Retribution (39 page)

Aboard Dreamland Quickmover
0730

“Z
EN
S
TOCKARD TO RESCUE OPERATION
. C
OME IN,” SAID
Z
EN.

Dog immediately hit his transmit button.

“Zen, we need radio silence. Complete radio silence. We will get you.
We will get you.
We don’t need a broadcast.”

Dog leaned over the radio console, hoping that Zen’s brief transmission—and his own—would go unnoticed by the Indian destroyer.

But it was a vain hope.

“Destroyer is changing course, Colonel,” said the copilot, who’d been monitoring it. “Going back in the original direction.”

“I’ll notify the
Abner Read
,” said Dog grimly.

An atoll off the Indian coast
0731

“W
HAT’S WRONG,
Z
EN?”

Zen put down the radio without answering. He shaded his eyes and stared at the ship on the horizon.

“Jeff?”

“I think the Indians are looking for us too,” he told Breanna. “And I gather that we don’t want them to find us.”

Breanna struggled to get up, pushing as much of her weight as she could onto her left leg. But her head swam and the pain in her side seemed to explode. She collapsed to the ground.

Zen was over her when she opened her eyes.

“Hey, are you OK?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was just getting up.”

“Who asked you?”

“Well, I’m not going to stay on the ground the rest of my life. And I’m not going to stay on this island either.”

He smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re beautiful.”

“If I look half as bad as you, I look like a zombie.”

“Oh, you look worse than that.”

Zen looked up at the Werewolf, which was doing a slow turn about a half mile off shore.

“You really think you could move?” he asked her.

“I
can
move, Jeff. It hurts, but I can move. I don’t know if I can stand, though.”

“You’re a gimp like me, huh?”

“You’re not a gimp.”

“I have an idea. Maybe we can meet the
Abner Read
.”

“I don’t think I can swim.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Aboard the Abner Read,
Indian Ocean
0735

“T
HE
R
ANA FIGURED IT OUT,” SAID
E
YES.
“T
HEY’RE BACK ON
their original course.”

“How long before they’re in range of the Harpoon?”

“Ten minutes, tops.”

“All right. Stand by.”

“Storm—there is the possibility that they’ll shell the atoll if we open fire,” said Eyes. “There’s not much shelter there.”

“Noted.”

Eyes was right, of course, but what other options did he have? He certainly wasn’t going to let the Indian pick up his people right under his nose.

A full volley of Harpoons would sink the bastard before he had a chance to react.

No, they’d have a launch warning. It would take the Harpoons roughly three minutes to get there; by then the atoll would be obliterated.

“Storm, listen in to the emergency channel,” said Eyes over the intercom radio. “Major Stockard is up to something.”

Storm looked down at his belt to get the proper combination of buttons that would allow his com unit to listen in. The broadcast came in, weak and breaking up.

“Hey, Werewolf. We’re looking for some navigational guidance,” said a tired voice. “Wag your tail if you understand what I’m talking about.”

“Eyes, have the Werewolf pilot zoom his video on the beach,” said Storm.

“I think he’s getting into a canoe,” said Eyes.

“I’m going to automated beacon,” said Zen. “So you can home in on me.”

Clever, thought Storm.

“Have the Werewolf lead them south,” he told Eyes. “Get the Harpoons ready—he’s leaving the radio on so the destroyer thinks he’s still on the island. Move, let’s go people!” shouted Storm. “Let’s show these Air Force people what we’re made of.”

An atoll off the Indian coast
0745

“N
OW THEY’RE GETTING IT,” SAID
Z
EN AS THE
W
EREWOLF
ducked to the left. “Come on, Bart Simpson. Help me paddle.”

Zen pushed the boy’s small canoe through the shallow water, avoiding the rocks. Breanna was inside the boat, leaning over the side and paddling with her hands.

“Yeah, come on, guys,” said Zen as the current pushed up against the boat. “We have to go south. Stroke! Come on, Bart Simpson, follow that helicopter.”

B
REANNA COULDN’T SEE MUCH FROM WHERE SHE WAS, BUT
she could hear the helicopter. She had no more strength to paddle, and let her arm drag in the water.

