Retribution (26 page)

Starship cleared both of the robot planes upward, circled them around, and then pushed into a new attack, this one with the two aircraft in a staggered trail, so that
Hawk Two
flew a bit behind and to the right of
Hawk One
.

“Ground attack preset mode one,” he told the computer. “
Hawk Two
trail.”

He handed
Hawk Two
off to C
³
, allowing the computer to fly as his wingman. In the preset,
Hawk Two
would act like a traditional wingman, primarily concerned with protecting the leader’s tail and only firing after
Hawk One
had ended its attack.

Starship nudged his stick gently right, moving
Hawk One
on target. The Flighthawk did not use pedal controls like a manned fighter; instead, the computer interpreted inputs from the stick and took all of the necessary actions. Even so, Starship jabbed his feet against the deck, working an imaginary rudder to fine-tune the approach. He could have been an old-time Skyraider driver, jockeying his A-1A into the sweet spot as he looked for his enemy.

As good as the Skyraider was, it could never have turned as quickly back to the left as he did when he finally saw his targets hiding near a rock formation. He let off a pair of long bursts, then rocketed upward, getting out of the way for
Hawk Two
. As soon as the nose of the aircraft tilted up, Starship changed seats, so to speak, swapping control of the planes with the computer.

The targeting box was flashing red, but Starship couldn’t
find the soldiers. Finally, he saw something moving at the very left edge of the target reticule. He kissed the stick gently with his fingers, holding his fire even though the computer declared he couldn’t miss.

When he finally did shoot, the nose of his plane was about a half mile from his targets. He walked the bullets left and then right, pulverizing the rocks as well as the men who’d tried to hide in them.

“Hawk leader to
Bennett
. Enemy suppressed, Colonel. You can tell the Osprey it’s safe to land.”

“Roger that, Hawk leader. Good going, Starship.”

Aboard Marine Osprey
Angry Bear One,
northern India, near China
0206

D
ANNY
F
REAH LEAPT FROM THE
O
SPREY AND RAN BEHIND
the Marine pointmen as they raced toward the men the Flighthawk had gunned down a few minutes before.

Twenty millimeter shells did considerable damage to a body, and even battle-hardened Marines didn’t linger as they surveyed the dead.

If they had been farther west, Danny would have thought the mangled bodies belonged to Afghan mujahideen. He had briefly worked as an advisor with mujahideen fighting the Russians a few years before, instructing them at a small camp in northern Pakistan. Some of those same men, he believed, were now sworn enemies of the U.S. They or their brothers had participated in a number of attacks against the U.S. military, including a suicide bombing of the USS
Cole
in the Persian Gulf.

“Looks like they were using sat phones to communicate,” he told Colonel Bastian after the remains had been searched. “I have two of the phones. One of them is pretty shot up, but maybe the CIA can get something off of them.”

“Anything else?”

“Negative,” said Danny. “I’d sure like to know if they’re working with the Chinese.”

“For the moment, we have to assume they are,” said Dog. “Did Dreamland Command give you possible search coordinates?”

“Northeastern quadrant of the lake. We’re on it, Colonel.”

Aboard Dreamland
Bennett,
over Pakistan
0210

“B
IG PACKAGE COMING FOR US
C
OLONEL
,”
WARNED
Sergeant Rager at the airborne radar station. “I have six Su-27 interceptors, Chinese, on their way from the north, 273 miles. Two aircraft, currently unidentified, behind them. Large aircraft,” he added. “Maybe transports, maybe bombers. Can’t tell.”

Dog keyed the Dreamland channel to contact the
Cheli.
Despite its pilot’s optimistic prediction earlier, the Megafortress was still about ten minutes away.

“Dreamland
Bennett
to
Cheli
. Brad, looks like the Chinese want to crash the party.”

“Roger that, Colonel. We’re ready.”

Dog scowled, now a little suspicious of Captain Brad Sparks’s overarching optimism. He told Sparks that he wanted him to take the
Cheli
north and intercept the Sukhoi at long range.

