiot Marines, always trying to do their job.
The kid was breathing. Good. But the chamber was blocked off with rubble — he could see the pile reflected in the flashlight’s shadow as the dust finally settled.
“Stoner,” said the Marine with the light.
“Yeah, I’m here,” said the CIA officer, dragging himself up. The NOD lay on the ground; he didn’t even bother picking it up to see if it was working, turning on his wristlight instead.
“The charge was back in the main tunnel. It blew down the entrance.”
Stoner stood. “Help him,” he told the other Marine. “I’m going to see where this hole goes.”
“You think we’re trapped?” asked the Marine. There was no fear in his voice; he might have been asking about the daily special at a restaurant.
“If we are, Danny Freah’ll get us out,” said Stoner. He took his radio out and gave it to the Marine. “Make sure Captain Freah knows we’re here and take care of your buddy. I won’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zen ran
The massive Boeing lumbered ten miles ahead, flying at 32,000 feet, about 5,000 below the tiny Flighthawk. Zen checked
“Zen, be advised we have some communications coming off the target plane indicating there are passengers aboard,” said Wes Brown, one of the Elint operators. “Cell phone communications.”
“Roger that,” said Zen.
The infrared cameras on the Flighthawk synthesized an image for Zen in the main screen, gradually sharpening their focus as he pulled closer to the tail of the massive airliner.
Clean.
“They don’t have a UAV,” Zen told Dog.
“Copy that,” said Colonel Bastian.
“Think they have a bomb aboard?” asked Zen.
“I doubt it, but the Taiwanese authorities are looking for a divert field so it can be inspected. Let ’em know you’re there, see how they react.”
Zen tucked his wing and slid away from the airplane, running down and then coming back up close to the cockpit area. As he rose, he contacted the pilot, asking him to identify himself. Though there was surprise in his voice, nothing the civilian captain said indicated he was flying anything but a charter packed with tourists. The sensors on the Flighthawk couldn’t get a comprehensive read on the interior of the moving plane, but there were clearly passengers aboard.
“Taiwanese are sending two F-5s north for him,” said Dog. “They’re going to order him home.”
“Roger that.”
“I have our second target north at one hundred miles, making 400 knots. We’ll take him next.”
“Hawk leader,” said Zen, acknowledging.
Jed Barclay listened as the secretary of defense and the secretary of state debated whether to inform the Communist Chinese of what was going on. The Mainlanders were already scrambling aircraft, probably in response to the Taiwan activity.
“They’ll just shoot all the planes down,” said Secretary of Defense Chastain. “I would.”
“If a nuclear device is exploded in China, they will retaliate,” answered Hartman.
“Not necessarily,” said the defense secretary.
“That’s what Chen Lee is counting on,” said the secretary of state. “It’s insanity.”
Jed glanced at the video screen from the White House, where his boss was sitting with the President, listening to the debate. Before leaving to come over here, Jed had given Freeman a briefing paper from the CIA that argued that Mainland China would not nuke Taiwan; instead, they’d invade the island using conventional forces. An appendix to the paper suggested that the communists would threaten America with nuclear missiles if it interfered.
