Retribution

the most likely answer had to do with a glitch in the hastily amended software they used to project the landings. But it was also possible that the satellites analyzing the launch data had erred, or that the flight paths of different missiles had merged.

“There are a number of other possibilities as well,” added Rubeo. “It will take some time to work things out.”

“We’re not the only ones doing this,” said Catsman. “NORAD, the Navy, Satellite Command — they’ll all have information. We can coordinate it and refine the projections. Once the U-2 is able to complete its survey of the area, things should be much clearer.”

“The question for you, Colonel,” said Rubeo, “is whether we should tell the White House what we have. They have tended to ignore our caveats in the past. Not always with the best results.”

“Tell them,” said Dog. “And keep working on it.”

“As you wish,” said Rubeo.

“What other information can you give us on the possible location of the Fisher’s crew?” Dog asked.

“We’ve already passed along everything we have,” Catsman told him. “We’re pretty confident of where they were when they bailed out, and where they would be in the water.”

“Then why haven’t they been found?”

When Catsman didn’t answer, Rubeo did — uncharacteristically offering an excuse for the Navy.

“The Abner Read was distracted and too far from the area to be of much use at first,” he said. “They’re now coming south and the Werewolf should be able to help. The Lincoln is still quite far from the ejection area. Their long-range patrols can’t stay on station long enough to do a thorough job. The odds should improve the closer they get. We computed the effects of the currents and wind on the crew and gave them to the Navy, as well as the U-2 surveying the region. That should help narrow the search.”

“We’ll find them, Colonel,” added Catsman.

“I’m sure we will,” said Dog. He paused for a moment, then asked for her. “Jennifer?”

She looked up. The large screen magnified his face to the point where she could see every wrinkle, every crease and blemish. He was pale, and his eyes drooped.

“Hi, Colonel.”

The faintest hint of a smile came to his face.

“You were working on an updated search routine for the Flighthawks,” Dog said, all business.

“It still has some bugs.”

“Upload it to us anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

For a moment it looked like he was about to say something else.

I love you, maybe. She wanted desperately to hear it. But he didn’t say it.

“I’m here if you need me. Bastian out.”

Jennifer felt a stabbing pain in her side as the screen blanked.

Oval Office, Washington, D.C.

0910

Jed Barclay knocked on the President’s door before entering. President Kevin Martindale sat behind his desk, facing the window that looked out on the back lawn of the White House.

“I put together the latest data on the missiles, Mr. President,” said Jed. “There’s some disagreement between the CIA projections and Dreamland’s. The Dreamland scientists say they have two missiles unaccounted for and that may indicate—”

“Can you imagine wanting to turn the earth into a nuclear wasteland, Jed?” asked the President, staring out the window.

The question took Jed by surprise. Finally he managed a soft “No.”

“Neither can I. Some of the people in both India and Pakistan want to do just that.” The President rose, but continued to stare out the window. “The reports are filled with misinformation this morning. I suppose we can’t blame them. I didn’t tell them exactly how we stopped the weapons, and there are a great many people who distrust us.”

Jed hadn’t seen any of the actual news reports, but had read the daily classified CIA summary before coming up to see the President. Martindale had said only that the U.S. used “new technology” to bring down the nuclear weapons launched by Pakistan and India; the news media, without much to go on, speculated that he was referring to antiballistic missiles launched from Alaska and satellite weapons that didn’t actually exist.

What they couldn’t quite understand was why power had gone off across the subcontinent. Some analysts had concluded that this meant at least a few of the nuclear weapons had exploded and created an electromagnetic pulse. Others simply ignored it. Given the President’s desire to seize the warheads, ambiguity was definitely in their favor, and the White House had issued orders forbidding anyone — including the official spokesmen, who actually knew very little — from addressing the matter.

Adding to the confusion was the fact that the T-Rays had wiped out communication with practically all of Pakistan and a vast swath of India. The media was starved for information, though obviously that situation wouldn’t hold for very long.

“I hate sending people into war,” continued the President. “Because basically I’m sending them to die. It’s my job. I understand it. But after a while…after a while it all begins to weigh on you…”

His voice trailed off. Jed had never seen the President this contemplative, and didn’t know what to say.

“We’re going to recover the warheads,” Martindale said finally.

He turned, walked across the office to the credenza that stood opposite his desk, and paused, gazing down at a bust of Jefferson.

“Some people call Dreamland my own private air force and army. Have you heard that, Jed?”

Having heard that said many times, Jed hesitated.

“You can be honest,” added Martindale. “That’s what I value about you, Jed. You’re not involved in the political games.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dreamland is too important a command to be run by a lieutenant colonel. The Joint Chiefs want it folded back into the regular command structure. And I have to say, they make good arguments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to appoint a general to take over. A two-star general for now — Major General Samson. He has an impeccable record. An enviable one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your opinion of that?”

“I think whatever you want to do, sir—”

“I haven’t used it as my private army, have I?”

“No, Mr. President, absolutely not.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Jed,” added the President. “Or with Colonel Bastian, for that matter. I still have the highest regard for him. I want him involved in the warhead recovery. Him and his people — they’ll work with the Marines.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But it makes more sense — this whole mission has shown the real potential. We can double, maybe triple their effectiveness.” Martindale looked at Jed. “General Samson will handle informing the Dreamland people. Understood?”

“I shouldn’t tell them?”

“The news should come from the general, and the joint chiefs. That’s the way I want it. We’re following the chain of command. Dreamland is not my private army.”

The joint chiefs — and especially the head of the joint chiefs, Admiral Balboa — had been fighting to get Dreamland back under their full control since early in Martindale’s administration. With the end of Martindale’s term looming — and the very real possibility that he would lose the election — the chiefs had won the battle. It certainly did make sense that Dreamland, as a military unit, should answer directly up the chain of command, rather than