“Shoot them down with your Anacondas,” Dog said. “Use them at long range, in case the Chinese have more passive radiation seekers. The MiG-31s fired at about 140 miles.”

“Roger that, Colonel. You told me. We’re good. Copy everything.”

“Get the lead out, Sparks,” Dog added. “Our people are sitting ducks on the ground there.”

Karachi, Pakistan
0210

G
ENERAL
M
ANSOUR
S
ATTARI PULLED HIMSELF FROM THE
rear of the Mercedes and stepped into the chilly predawn air. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked down the dark path toward a squat cement building in one of Karachi’s poorer districts. Like most of the rest of the country, power had not yet been restored, and the only light came from the dim reflection of the moon, peeking from behind a veil of thin clouds.

The door of the house opened as Sattari approached.

“General, my general, how good to see you,” gushed the tall man who stood on the threshold. “I received word two hours ago—an honor.”

“Thank you, Razi,” said Sattari. “May I come in?”

“Of course, of course. My manners.”

Razi was the size of a bear, and awkward in his movements; he pushed back and knocked into a small table as he made way for his guest. Two chairs were set up in the front room, with an unlit candle between them; Razi gestured for Sattari to sit, then bent to light the candle. The light made small headway against the room’s dimness.

“How are you, General? I was sorry to hear about your son.”

“Yes.”

“I am assured that the burial was prompt and proper,” said Razi, reaching to the floor and picking up a large manila envelope. “The location is on a map. The people who discovered the body were devout Shiites.”

Sattari nodded. He opened the envelope and looked inside. He could see that there were two photographs, intended to seal the identification. He hesitated, then pulled them out, determined to confront the bitter reality.

His son’s face was bloated from the water, but it was definitely him. Sattari slipped the pictures back inside the envelope.

“I greatly appreciate your service,” the general told Razi. “You have done much for me.”

Razi nodded. Now the second in command of the Iranian spy network in Pakistan, his father had served with Sattari in the days of the shah. Not quite as tall as his father, who had been a true giant, he had inherited his hard gaze.

“And so, what are the Pakistanis up to?” Sattari asked, changing the subject.

“In chaos, as usual. Some want to make peace with the Indians. Some want to continue the war. They are so disorganized. They have not even been able to mobilize to recover the missiles that the Americans disabled.”

“Can they be recovered?”

“The Americans are already hard at it. That is what we have heard, anyway. There is no reason to doubt it—the Americans are everywhere.”

“Yes,” said Sattari.

“The Chinese are doing the same thing, we believe,” said Razi. “They are very, very busy. They have made an alliance with the bearded one, the Saudi. An alliance with the devil.”

Sattari had nothing but disdain for the Saudi, a Sunni fanatic who had built a terror network by giving money to every psychotic madman in the Middle East. The Saudi hated Shiites, and hated Iran.

Still, there was a saying: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

“What is the Saudi doing?”

“He has offered money for the recovery of a weapon, that much we know. And, from the two camps he had in the Baulchistan, some followers were sent north. They must be looking for it. Perhaps the Chinese helped him. Rumors…” Razi was silent for a moment. “The Pakistani army actually tried to stop them, but after a gun battle they slipped away.”

“The Chinese are helping him?”

“It is not clear,” said Razi. “One of my people works at the Chinese consulate, the headquarters for the Chinese spy operations. There was a meeting a day ago, with a representative of
the Saudi. After that, more activity. Their cryptologists were so busy they could not go home. The consulate is one of the few places in the city with its own power and satellite dishes,” he added. “Even the local government has asked to use them.”

“Do they know where the missiles came to earth?”

“The Pakistanis do not. The radars tracking them were wiped out by the American weapons.”

“The Chinese must,” said Sattari. “That is why the Saudi is working with them.”

“Or perhaps they just want his money.”

Sattari leaned back in his chair, thinking. Here was his opportunity after all.

Perhaps.

“I would like to go to Islamabad,” he said, making up his mind. “Is this possible?”

“Anything is possible, General.”

“Are there men there who can be counted on?”

“Yes.” Razi looked up, and their eyes met. “There is one thing, though.”

