curly brunette hair hung down over her eyes in what seemed to him the cutest way imaginable. He bought her a drink, then started talking about his Ducati motorcycle, hoping to set up a date to take her for a ride.
Stern, who was married, stood by quietly, occasionally rolling his eyes.
“Captain, there you are,” said Breanna, striding across the room toward the bar. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” said Turk, though in truth he would have preferred the interruption to come a little later.
“I have to be going,” said the brunette.
“Hey, hang out a minute,” said Turk. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away.
“Sorry. Lot of stuff to do.”
Turk watched her walk away. It was definitely his loss.
Stern made his apologies as well, which was clearly fine with Breanna. They took a table in the corner.
“I saw what you did on the landing,” she told him, pulling out her chair. “It was very good piloting.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“And you’re modest,” she said sarcastically.
“Some days.” Turk took a long sip of his seltzer.
“No more Sabre flights until the entire low-altitude protocol is rewritten and retested,” said Breanna. “I’ve already given the order.”
“That’s overkill. There’s nothing wrong with the plane.”
“I’m not talking about the Tigershark. I meant the Sabres and Medusa.”
“Well…” Turk suddenly felt protective of the UM/Fs, though he couldn’t for the life of him have explained why. And in fact he’d made more or less the same argument to the engineers earlier. But there was something about having a system that he was working with grounded that put him on the defensive. “I guess.”
“When are you leaving for Prague?”
“Couple of hours.” He held up the seltzer.
Sobriety was actually a nonissue in the Tigershark, because the aircraft’s flight computer put the pilot through a series of mental tests before it would unlock its systems. Supposedly, the test could figure out if you were overtired as well as inhibited by drugs or alcohol. Turk, close to a teetotaler anyway, had never tested it.
“Plane’s ready?”
“All ready.”
Turk was taking Tiger Two. The rail gun had been removed for security purposes; unlike the plane, its existence was still top secret. It also did not have a Medusa unit.
“I’m going with you,” said Breanna.
“In the Tigershark?”
She gave him a funny look. “Of course not. I’m going in the C–20.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s in that seltzer?”
She meant it as a joke, clearly, but Turk felt embarrassed.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.
“My family’s going to be there. And I thought I would take a look at what’s new. Supposedly the Russian PAK-FA will be there. It might be good to take a look.”
“At 1980s technology, sure,” sneered Turk.
“I wouldn’t underestimate what the Russians and Indians can do if they work closely together,” said Breanna. “Anyway, if we can get together before the show, I’d like to get your thoughts on the plane’s potential and where we can go from here.”
“Is Zen going to be there?” Turk asked.
“Yes.”
“You know, I’d love to, uh, go like to dinner or something with you guys. If I could, um, you know, kinda hangout.”
“Sure.” Breanna rose. She hadn’t touched her beer, Turk noticed.
“The Defense secretary has arranged for me to talk to some of the NATO representatives in the morning on the future of manned flight,” she added. “There’ll be a panel discussion afterward. I thought you’d be a good person to sit on it.”
“Me?”
“You don’t think you’re qualified?”
“Well, yeah.”
“A sudden lack of confidence. That’s refreshing.” Breanna smirked. “You want some advice, Captain?”
“Sure.”
“Fancy Italian motorcycles can definitely be a turn on, but talking about how close you can get your knee to the ground going around a curve — not so much.”
39
The Wolf assault team went through the entire sequence twice more, starting with the mock attack inside the steel building and ending with the SUVs. Danny got the impression that they were still at the walk-through stage; they stopped midway through the second time, rearranging how the teams ran to the cottages where the helos were kept.
The SUVs were interesting. They looked like full-sized trucks, but two people could pick them up with ease. Were the trucks extremely lightweight, like the helicopters? Or were the men ridiculously strong?
The exercise concluded at two in the morning. After the choppers were returned to the cottages, the farm looked exactly as it had before sunset.
“You figure they’re going to sleep?” asked Flash.
“Debrief the session first,” said Danny. “While it’s still fresh. Then sleep.”
“Beers, then sleep,” said Flash. “How long — an hour?”
Danny stared at the screen. He wanted to strike during the dark, minimizing the possibility that his attack force would be seen on the way in. Should he hit the force during the exercise or afterward?
Afterward was his preference. Not only would they be tired, but he could pump gas into the building first, increasing the odds of getting them without a fight. His orders called for him to “use nonlethal means of apprehension” if at all possible.
Danny had wide discretion on that. No one was going to complain if everyone in the house ended up dead, especially now that they’d seen their rehearsal.
And if Stoner was there?
They watched the group gather in one of the rooms on the first floor, going back over the exercise as Danny had predicted. A half hour later all but two were in rooms upstairs, apparently sleeping.
Danny wanted to get Stoner out alive, if he was there.
“You keep looking at the images, like you might recognize him,” said Flash.
“Yeah.”
“I thought you thought it was bull.”
“I do. Mostly.”
Flash nodded.
“Tomorrow, we wait an hour after they pack it in, when they’re sleeping like now,” said Danny, as if Flash had asked him what the plan was. “Pump the house full of the gas, hit them quick. First sign of resistance, we flatten them.”
“No argument from me,” said Flash.
