Текст книги "Strike Zone"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“No slides, Jed,” said Martindale, who put more stock in honest opinions than zippy pie charts. “Tell us why this is important.”

“Well, um—” started Jed.

“If the Chinese have robot aircraft as capable as the Flighthawks,” said Admiral George Balboa, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “they could conceivably use them to achieve first-strike capability in a war against Taiwan and even us. The UAVs are very difficult to detect unless you’re looking for them, and even then they can be close enough to initiate an attack before the defenses are alerted.”

Ordinarily, Jed might have bristled at Balboa’s taking over his presentation. But now he was grateful. In any event, the admiral was merely stating one of Jed’s own arguments.

“Yes,” said Jed. He didn’t stutter, a major victory.

Maybe he’d get through this after all. Why was he so unnerved? His boss would be back in a few days.

“The problem with this plan,” said Balboa, “is that it doesn’t go far enough. We need the Navy involved—if there is a UAV we have to take it out. Right away.”

“That m-m-might be premature,” said Jed.

“Nonsense.”

“Provoking the Chinese at this point is risky business,” said the secretary of state. “The meeting with the Taiwanese is set for two weeks from now. The rapprochement should take priority.”

“Why?” said Balboa bluntly. “Why is it in our interests?”

Page 38

Hartman’s face turned beet red. “Peace is always in our interest.”

“It depends on what the terms are,” said Chastain.

If Freeman were here, Jed thought, he would be mediating between the blustery Balboa and the more reticent Hartman. He’d also be pointing out that finding the UAV and dealing with it need not interfere with the summit between the two Chinas.

So why didn’t he say that?

He should.

Jed opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“What do you think, Jed?” asked the President.

“I, well—if the operation is run exactly the way Colonel Bastian outlined it, sir, it won’t provoke the Chinese any more than any routine mission would.” Jed took a breath and then pressed his fingers together, one of the tricks he had learned in high school when the stutter first became an issue. If he didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be a problem.

The trick was not to think about it.

“I don’t think that, um, that the secretary of state is proposing that we stop gathering intelligence on the Chinese, or that we leave Asia,” said Jed.

“Of course not,” said the secretary of state.

“So this—if it were, say, wrapped up in routine maneuvers, in an exercise that they would be interested in, or that anyone who might have the ghost clone was interested in, I would think that would work.”

Jed glanced up and saw that Martindale was looking directly at him. He floundered, turning his eyes back down to the floor before continuing.

“The, uh, the ASEAN, the ASEAN exercises are set to begin in two days. My thinking was that the Dr-Dreamland plan might fold into that, or we could use the maneuvers as a cover somehow.”

“The Navy was ordered to take a low profile. We’ve only allocated a frigate.” Balboa cleared his throat, obviously warming to the idea. While as the head of the JCS, Balboa was technically in charge of all the services, rare was the operation he didn’t believe should be spearheaded by the Navy. “We could get some assets there, a carrier, have some patrol craft. Yes. A P-3 in an Elint role, and we have two Vikings that have just been overhauled precisely for this sort of mission.”

“Why don’t we just send the fleet?” said Chastain.

“We could do that,” said Balboa, somehow missing the sarcasm in the defense secretary’s voice.

“Jed?” prompted the President.

“I did some checking and, um, there was originally a request for B-52s in the exercises,” Jed told them.

“So we could grant it and, uh, the Megafortresses could go in their place.”

Page 39

“There is a bit of an issue with the Dreamland people,” said Balboa. “Some folks feel Colonel Bastian and his people are cowboys who need to be reined in.”

“That’s not fair,” snapped Jed.

Balboa turned and stared at him. Jed realized that his dislike of Dreamland, born from a general prejudice against anything connected with the Air Force, had been fanned into a virulent hatred because of the Piranha affair. While the Navy had played an important role in preventing war, the Dreamland people were the ones actually taking the bullets, and for some reason that bugged him.

“I didn’t say it was fair, young man. I’m just saying it’s the view.” Balboa shifted in his seat, turning back toward the President. “We still haven’t reached a decision on where the command should be located.