“What is that?”

“The oil minister was found dead in a mosque complex yesterday.”

“The Pakistani oil minister?” said Sattari, feigning ignorance.

“Our minister. Jaamsheed Pevars.”

“I had not heard that.”

The two men’s eyes were locked.

“My superior was a friend of Pevars,” said Razi.

“No one is closer to the oil minister than I,” said Sattari. “Are you sure that he is dead? I saw him myself just a few days ago.”

“Very sure. His murderer should be brought to justice.”

“As quickly as possible.”

Razi grinned faintly, then rose. “For myself, I did not like Pevars. Too corrupt. Come, let me give you the name of a man who might help you in Islamabad. You should leave immediately.”

An atoll off the Indian coast
Time and date unknown

T
HEY MOVED TOGETHER IN A DANCE
,
THEIR BODIES SO CLOSE
together they seemed to be welded, his leg between hers, her back nestled against his stomach. They rolled on the bed in a timeless trance, restless but peaceful in sleep, so used to the other’s movements that even their breaths were in sync.

Then something gripped him and he began sliding away, pulled back by a force greater than gravity, yet slower, more painful. He tried to cling to her but could not, found himself twisting in hot wind. An intense heat enveloped his head. His throat became parched, then burned. He was alone and felt empty, thirsty, for water and for her.

Alone.

Zen pushed himself away, rising on his chest in the darkness before twilight. He was sure that Breanna was gone.

But she wasn’t. He heard her breathing before he saw her, saw her before he felt her. He let himself slip back against her, trying to reassure himself that what he had felt was just a misshapen remnant of a bad dream induced by thirst and nothing else.

He was very thirsty but they had to conserve their water.

Perhaps this was what had caused his nightmare.

Thirst.

Zen wrapped his arm gently around his wife, cupping her breast. He tried to remember the first time he’d done that, concentrating not on the day or the time but the sensation, the way it had felt the first time to be in love. That was what he wanted to remember. He slid closer to Breanna, pressing his body on hers, huddling against the pain until the faint memory of falling in love lulled him to sleep.

Northern India,
near the Chinese border
0220

T
HE WATER WAS AS CLEAR AS A POOL
. L
IU MOVED HIS WRIST
light around, playing it in front of him as he slid downward. The large rocks at the bottom were smooth and shiny white, as if they’d been polished.

A piece of jagged metal lay on the floor of the lake to his left. He paddled to it slowly, still getting his bearings. The water wasn’t quite as cold as he’d thought it would be, but it was far from warm. The scuba gear stored on the Osprey was standard Navy gear, without the heating circuits that were part of the Dreamland equipment.

The metal twisted into a C, the curved end pointing toward a shallow ravine twenty feet away. Liu swam toward it, guided by the light from Captain Freah’s wrist as well as his own. The captain pushed ahead of him, then moved to his right. As Liu began to follow, a shadow emerged from the rocky bottom.

The baby. Not breathing.

It wasn’t the baby. Liu knew it wasn’t, but he had a hard time clearing the notion from his mind. He forced himself to look away, but the idea persisted, as if the ghost had managed to get inside his skull.

Danny Freah was waving at him. He’d found the warhead.

Liu pushed up to the surface, grateful to get away.

“Here!” he yelled to the others. “Here!”

J
ENNIFER WATCHED FROM THE SHORELINE AS THE
O
SPREY
settled over the spot where Liu and Danny had surfaced. A metal chain and strap dangled from its belly; the strap would be connected to a hastily rigged harness that Danny and the sergeant had put on the warhead.

The noise from the Osprey was so loud that Jennifer almost didn’t hear Danny’s smart helmet beeping with an in
coming communication. She put the helmet on, cleared the transmission, and found herself talking to Dog.

He stared at her for a moment, clearly taken off guard. Jennifer felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him—but of course she couldn’t.

“There’s a fresh wave of Chinese fighters on their way,” said Dog. “Two other aircraft as well. May be transports with paratroops; they’re a little too far away right now. What’s your situation?”