blue jeans over the years.
Sattari’s greatest difficulty was waiting for the right moment to pull his pistol from his pocket. He waited until Amin had sat down at his desk, then took out the pistol and shot him twice in the head.
Amin fell backward, his skull smacking against the Sheet-rock wall and leaving a thick splatter of very red blood as he slumped to the floor.
Sattari aimed his gun at the door, expecting the bodyguard to respond. After waiting a full minute, he went calmly to the door, pushed it open and waited again.
His own bodyguards would be in the hangar by now, but he hadn’t heard more gunfire and didn’t want to take a chance.
A few seconds passed, then a few more; finally there was a shout from outside.
“General?”
“It’s OK, Habib,” he said. “Where is the bodyguard?”
“He ran as soon as the door was closed,” said Habib Kerman, appearing at the door. “We let him go. It seemed wiser.”
“Very good, nephew. We need to be ready to take off very quickly. There is a long night ahead, and I have not yet arranged the refueling.”
“Yes, General.”
Sattari smiled, then reached over to turn off the office light.
The atoll was only visible on the highest detail satellite images in the
“I want the Werewolf there. Now,” Storm told Eyes. “I want these Dreamlanders rescued.”
“Aye aye, Captain. We’re moving as expeditiously as possible.”
“Don’t move expeditiously — move
Storm grinned to himself. He was better, back in control. Woods and the others weren’t going to win.
Turning from his holographic chart table, he looked out the “windshield” at the front of the
Nothing but sea before him, and a high sky as well. The sun bloomed to the east, announcing a glorious day.
“Storm, looks like there’s an Indian destroyer on the move from the north, running in the general direction of the atoll,” said Eyes, breaking into the captain’s brief reverie. “Ex-Soviet Kashin-class ship. Looks like it may be the
“Negative,” said Storm. “The fox doesn’t let the hen know it’s in the barnyard. Plot its position. I’ll be back with you in a moment.”
Zen cupped his hands below Breanna’s lips, then tilted the small canteen so the water would flow. He had to tilt it more than he’d expected — the water was nearly gone.
“Oh,” said Breanna as it touched her lips. “Oh.”
She sucked at it, then started to cough. Zen stopped pouring, waiting patiently for her to regain her breath. She shook her head, and he took the water away.
“How long?” she asked.
“Days.”
“How did we get here?”
“We drifted. I don’t know how I found you. God, I guess.”
“Yeah.” She started to move, as if she wanted to stand up.
“No, no, stay down.”
“No, I gotta move.” She stirred, pushed herself, then stopped with a groan. “Oh, my legs are killing me.”
“Mine too,” said Zen.
“Yours?”
“Phantom pain. We’re going to be OK,” he told her. “I just talked to Dog — they’re circling above us.”
“Oh,” said Breanna.
She struggled to get up again. This time Zen helped and she managed to sit.
“I think this leg is broken,” she said, pushing her right leg. “It really hurts. And the knee is twisted.”
Something caught her eye.
“What’s that?” she said, looking toward the beach.
Zen turned. It was the Bart Simpson kid. He had a bottle of water in his hands and he was walking slowly up the rocks.
“Bart Simpson,” said Zen. He waved at the boy. The boy, staring curiously at Breanna, waved back.
“He loves Bart Simpson,” he explained to Breanna. “He must see it on TV. He thinks we know him.”
“Does the kid live here?”
Zen explained that they were on a barren island but that the boy and his friends seemed to live on another island a few miles away. The kid, meanwhile, stopped a few feet from Zen and held out the water bottle.
Zen took it.
“We probably should boil it or something,” said Breanna.
“I’m really thirsty,” he said. But he didn’t open the bottle.
“I think I hear something,” said Breanna.
Zen held his breath, trying to listen.
“A helicopter, I think,” said Breanna.
“I gotta get the radio,” he said, crawling back for it.
“You can hear it?” Dog asked Zen.
“Yeah,” Zen answered, his voice hoarse.
“Good. I’m telling the
“Yeah, Colonel?”
“Breanna? Is she all right? Really all right?”
“She’s OK.” Zen’s voice trailed off. “You want to talk to her?”
Tears flooded from Dog’s eyes. He was so overcome he couldn’t answer, and when he did, it was between sobs. “Please.”
The silence seemed unending.
“Daddy?”
“I thought we agreed…you’d never…call me that…at work.”
Dog held his arm up, burying his face in it as the tears flowed uncontrollably.
“That’s right, Colonel,” said Breanna. “Sorry. I thought this was R and R.”
“All right. We’ll pick you up soon. Hang in there.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Storm studied the holographic projection of the ocean around them. They were about two and a half to three hours from the atoll. The Indian destroyer was closer; it could reach it in an hour and a half at flank speed.