Technically, Colonel Bastian doesn’t answer to anyone at the moment. Except, of course, to the commander-in-chief.”

“I haven’t reached a decision,” said the President.

He smiled, as if apologizing for telling a fib. Jed knew that the ambiguous situation served Martindale very well and was therefore likely to continue indefinitely. Under the present arrangement, Dreamland’s Whiplash special operations team, its cutting-edge aircraft, and all its whiz-bang weapons answered directly to the President, with only one NSC staffer in between—Jed. All military personnel ultimately answered to the President as commander-in-chief, of course, but the chain of command could be torturous. As things presently stood, Martindale could use the Dreamland people as his own attack squadron, sending them to hot spots around the globe with a direct phone call.

“This plan calls for them to be based in the Philippines again,” said Hartman, changing the subject. “The government there is still upset over the handling of the guerrillas we encountered. We need an alternative base.”

“The, uh, uh—” Jed wanted to protest about the alleged guerrillas, who had turned out to be simply displaced villagers, but his tongue tripped and he couldn’t get it out. The Dreamland people had insisted on protecting them until their identities could be proven; they were catching grief for doing the right thing.

“All right,” said the President. “Where else? Taiwan?”

“Not Taiwan,” said Hartman. “Far too provocative. What about Brunei?”

“Brunei?” asked Chastain.

“The sultan is looking for signs of friendship and pushing for access to more weapons,” said the secretary of state. “This might be a good gesture.”

Jed started to object. “It’s f-far from—”

“It is far from China,” said the President. “But according to the CIA, China may not be the country operating the clone at all. Besides, I’d like to show our friend the sultan that we value his alliance.”

The President’s tone suggested that the meeting had come to an end. He glanced around the room, then looked back at Jed.

Page 40

“Jed, set this up. I want Dreamland deployed as part of the ASEAN exercises—give it a cloak of respectability.”

“Yes, sir,” said Barclay

“We’ll supply a liaison,” said the secretary of state. “There are important protocols. The sultan has to be handled with a certain amount of—”

The secretary stopped, glancing at Balboa. Jed realized that he was going to say “tact,” then realized that might imply that Colonel Bastian had none.

Obviously, he didn’t want to give Balboa the satisfaction.

“Protocol,” he said instead.

“Fine,” said the President, rising to end the meeting.

Dreamland Personnel Building Two

1805

DOG DECIDED TOswing around to Jennifer’s apartment on his way back to Taj. He hadn’t seen much of her since getting back from Hawaii, and felt guilty about it; while he’d been in Honolulu he’d learned that his ex-wife was planning on moving to Las Vegas. He knew he had to tell Jennifer about it, let her know that however awkward it might be, it was only that—awkward. Dog didn’t hate his ex-wife.

The truth was he had never really hated her, even when she asked for a divorce. Whether he’d ever loved her or not—well, that was a question best contemplated over a very long set of drinks.

He did love Jennifer. He was sure of that.

Dog jogged down the short set of steps to the hallway leading to the apartments, which spread out right and left. As he started down the hallway, he saw two members of his Whiplash team standing guard in front of Jennifer’s door, Sergeant Liu and Sergeant Bison.

“What’s the story here?” the colonel asked.

“We’re under orders not to let anyone in or out,” said Liu.

“Whose orders?” asked Dog.

“Colonel Cortend,” said Liu.

“Since when do you take orders from Cortend?” Dog asked him.

“Sir, Captain Freah told us to stand guard here. The colonel—Colonel Cortend is sending over a detail to inspect the quarters, and it’s to be secured until then.”

“What?” said Dog. “What the hell is going on here, Sergeant?”

“Sir, Captain Freah didn’t explain.”

The sergeant wasn’t being disrespectful, but it was clear from his demeanor that he wasn’t going to yield.

Page 41

“Is Ms. Gleason inside?” Dog asked.

“No, sir.”

Dog controlled his anger—though just barely. “Do you know where she is?”

“No, sir.”

“Carry on, Sergeant,” he said, turning on his heel. He walked back to the entrance of the building, resisting the temptation—again just barely—to grab a radio from one of the security detail and radio Freah. He walked outside and started toward Taj when he saw two black SUVs approaching with their blue lights flashing. Danny was in the lead truck—sitting behind Cortend.

