“Yeah,” said Dog. “She’s pretty fast.”
“Then, maybe. The doctors will have a lot more information. You’re her commanding officer?”
“I’d like to think I’m more than that,” said Dog.
“Encourage her. The rehab can be very difficult.”
“She’s up to it,” said Dog. “If there’s one thing I know about Jennifer Gleason, she’s up to it.”
Relieved of command and clearly unwanted, Dog saw no point in hanging around Diego Garcia. Responsibility for locating the last warhead had now been shifted to the CIA; with more Navy assets on the way, Dreamland’s help was no longer needed. The entire Dreamland team would be shipping back to base within the next few days; better to leave sooner rather than later, he decided.
The
He stayed up the rest of the night, slowly sipping a beer as he stared at the stars. Once or twice he tried thinking about his future in the Air Force, or rather, if there was a future for him in the Air Force, but he quickly gave up. That was the sort of thinking that required a quiet mind, and his was anything but. A million details, a thousand emotions, battled together below the surface of his consciousness, ready to interfere with any serious thought. The only way to hold them at bay was to stare blankly at the sky, just watching.
Just before 0200 he found Englehardt and his crew briefing their flight. He interrupted them and, calling Englehardt out into the hall, asked permission to grab a flight home.
“Um, you don’t need my permission, Colonel.”
“Well, as it happens, I do,” said Dog.
He told Englehardt that Samson was reorganizing things and at the moment he didn’t have any authority concerning Dreamland.
Pride kept him from saying he’d been shafted, though that’s what it was.
“It’s OK with me, Colonel. It’d be fine with me.”
“Great. I’ll meet you and the crew at the plane with my gear.”
General Sattari twisted another piece of bread from the loaf and pushed it into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he still was until he began nibbling on one of the loaves he’d bought for his nephew at the airport workers’ cafeteria.
The refueling was nearly complete. Sattari paced on the tarmac as the men finished, waiting, impatient to be gone.
There were voices in the darkness beyond the plane. Some trick of the wind or his brain transformed them, made them seem familiar: his son, Val Muhammad Ben Sattari, speaking with his wife in the family garden many years before, when Val was just a boy.
Sattari took a step in the direction of the voices, but they had faded. The fuel truck was finished; a worker recoiled the hose on the spool.
General Sattari thought back to the time when his son told him he wanted to be just like him. He’d been very proud — too proud.
How much would he trade to have that moment back?
He climbed up the steps to the cockpit. His nephew was just finishing the dinner he had brought.
“Are you ready?” Sattari asked.
“Yes, General.”
Though they were cousins, Habib Kerman bore little resemblance to Val; he was flabbier, shorter. But for some reason he now reminded Sattari of Val, and the general felt a twinge of guilt.
“Habib, I have been thinking,” he said, and put his hands on the back of the first officer’s seat. “I think I will take the plane myself.”
“You can’t fly it by yourself, Uncle.”
“I can. You saw yourself.”
Kerman stared at him, his front teeth biting into his lip. Then he shook his head.
“I want to do this,” he told Sattari. “Since my wife died, I have looked for a way to make my life meaningful. Allah has given me this chance, praised be his name.”
“Once we take off, Habib, there can be no turning back.”
“I wish to do it.”
If it were Val, Sattari thought, would he let him go? It was one thing to undertake a hazardous mission, and quite another to face certain, absolute death.
“Are you sure?”
Kerman nodded.
“I am very proud of you,” Sattari said. He tapped Kerman on the shoulder, then quickly turned and walked out of the cockpit, not wanting the younger man to see the tears welling in his eyes.
He found someone waiting at the base of the boarding ladder. It was Hassam, the spy who had helped arrange the refueling.
“What is it?” said Sattari.
“General, I trust all is well,” said Hassam, coming up a few steps.
“Yes.” They met halfway.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What is it you need?” said the general harshly. He had an impulse to reach for the gun in his belt and shoot the man, but that might ruin everything.
“The flight plan that was filed. It indicates you are going to America.” Hassam was grinning.
“Flight plans do not necessarily tell the entire truth,” said Sattari.
“Still, that is curious.”
“What is your point, Hassam?”
The general placed his hand closer to his gun.
“I took the liberty of finding alternate identifiers and flights for you, in case you are tracked once you take off,” said Hassam.
Sattari’s hand flew to his gun as Hassam reached to his jacket. Hassam smiled, opened the coat to show that he had no weapon, then took out a wedge of papers.
“I assume you want no questions asked when you appear at the airport to refuel,” said Hassam. “But in the meantime, these may help you.”
Sattari stood speechless on the tarmac, eyeing the folded documents. The smuggler’s plane could send false ident signals, but he had not had time to research other IDs or flight numbers. These would very useful.
And yet, he didn’t trust Hassam. There was something in the man’s manner that kept Sattari from reholstering the gun as he took the papers.
“You’ll find they’re in order, I’m sure,” said Hassam.
“How?” Sattari asked.
“Do you think the leaders of our country are blind and ignorant?”
Sattari felt his face flush.
“General, there is another question I must ask, though. Going to America — do you really feel that is wise?”
Sattari was once more on his guard. “If you know everything, then you know why I am going.”
“Such an important man as yourself. It would be a shame to lose you. Especially when there is someone much younger ready to take your place.”
Sattari heard something behind him. As he turned to glance up at the ladder, he realized his mistake. Before he could react, Hassam had leapt at him.
The general was still strong, but he was tired from his exertions over the past few days. He tried to bring his
