Touch of Darkness (17 page)

But if he left the office tonight, he might miss the call from Duscha.

Worse, he might see Uncle Ivan.

"I'm waiting for a call. Can't you see I'm waiting for a call?" he snapped.

"Yeah. Sure. Wait for your call." The boy shut the door with a slam.

While Boris stared at the phone.

Chapter 16

Rurik sat in the aisle row, staring at the door that stood between him and the pilot, and tried to penetrate the barrier with his mind, to figure out whether the pilot was sober, how many years of flying he had, whether he could change into a bird and soar on the wind currents. . . .

Tasya caught his hand. "You okay?"

He rolled his head toward her. "I'm fine." "You didn't sleep a bit last night, did you?" She squeezed his fingers. "Why don't you take a nap?"

"I can't sleep until we're off the ground."

"Yeah, right." She wore this crooked smile. "You're about to drop off right now."

"No. Really. I ... I'm afraid to fly." Okay, the biggest lie he'd ever told, but that girl on the plane
from the States had believed it. Why shouldn't Tasya?

Because she knew he'd been a pilot. "Oh, just shut your eyes."

But with his eyes closed, he could listen to the sound of the plane as it joined the queue, analyze the sound of the engine, the noise the wing flaps made as they prepared for takeoff—

In the air over Afghanistan

Five years ago

The XF-155 Blackshadow sliced the pale blue sky, leaving a white vapor trail. Below, at the edge of the Afghan plain, the earth buckled, rising abruptly from the flat brown plain into the soaring mountain heights. For four thousand years, the plain, and the mountains, and the heat and the cold and the drought and the enemy that slipped unseen into the caves and through the passes made Afghanistan a bitch of a country in which to make war.

But that wasn't news. The U.S. Air Force had never bothered to station Captain Rurik "Hawk" Wilder anywhere but in the piss holes of the world.

And he went, gladly, for the chance to fly airplanes like these
—
jets the Air Force didn't talk about, airplanes that didn't yet officially exist, airplanes that flew under the radar, both literally and figuratively, without raising so much as a ripple.

From the copilot's seat behind him, the newbie asked, "Hey, Hawk, what are we looking for?"

"I don't know." Rurik scanned the ground, looking for some
. . . thing.

"We've got no clues at all?"

"I only know the brass are behaving like boys with their dick in a twist."

"Worse than usual?"

"Think about it, Jedi. We're flying a plane so secret, not a hint of her existence has leaked to the press. It's my third time in the pilot's seat, your first time as WISO, and you only got to come because I asked for you. And General Garcia calls from base, gives us coordinates, and says to reconnoiter?" Rurik whistled his contempt. "Please. Until they've run a dozen missions on this baby, they won't be convinced she can stay in the air." Hawk continued to scan the terrain below. "1 asked the general if there was any satellite intel he could pass on to us. You know what he said?" Hawk didn't wait for the reply; he continued. "He said that satellite intel was what caused the mission to be given to us. Their info wasn't conclusive, but it was good enough to cause us to get the nod for an eyeball rece. I'm here to tell you, jedi, there's some very, very serious shit coming down."

"Is that the official U.S. Air Force terminology?" "Yeah—sort of like
FNG."

Jedi laughed.

FNG
loosely translated to "fine new guy," and Matt

"Jedi" Clark was an FNG. He had finished his theater training with his instructor pilot. It was Jedi's ninth operational mission as a Weapons Information Systems Officer
—
WISO
—
in a hostile area with Hawk as the pilot, and the other WISOs thought he had it made. Rurik Wilder was the best pilot in the Air Force. Everyone knew it; everyone knew Jedi had been the lucky one because he had the best potential to take Rurik's place in the food chain.

Jedi was good. Really good. Brave, strong, and true. That's why they called him Jedi. The kid was Luke Sky-walker without the whining.

But Rurik was "the Hawk." At twenty-eight, he had spent a lot of time fending off challengers from his own country's services, as well as more than a few from other nations
—
some friendly and some definitely aggressors. So far, no one had come close to his abilities. None of these boys knew it, but no one ever could.

He glanced up at the rearview mirror on the canopy bow.

On the other hand, Jedi was prettier. He had brown eyes, red hair, a body toned by weight lifting, and that l'm-a-hot-shit swagger so many pilots had perfected.

Rurik grinned.

Girls loved Jedi.

Women
loved Rurik.

Still, Jedi was swift and smart with a knack for flying. He'd go far.

"Give me a view of the mountains," Jedi called.

Rurik dipped the left wing.

Below them, the plain shimmered in the summer heat, and Rurik didn't see a damned thing of interest. What could there be? The terrain was brown and fiat, then brown and sharp, rising rapidly toward the sky and shimmering so hard. . . . What the hell was happening down there?

"Earthquake." Jedi's voice rose with excitement. "Earthquake!"

Boulders tumbled down the mountain slope. The air shook as hard as the ground. And right there in the fold of the mountain, Rurik saw the ground rip open.

No, not the ground.

He pulled up the visor of his helmet and looked again.