“Captain Freah,” said Dog as the door to the truck opened. “A word.”

Dog took two steps away from the walk and turned.

“Why are Jennifer’s quarters under guard?” asked Dog.

“She, uh, the investigation turned up some questions.” Danny spoke as if he’d just been to the dentist to have a pair of wisdom teeth pulled—and needed to go back the next day to have the other set removed.

“Apparently, there were some conferences arranged by the Department of Energy that Jennifer neglected to fill out the proper forms on.”

“What?”

“I looked through the records myself.”

“That’s what this inquisition is about? Paperwork?”

“Technically, it’s a violation. At least. I have to check into it—”

“Do so,” snapped Dog, turning angrily toward the building.

Danny grabbed his arm.

“What the hell, Captain?”

“Colonel, we go back a bit, and I have a lot of respect for you. Tremendous respect, sir.”

Dog looked down at Danny’s hand, which was still grasped around his shirt.

“You can’t interfere,” said Danny. “You can’t—you can’t do anything that will look like favoritism.”

Dog continued to stare at his captain’s hand.

“You can’t interfere, Colonel. I’m talking to you man to man. Right now—if there’s a security break.”

“There wasn’t.”

Page 42

“That’s really not for you to say at this point. Don’t you see?” Danny finally let go. “You can’t interfere, especially where Jennifer is concerned. You’re only going to make it seem as if there’s something to hide.

It’ll be worse for her.”

“Worse than what?”

“Just worse.”

“Where is she?”

“Being interviewed.”

Part of him knew Danny was right. He couldn’t interfere—and hell, he didn’t want to. There was no need to. Contact violations—well, they couldn’t be ignored, certainly not. But undoubtedly there would be a good explanation. Jennifer was not a traitor.

No way.

“You asked me to investigate,” said Danny. “I am.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s Cortend,” said Dog.

“Colonel, with respect, sir—a remark like that really could be misinterpreted, especially by someone who was looking to misinterpret it.”

“I hate that tone of voice, Captain. I hate it.”

Danny stared at him. Dog couldn’t think of anything else to say. Danny was right; he had to consider how things looked—not because it might be bad for him, but because it might be bad for Dreamland.

The last scandal here had nearly closed the place down.

And what would have happened to America if that had happened?

“All right, Danny. I wasn’t going to interfere with the investigation,” said Dog finally.

“I know you weren’t.”

A black Jimmy with a blue flashing light charged across the base, kicking up twin tornadoes of dust behind it. Dog and Danny turned and watched it approach.

“Got to be Ax,” said Danny.

“Yeah,” said Dog, folding his arms. Sure enough, Chief Master Sergeant Gibbs rolled down the window as the SUV slammed to a stop a few feet away.

“Colonel, Jed Barclay on the scrambled phone for ya,” said the chief, hanging out the window. “Real important.”

Dreamland Visiting VIP Office Two

1820

Page 43

JENNIFER LEANED BACKagainst the chair, waiting while the captain questioning her sorted through his notes.

Her head felt as if it had begun to tilt sideways. She hadn’t eaten dinner, and lunch had been half of a chicken sandwich. Except for two trips to the restroom—escorted, though at least the security people had the decency to stay outside—she’d been in the room for nearly six hours. At least she wasn’t hooked up to the lie detector anymore.

She felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. Cortend was the Queen, yelling,

“Off with her head, off with her head.”

Jennifer rubbed her arms, trying to get some circulation going. She needed to stretch—she needed to run, just get the hell out of this rabbit hole, where everything she said was turned upside down.

“You could make things easier,” said the captain.

“Excuse me?”

“Cooperate.”

“I am cooperating,” Jennifer told him.

“Why would you help the Chinese?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t get mad. I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re not.” Jennifer sat up straight in her seat. “You think I’m a traitor, don’t you?”

The captain didn’t answer at first. “I think you might need help,” he said finally.

“Oh, so you’re going to be my friend, right?”

