Breanna arrived at Room 4 just in time for the tail end of Danny’s update. He was speaking from inside a truck as he drove to the Osprey; his face, projected by a camera embedded in his helmet, looked worn. His voice was hoarse. The fighting in the city had died down, even the victors decimated and exhausted.
“I never asked MY-PID to analyze whether Li Han was dead or not,” Danny said. “The computer just responded to my questions. I should have.”
“Would it have changed anything, Danny?” asked Breanna. “If you knew he was dead earlier?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
They hadn’t seen him killed, and the slow loss of temperature over time was hard to detect through the thick thatch of the roof. But Breanna knew that Danny would in fact blame himself for missing what he considered a key piece of information.
“That may be one area to improve MY-PID’s programming,” she said. “Having some sort of prompt if a subject is dead or wounded.”
“Yeah.”
“How bad is the damage to the aircraft?” Breanna asked. “Can you evacuate?”
“The backup Osprey just refueled in Ethiopia and is en route,” said Danny. “The crew says they can get Whiplash One airborne if necessary. They’ve been talking to Chief Parsons.”
“Good,” said Breanna. Parsons, a former maintainer and chief master sergeant at Dreamland, was her personal assistant, a troubleshooter for all things mechanical.
Danny believed that they had enough weapons and ammunition to hold off anything the locals could throw at them over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, which would give them more than ample time to figure out what to do about the damaged MV-22.
The real problem was finding Raven’s guidance system. While they had to recheck all the places they had raided and get the Russian, Danny believed that the most promising theory was that one of Li Han’s guards had taken it. That would explain why he had been shot.
“If it is in the Brothers camp, can you get in there and search?”
“I need to study the place,” said Danny. “We won’t be able to just go up and knock on the door.”
They spent a few minutes discussing logistical matters, Breanna making sure they were well supplied. If they did hit the camp, Danny wanted some equipment from the States as well as more personnel.
“All right. Get some sleep,” she told him when they were ready to sign off.
“When I get a chance,” said Danny. He tried to smile, but it only made him look more tired.
“I felt I had to inform the President,” Reid told Breanna. “There was no other choice.”
“I know.”
“The rumors may have come from her staff, but more likely they came from the Agency.”
“Why would Edmund leak it?”
“I doubt it was him. Not everyone in the organization appreciates his leadership.” Reid paused. Anyone in a position of authority anywhere in government had many enemies. “He hasn’t been particularly forthcoming with me.”
Reid reiterated what Rubeo had told him, and what he had heard about the software. But the lack of information from Edmund was frustrating; he simply didn’t know how dangerous Raven was.
“In theory,” he told Breanna, “Rubeo believes it could take over any sort of computing device, adapting and changing itself to fit the medium. But how far along they are in actual fact and practice, I simply don’t know.”
Breanna pushed the hair at the side of her head back, running her fingers across her ear. The gesture reminded Reid of his wife when she was younger.
“Did you tell Danny this?” she asked.
“I haven’t shared Dr. Rubeo’s assessment, no. There’s no need, operationally. Clearly, he knows it’s not just a board of transistors, based on our concern. I don’t know how much the CIA officer on the ground has told him. Or what she even knows, for that matter.”
“Could she be in the dark as well?” Breanna asked.
“Hard to say.”
“Why in God’s name—”
“They probably felt that, because it was Africa, there was no risk. That would be a common perception.”
“Misperception,” said Breanna.
“Yes.”
The Agency was famous for such misperceptions, thought Reid — always underestimating the enemy. That was the cause of most intelligence failures, wasn’t it? Lack of imagination, lack of crediting the enemy with as much if not more foresight than you had? That was the story of Pearl Harbor, of the Russian H-bomb, of 9/11—of failure after failure, and not just by the U.S.
“The political controversy adds another dimension,” continued Reid. “They have even more incentive to clam up. I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought we leaked it.”
Breanna frowned.
“It’s going to cause trouble with your husband,” added Reid. “I’m sorry for that.”
“We’ll deal with it.” Breanna straightened and rose from the table. “Which one of us will tell the President that we have the UAV but not the computer?”
“I think we should both make the call.”
Chapter 2
In the end, it was momentum rather than logic or threats that got the women moving — Nuri and Boston pulled each to their feet and nudged them in the right direction, simply refusing to take no or inaction as an answer. They shuffled rather than walked, but it was progress nonetheless. Nuri took the infant from Bloom, hunching his body over it to keep it warm. It was sleeping, its thumb in its mouth.
Boston led the way around the outskirts of the woods, hiking toward the north-south highway that ran through the city to the south. There was still a glow from the center of town; the air smelled of burnt wood and grass. Sudan First appeared to have wiped out Meurtre Musique, but the rebels had lost so many people that in all likelihood the city would eventually be abandoned.
They were just in sight of the picket Danny had set up around the fallen plane when the backup Osprey arrived. It came in from the north, having taken a wide circle around the city to avoid any possible enemies. The aircraft swung down to the ground ahead, barely a shadow in the night.
“Why’d you bring the women?” asked Danny as the small group staggered into the makeshift camp.
“I didn’t know what else to do with them,” said Nuri.
“They can’t stay with us.”
“I know, but we can get them to a refugee camp or something.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” Nuri turned to find Bloom. She was walking with the woman who’d given birth, moving mechanically.
“We’re going to take you to a camp,” he said. “Where would be the best place?”
Instead of answering, Bloom reached her hands out to take the baby.
“A camp,” said Nuri, reluctantly turning him over. “Where would the best one be?”
“Maybe you should ask which is the least worst,” said Melissa. “I’ll talk to her.”
“It’s all right. I have it under control,” said Nuri.
“She’s not talking to you.”
“She’s not going to talk to you either.”
But Bloom did, haltingly and in a faraway voice. She suggested a place called Camp Feroq, which was run by her relief organization a hundred miles southwest.
