His grip tightened on the guardrail.
“My God,” he said, and ran back into the wounded gut of the carrier.
There was no apparent activity around the door Tombstone and Lobo had used to exit the building in which they’d been imprisoned. Perhaps, Tombstone thought, their absence was still a secret.
Not that he cared much, one way or the other. Gesturing to Lobo, he moved up to the wall and along its base, circling the building. On the leeward side, the rain dropped off to a cold mist whirling off the top of the wall. Rifle ready, Tombstone hurried along the wall to the next corner, and peered around. Winced at the needle-blast of rain in his face. The storm was getting worse every second. Still, visibility remained good enough that he could see the dark sedan parked in front of the building, and the wide portico. Palm trees genuflected wildly before the wind.
He ran up the steps to the door and tried it.
Unlocked.
Tombstone looked at Lobo, saw the confusion in her eyes. Saw the water running down her pale face. There was nothing he could tell her, so he simply said, “Let’s go.”
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“Anything PLA.”
“You’re not just trying to ditch me, are you?”
“No. After this is all over, I intend to divorce my wife and marry you.”
“Liar.”
“Please, Lobo; just watch the door.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
He pulled open the door and they entered a wide, high-ceilinged foyer of teak and white marble. Enormous potted palms seemed to support a curved staircase climbing upward. Tombstone raised his eyebrows, and Lobo nodded. She squeaked across the marble and slipped in amongst the fronds.
Faint light spilled down the stairs. Tombstone headed toward it, AK-47 half-raised. He winced at the soggy, squelching sounds he and Lobo made as they walked, but there was no helping that.
At the top of the stairs was a long hallway extending in both directions. The light came from the left, as did a voice speaking sharply. Tombstone moved in that direction. Gradually, words came clear. English words.
“… couldn’t have possibly gotten off the island. Of course not. Increase the guard around the buildings, but get a search party out right away. I suspect they will be putting as much distance between themselves and this complex as quickly as possible. Good. Keep me notified.”
As the receiver clicked onto its cradle, Tombstone stepped into the room behind his AK-47 and pointed the rifle at the man standing with one hand on the telephone.
“Hello, Uncle Phillip,” he said.
“ ‘Offer the enemy a bait to lure him,’ ” Bird Dog said. “ ‘Feign disorder and strike him.’ ”
“You’re quoting again,” Batman snarled. “I don’t have time for this. In case you’re not aware of it, we have a damaged aircraft carrier here, and an air battle just breaking up. We’ve lost a lot of planes.”
“It’s not just a quote,” Bird Dog said, refusing to back down, refusing to be sidetracked even by the question,
“ ‘Feign disorder’ is a strategy? We don’t have to
Bird Dog glanced around at the carefully-turned-away faces on the bridge. “Could we continue this discussion in your conference room, sir?”
“What for? As far as I can see, there’s nothing to discuss.”
“Beg to differ. In fact, we ought to convene the whole group, plus one.”
“And who might that be?”
“Dr. Alonzo George.”
“Matthew,” McIntyre said. His face was pale. Then it grew serene, and he leaned back in his chair. The room was a study of some kind, furnished like an old English den in dark paneling and ornate furniture. Lots of books. A computer console on the desk.
Without even looking at the rifle, he shook his head and smiled. “Good work. You truly are your father’s son.”
“And my uncle’s nephew.” Tombstone moved farther into the room. “Speaking of my uncle, I don’t think he’d approve of what you’re doing.”
“So you’ve figured it out, have you?”
“Enough of it. You’re behind this whole thing; the attacks on both Chinese and Americans, all of it. You’re trying to push America and China into war.”
“What exactly gave me away?”
“I spotted the UAVs parked in your little hangar. Then I remembered that McIntyre Engineering components figured heavily in the UAV that attacked me back in Maryland. I can do simple arithmetic — like two-plus-two. Combine that with the fact that you’re still alive, and it’s pretty clear you must be up to something no good.”
“I’m sorry about that incident in Maryland, Matthew. I truly am.”
“Because you tried to kill me, or because you didn’t succeed?”
“In point of fact,
“Meaning you weren’t actually there. But you ordered the hit.”
“It was a necessary part of a larger plan. If it matters to you, I was elated when I heard you’d survived… even though I was hoping to lure your
“Uncle Thomas was going to be your hostage?”
“No offense, but his rank is higher than yours.”
Tombstone shook his head. “How many people have you got in your pocket?”
“Thousands. Politicians and military personnel on both sides, at all levels of rank and experience. Ordinary citizens. Businesspeople.”
“Anyone on
“Naturally. More than one, in fact.”
“My God.”
“You probably won’t believe this,” McIntyre said, “but I’m doing all this for my country. The same as you.”
“For your country,” Tombstone said. “You had dozens of Americans massacred at sea. Shot others out of the sky in cold blood. Tried to start a war that will cost hundreds of thousands of lives if it gets rolling. You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
“That’s because you’re taking the short-term view. That’s a common Western failing, in both business and politics, and it’s the one that’s getting us beaten. It’s necessary to think long-term, to plan carefully far into the