Everything hurt so badly. She closed her eyes and remembered the night she’d seen Zen after the accident, the longest night of her life. She’d become a different person that night, though of course at the moment she hadn’t understood.

Who had she become? Someone wiser, more patient.

Not wiser, but definitely more patient.

She’d laughed a lot less since then. Much, much less.

That was a mistake. That was something she had to correct. She should be happy. They had so much.

“OK, baby, time to go.”

Disoriented, Breanna expected to see Zen in his wheelchair hovering over her when she opened her eyes. But she wasn’t at home, she wasn’t in bed—two men in wet suits were picking her up, helping her into a rigid inflatable. The
Werewolf was hovering somewhere behind her, and the black shadow of the
Abner Read
loomed about a half mile off.

“What?” Breanna muttered. “Where are we?”

“We’re with the USS
Abner Read
, ma’am,” said one of the sailors. “You just relax now and enjoy the ride. We all are goin’ to take you home.”

Aboard the USS Poughkeepsie,
Arabian Ocean
0800

W
ITH THE LAST OF THE NUCLEAR WARHEADS STOWED
aboard the ship, Danny Freah asked the
Poughkeepsie
’s captain if he could find him a relatively quiet place for a private communication. Quiet turned out to be a precious commodity aboard the ship, harder to find than water in the desert. The communications shack sounded like a tollbooth at rush hour, and Danny couldn’t find a spot below that wasn’t overflowing with sailors and Marines, or sounded as if it were. He finally went onto the deck, and standing near the railing just below the bridge, put his visor down and contacted Dog.

“Bastian.”

“Colonel, it’s Danny Freah.”

“Yes, Danny. Go ahead.”

A small legend in the view screen indicated that no video was available. Danny knew that Dog was aboard
Quickmover
and guessed that the colonel had chosen to communicate with voice only—probably because he knew he looked tired.

Somehow that made it harder. Danny wasn’t sure why.

“Jennifer’s aboard the
Lincoln
,” Danny said. “They’re thinking they’re going to have to operate on her knee. It’s pretty bad.”

“But she’s OK,” said Dog.

“Yeah. She might have a concussion. Bullet splinter hit her helmet, knocked her out. That and the shock scrambled her head a bit. But she’s OK.”

“What about the mission?”

That was Dog, thought Danny—stone-faced and proper, insisting the focus be on duty and the job that had to be done, not personal emotion.

Even if he had to be breaking inside. First Bree, now Jennifer. But at least Jen was alive.

“We’ve brought the warheads back to the
Poughkeepsie
,” Danny told him. “Base Camp One has been evacuated. We have no further information on the last warhead; it just wasn’t there.”

“I understand.”

“The prisoner we took insists they didn’t recover the warhead before we got there. Maybe the Pakistanis were there yesterday or the day before.”

“It’s possible. Dreamland Command is already working on some theories with the CIA,” said Dog. “It’s all right. You did a hell of a job. A hell of a job. Where’s Sergeant Liu and the others?”

“They’re getting some rest.”

“We have to arrange for them to go back to Dreamland,” Dog told him. “General Samson wants to talk to them personally, before anyone else.”

“Samson?”

Dog explained that Samson had taken over as the new commander of Dreamland.

“Admiral Woods directed that they be taken over to the
Lincoln
.”

“Samson wants them himself.”

“It was an accident, Colonel.”

“I know that. Samson does too.”

“OK.”

Neither man spoke for a moment.

“We’ve found Zen and Breanna,” said Dog finally.

“You found them!” Danny practically yelled.

Colonel Bastian’s voice remained drained as he told Danny what had happened—once more the calm, understated commander.

“Jesus, that’s great, Colonel. That is damn great. Damn great.”

“It is,” said Dog.

For a moment Danny thought his commander’s voice was going to break. But it didn’t.

“All right,” said Dog, preparing to sign off.

“Colonel, there’s something else,” said Danny.

He told the colonel about seeing the airplane wreckage as the Osprey headed out to sea. The plane, he said, had almost certainly been a civilian aircraft.

“The Osprey pilot had the
Lincoln
call in a location with the Indian authorities. It was a pretty severe crash; I doubt there were any survivors.”