He made a show of sighing, as if she were the one being unreasonable.

“I’m not a traitor,” she said.

The word sounded so odd, so foreign, that Jennifer had to say it again.

“I am not a traitor.”

Until that point, tired and hungry, she’d been sustained mostly by anger. But now that foundation too slipped away. Jennifer Gleason had proven herself several times under fire, but this was something more fierce, more deadly. She’d never felt brave before—she’d just done what she had to do. It was easy almost, because she knew she could do it. She knew who she was—Jennifer Gleason, Dreamland scientist. And everyone at the base, everyone knew who she was. They trusted her, they liked her, and, in one case at least, loved her.

But the look in this man’s eyes told her that trust was gone. She felt her whole idenity slipping through a crack in her ribs.

Page 44

Jennifer Gleason: traitor.

She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. But she worried that no matter what she did, she’d never convince anyone else of that again.

Not her friends. Not even Dog.

“So, when you were in college,” said the captain, putting his papers down. “Tell me about your friends.”

“My friends?”

“You had friends?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The captain pursed his lips.

“I don’t remember who my friends were,” she said honestly. “At this point, I don’t know if I have any friends at all.”

Dreamland Commander’s Office

1850

“THERE’S A JOINTexercise between Asean assets planned in the South China Sea, covering about a thousand square miles. More a goodwill exercise than actual combat training,” Jed explained. “B-52s were requested. You’ll go instead.”

“All right,” said Dog, listening as Jed filled him in on the arrangements for Brunei. A State Department rep was already en route to help smooth over any protocol matters. It had been suggested than an officer on his staff be appointed to liaison with the government.

“Brunei is not ideal,” Dog told him. “It’s a long way to operate it.”

“Yeah,” said Jed, who obviously agreed. “The President wanted you to locate there. It kind of interfaced with some State Department initiatives.”

“What would those be? Making nice to Brunei?”

Jed gave him an embarrassed laugh.

“All right. If we have to go there, we will,” said Dog.

“Listen, by the way, the Navy’s still kind of pissed at you. There’s a joke going around that an admiral has offered a reward for anyone who accidentally shoots down a Dreamland aircraft. At least I think it’s a joke.”

“Look, Jed, I have a lot going on over here.”

“I’m sorry. The, uh, the President authorized this ASAP, so he wants you there, uh, right away. The exercises actually start tomorrow.”

Page 45

“Tomorrow?”

“Well, the time difference, it’s like fifteen hours and that makes tomorrow today here—”

“We’ll get there,” said Dog, hanging up.

The phone no sooner hit the cradle than Rubeo walked in.

“The entire situation is piffle,” said the scientist between his teeth.

“Which piffle?”

“The Colonel Cortend show. Piffle. It’s a witch hunt. They hate scientists,” continued Rubeo. “I’ve seen this before. They railroaded Oppenheimer on trumped-up charges that he was a communist.” Rubeo snorted. “The man wins the war for them and they cashier him.”

Dog didn’t know the particulars about the Oppenheimer case, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask about them now.

“No one’s getting railroaded,” he said.

Rubeo shook his head, flustered by his anger. The scientist’s emotion had a strangely calming effect on Dog, as if Rubeo had somehow taken charge of being mad.

“You know they’re questioning Jennifer Gleason,” said Rubeo. “Questioning her. Her.”

“I’d heard some scuttlebutt,” said Dog.

“You’re supposed to register when you attend a scientific conference where outside government agents may be. They’ve lost the paperwork, and they’re hanging her for it.”

“They lost the paperwork, or it wasn’t done?”

“What does it matter?”

“It’ll make a difference,” said Dog.

“Then it was lost. Probably on purpose.”

Dog leaned back in his seat. Rubeo showed exactly how right Danny had been—going off half-cocked made the scientist look like a crazoid, and did nothing for Jennifer.

“They questioned her for hours, and took away her clearance,” said Rubeo.

Dog sighed. “I’m sure Captain Freah is just following procedure.”

“Oh please.”

“Did Jennifer answer their questions?”

Page 46

“Of course.”

“Tell me about the conferences.”

