Turk slipped down his throttle, easing the Tigershark’s speed. The Sabres danced in and did their thing, and Turk banked toward the landing pattern.
Just as the flight computer warned that he was low on fuel.
“Right on cue,” he said.
He checked in with ground — no protests this time — then lined up for his landing. The Sabres were right behind him.
Which wasn’t right. They were supposed to be off to the east, following the new safety protocols.
Suddenly he got a warning from the flight computer — the Sabres were too close.
They sure were — the planes were following the same pattern as they had the day before.
“Knock it off! Knock it off!” he called.
As he did, one of the Sabres made a sharp cut toward his tail.
The moment Breanna saw the small aircraft cutting to the north, a pit opened in her stomach.
The Sabre was far too close to the Tigershark. The fierce vortices of wind off the complex airfoil made the U/MF hard to control. It began fluttering, then flew directly at the Tigershark’s right stabilizer.
It was almost precisely the same type of accident that had claimed Zen’s legs.
Breanna leapt up from her seat.
“Jeff!” she yelled involuntarily.
By the time the proximity alarm blared, Turk had managed to pull the Tigershark’s nose up and swing his tail down and away in a low-altitude, high-g cobra that dropped the plane to within a dozen feet of the smooth desert surface. The Sabre buzzed overhead, oblivious to his presence.
In any other aircraft, he would have been dead, killed either by the collision or his maneuver to get away. But between the Tigershark’s aerodynamics, razor-sharp controls, and his piloting skills — thank you very much — he was just pissed off.
Turk landed without comment and taxied to the recovery area. He remained silent as the crew helped him out of the aircraft.
“It’s something in the low-altitude routines,” said the head project engineer, running over from his SUV. “It has to do with the landing routines. They’re cutting into an emergency break-off because—”
“You know what?” said Turk. “I really don’t care. Just fix the damn thing before I get killed.”
“I’m sorry for my outburst,” Breanna told their guests as they gathered for the debrief back at Dreamland. “Obviously, we had a bit of a problem there at the end. The Sabres were not in their proper position. We need more work on the low-altitude flight control sections.”
“And you want us to back the project?” said Admiral Brooks.
“The problem is with the Sabres,” said Breanna. “They were not programmed to land in a pattern with another aircraft. It wasn’t Medusa’s fault, or the Tigershark’s. The Tigershark itself is fine. Believe me, any other aircraft would not have been able to escape. You saw how it dropped down.”
Admiral Brooks had brought along two of his own aviation experts. They admired the Tigershark, speaking highly of its recovery at the end.
“It was the only thing that impressed me,” said Captain Fairfield, who had served as an F/A–18 wing commander in Afghanistan. “Any other aircraft put its nose up like that…”
He shook his head. Another Navy aviator mentioned a Russian MiG pilot who had tried a somewhat similar maneuver at an air show and ended up becoming the posthumous star of a viral video on disastrous plane accidents.
Still, it was a tough crowd, and as they broke up for lunch, Breanna sensed they had lost the pitch. General Magnus pulled her aside as one of Dreamland’s colonels met them and led them toward the executive dining area.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “It’s a problem with the Sabres. Something similar happened the other day and they thought they had it repaired.”
“I understand. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“The accident — what happened was similar to what happened to your husband.”
Breanna felt her face turning red.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“You already apologized.”
Breanna felt tears welling in her eyes. She felt bad about how she had left things with Zen.
“I think it’s important to get the Tigershark to the air show,” said Magnus. “But only if this sort of thing isn’t going to happen.”
“The Tigershark itself is fine.”
“OK.”
Magnus started to turn away.
“General — I was wondering,” said Breanna. “What do you think — I wonder if I might tag along with you to the air show?”
“Really? You want to go?”
“Well, Jeff and my daughter are actually going to be there.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say that? Of course. We can take your family.”
Magnus smiled.
“They already have arrangements. My niece is going as well. They’re leaving tonight. He has to go to the NATO conference.”
“Ah — well then, you probably shouldn’t wait for me. I’m not flying out until Monday night. You’ll miss him.”
“Oh.”
“Go out tonight,” said Magnus.
“By the time I get back East—”
“Boss 12 is going out to Ukraine empty,” said Magnus, referring to an Air Force C–20B used as a VIP transport. “They need a backup in case something happens in Kiev. I’m sure they could arrange a stop in Prague. It is on the way.”
“You think?”
“Well, geography never was my best subject,” said Magnus, struggling to keep a straight face. “But I’m pretty sure it’s in that general direction.”
36
Nuri drew the task of coordinating with the Moldovan government and the CIA field office in Chisinau, which Reid had called in for support. He left for the capital around noon, planning to meet with the CIA station chief around dinnertime. Danny and Flash continued monitoring the farm, watching and planning how to proceed with the raid.
A car arrived shortly after 9:00 A.M. Two men got out and carried luggage into the house. About a half hour later a taxi drove up and dropped off another man at the roadside, leaving him to walk up the long drive on his own. He went in through the side door facing the garage and disappeared. Another did the same a half hour later. Then another car arrived with two men, just like the first.
Nothing happened for a few hours. Danny flipped back and forth through the feeds from the Predators — both were on station now — sipping the awful but free coffee he’d retrieved from the motel lobby.
He tried to imagine Stoner, constructing an image from his memories as well as the intelligence. Six-foot,