“I see.”

“The Navy people are investigating. It’s possible one of the Tomcats fired at it, but they think the Indians accidentally shot it down.”

He gave Dog the approximate location.

“Things were pretty heavy up there,” Danny added. “All sorts of stuff was in the air.”

“Thanks for the information,” said Dog. “We’ll make arrangements to get you to Diego Garcia as soon as possible. Bastian out.”

Diego Garcia
1502

D
OG ROCKED HIS SHOULDERS BACK AND FORTH AS HE
walked down the ladder from the MC-17, fatigue riding heavy on each one. He’d managed to talk to one of the doctors on the
Lincoln
and found out that Jennifer was all right; the doctors believed she’d keep her lower leg, though her knee would have to be reconstructed.

Maybe now he’d be able to keep up with her when they went jogging, he thought.

Breanna and Zen were aboard the
Abner Read
, very dehydrated. Breanna had a broken leg, badly bruised ribs, and a concussion—but she was alive, damn it, alive, and that was more than he’d hoped for, much more.

“There you are, Bastian! It’s about time.”

A large black man stepped from the passenger side of a black Jimmy SUV. It was General Samson.

“General, what brings you out to Diego Garcia?”

“I’m taking charge of this operation personally, Bastian. You’re headed home.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Dog, struggling to keep his anger in check. “Because we’re done. All of the warheads, save one, were recovered. My people have been picked up.”

Clearly flustered, Samson shook his head.

“I’m going to turn in,” said Dog. “I don’t need a lift. Thanks.”

“Listen to me, Bastian. I know you think you’re untouchable, but that’s about to change. Your men created an international incident—”

“Which men?” demanded Dog, facing the general. “What incident?”

The general and the colonel stood facing each other on the concrete, both with their hands on their hips. Samson was several inches taller than Dog, and wider. More important, he outranked the lieutenant colonel by a country mile. But they were evenly matched where it counted—in their anger and distaste for each other.

“Your Whiplash people, on the ground, shooting up that house. The UN got ahold of that. I’ve just been on the phone with our ambassador.”

“Those people were trying to deliver a baby and save the mother’s life,” Dog said. “You know that.”

“Whether I know it or not isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Dog turned and started away, but his anger got the better of him. He pitched around. “You have a lot to learn if you think any man or woman who works for
me, who works for Dreamland, anybody in this command, would kill innocent people deliberately. That’s just total bullshit. And if you’re going to lead these people, you better stand up for them, loud and clear, right now. Loud and clear.”

“Go to bed, Bastian.” Samson jabbed his finger in Dog’s direction. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

S
TARSHIP RAN HIS FINGERS ACROSS THE TOP OF HIS SKULL.
His hair, normally cut tight to his scalp, was nearly two inches high. It felt like a thick brush.

“So what do you think, Starship,” asked Sullivan, the copilot of the
Bennett
, “are you with us or against us?”

“I don’t know how far you can really push this,” said Starship.

“Man, Englehardt almost got us killed. All of us. Including you. You were in the belly of the plane, you know. Not out there with the Flighthawks.”

Starship looked across the cafeteria table at Rager and Daly, the other members of the
Bennett
crew. He didn’t know them very well, nor did he really know Sullivan, except to occasionally shoot pool with on a night off.

“I mean, basically, you guys want to call the guy a coward,” Starship told them finally. “I don’t know. I’m not saying he made all the right decisions, but who does? And we had orders—”

“First order is not to get shot down,” said Sullivan. “He ran away from every battle, he didn’t want to use his weapons—”

“He used them,” said Starship. “Listen, you guys haven’t been in combat before. I’ll tell you, you just don’t know how some people are going to react. Bottom line is, he got us home. Flying that plane on two engines—”

“I had something to do with that,” said Sullivan.

“So you do agree, he wasn’t aggressive enough,” said Rager.

Starship shrugged. It was a tough call. There was no doubt Englehardt’s decisions could be questioned, but he’d been in
a no-win situation. Starship knew from his own experience how hard it was to make the right call all the time, and how easy it was to be second-or even third-guessed.