There was
material
ripping open
—camouflage
material. The
something
they were looking for was down there, a something exposed by a trick of nature.

This was what the brass had sent him out to see. An enemy installation of some kind . . .

"Son of a bitch," Rurik whispered.

"What is it, Hawk?"

"What do you think it is?" Rurik thought he knew. He also knew he had to be absolutely sure.

"I think it's . . . 1 think it's some kind of military camp or . . ." Jedi sounded strained. "It needs to stop shaking, and I need to be closer. Can you get us closer?"

"Can't. We don't want them to get a good look at this baby." The plane, he meant, the Air Force's new toy. Be-

sides, Rurik had another option. He only hoped the FNG could hang on to his training under pressure. "I'm in front. I've got a view.
You
take the controls."

"You want me to take the controls? Of the
Black-shadow?"

"Now."

"Got it." jedi sounded steady as a rock as Hawk felt him wiggle the control stick.

Good kid. Because Rurik knew even while he was flying, Jedi must be planning the whole scene
—
the bar, the pilots, the announcement that the Hawk had let him fly the new plane. . . .

"Concentrate on flying. Keep her straight, keep her steady."

"Okay, Hawk. I've got it."

Still Rurik waited, watching Jedi in the rearview mirror.

The kid really did have it. He was as good as he thought he was.

Rurik took a long breath. For the merest second, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

Deep inside, he felt it. The shift, the rush of exhilaration . . . the sense of
superiority.

It iiad been so long since he'd allowed himself to change, and he'd forgotten . . . forgotten about that silent, sibilant whisper in his brain, telling him
he
held the power. He could take a woman. He could help a child. He could crush a man.

He was a god.

Then, like a slap, a deeper, sterner voice superimposed itself in his mind.

Not a god. A demon.

Opening his eyes, he glanced again at Jedi.

The kid had his head in the cockpit watching the gauges.

So Rurik focused on the camp so far below. Closer and closer, picking out details he could never have seen with his normal sight.

Trucks. Men.

Shit.

Taking another long breath, he sharpened his vision again.

A nuclear installation. Enough warheads
—How many? Count them.
Enough to vaporize the Americans
and
the Pakistanis, and, from here, the whole Indian subcontinent. . . . Rage rose in him. Those stupid, petty little tyrants. They could kill
everyone.

Again, the small sibilant voice whispered in his mind.

He had the power to finish them
right now.
. . . He wanted to finish them
right now. . . .

He heard a strangled noise from behind him, and that, even more than the memory of his father's deep, stern voice, dragged him back from the brink.

Right. He had a job to do. Absolute power over life and death would have to wait.

"Don't panic, Jedi. We caught them in time." He reached for the radio transmit button
—
and snapped to attention when he heard the click of the safety on Jedi's pistol.

Glancing up into the mirror, he observed his own eyes
—
the red flash deep inside the long pupils, the sense of the Other.

He met the kid's gaze.

Jedi's eyes were human, so human, and fierce, angry . . . afraid.

Jedi was first an Air Force pilot, then a WISO, exceptionally well trained to deal with every circumstance the military could imagine.

The military just hadn't ever imagined anything like this.

Jedi pointed his pistol at Rurik. "Put your hands on the canopy bow where I can see them."

Rurik made his voice soothing, endeavoring to take command of an untenable situation. "Jedi... Jedi, fly the plane."

"I am. And do what I told you."

Slowly, Rurik did as instructed; he put his hands on the canopy bow while keeping his gaze steady on Jedi in the mirror.

Jedi's cheeks turned a blotchy cherry.

Trouble was, the kid didn't have enough experience to hold a gun on Rurik, keep complete control of the Blackshadow . . . and handle his fear. A fear that was rapidly turning to anger.

Furiously, the kid asked, "What makes your eyes like that? What are you on?"

Damn it. Rurik had told Jedi to concentrate on flying the plane. Hell of a time for him to not follow orders. "On?"

"No wonder you're such a hoi shit. You're on some kind of—" Jedi pressed the mike button.

Puffy
—
Major Jerry Jacobs—answered the call, and that more than anything told Rurik how seriously they took this flight and his observations. Puffy had security clearances so high that the fact that he had them was classified. "Go ahead, Blackshadow."

"Captain Wilder is on drugs," Jedi blurted.

Son of a bitch. They were in trouble now.

"Newbie, do you know what you're saying?" Major Jacobs sounded wholly offended.

"He's on some kind of designer drug. His eyes flared red. Like he was the
—"
Jedi stopped. Swallowed. "Red like a fire. Then his pupils changed size. It was a pronounced change."

Jacobs's voice slid into a low, controlled burn. "Do you realize hozv serious this accusation is?"

"1 saw it clearly, sir." Jedi was righteous
—
and terrified. He knew the severity of his accusations and actions, but more than that
—
Rurik scared him pissless. "I have the controls."

Because it wasn't drugs. Somewhere in his mind, Jedi knew it. He knew he'd seen a small part of Rurik shape-shift from a man . . . into a hawk.