Rubeo waved his hand in the air as if brushing away a fly. Then he sighed and began explaining in some detail the two scientific exchanges. One was on artificial intelligence and was rather broad; the other had to do with compression systems used in communications. The latter would have inevitably had applications for encryption and been subject to special scrutiny, though Rubeo thought it was more the fact that Jennifer might have come into contact with Chinese agents or spies that Cortend was focusing on.

“Chinese?” asked Dog.

“She asked specifically about Chinese. There were five hundred people at one of the conferencs—it’d be news if the Chinese weren’t there. It’s all piffle, Colonel. It’s a witch hunt.”

Outside Dreamland Personnel Building Two

1805

MACKSMITH WASheaded toward his base quarters after a game of tennis when he spotted Colonel Cortend heading toward her SUV, trailed by her flock of lackeys. He’d had a good session, demolishing a maintenance officer in straight sets. While Mack had played masterfully, his victory had taken a few minutes too long—he’d just missed inviting the women on the court next to him to dinner.

Their loss, obviously.

Cortend turned in his direction as he approached. Ordinarily he liked his women a little shorter, but she was definitely worth the climb.

“Hello, Colonel,” he said. “How goes the hunt?”

Cortend stopped. Her brown eyes focused on him with all the intensity of a Sidewinder homing in on a hot tailpipe.

“You are?”

“Smith—Mack. Remember? Hey, my friends call me Knife.”

She’d do for dinner.

“You like Vegas?” he asked.

“Las Vegas?”

“City of sin. Listen, I’m just on my way to hit a shower, then I’m going to split for dinner in the capital of sin. Come on with me and I’ll show you around. I know some clubs that’ll blow you away. The food is fantastic. You like to gamble?”

“Mack Smith,” said Cortend. She pronounced each consonant in his name.

“That’s me. Call me Knife. Kind of a nickname.”

Page 47

She turned to one of her captains. “Is he on the list?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In the truck, Smith. We have some questions for you.”

Mack laughed. Cortend didn’t.

“Yeah, well, maybe another time,” he said, shaking his head. But as he took a step toward the building, he found two of the lackeys blocking his way. At the same time, two of the security men got out of one of the SUVs.

“What’s the story here, sugar?” Mack said.

Cortend walked over to Mack. They were about the same height—but suddenly Cortend seemed to tower over him.

“The story, sugar, is that I have some questions for you to answer, and you will answer them now. Got it?”

“But I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re refusing to cooperate on a purely voluntary basis?”

The way she said the words made it clear to Mack that talking with her was about as voluntary as income tax. Still, he wasn’t going to let some good-looking but hard-ass colonel screw up his night off.

“I wanted to take a shower,” he said.

“I doubt it will make you smell any better,” said Cortend, heading back toward her vehicle.

Outside Taipei, Taiwan

7 September

1100 (2000 Dreamland, 6 September)

CHENLOFANNwaited on the bench in the antechamber, soothing his troubled mind by staring at his surroundings. He had spent considerable time here as a boy, racing through his grandfather Chen Lee’s house; under ordinary circumstances, those memories would soothe him.

They failed to now. In fact, the more he stared, the further those days became, faded pages from a discarded book.

Chen Lo Fann had failed in his mission to provoke a war between China and India. The weight of that failure sat heavily on him, blocks of iron pressing him from every direction. Fann might believe in the endless surging of the universe, but it offered little consolation, for he must now face the one man he loved and feared above all others, and admit his failure.

Time passed; he did not note it.

One of Chen Lee’s secretaries stood before him. Without saying anything, Chen Lo Fann rose and Page 48

followed the man through the hallway to the office where Chen Lee waited.

The old man stood gazing out the window. Taipei sat in the distance, a dirty gem in the rough land the old man had helped make prosperous. The old clock in the corner of the office ticked, slowly counting to itself as Chen Lo Fann waited for his grandfather to speak.

“Your mission failed,” said Chen Lee finally.

“Yes, Grandfather,” said Fann.

“History is a terrible force,” said the older man, still looking through the window. “It cares for no individual. It is like the ocean wave in that way. And yet it can be turned.”

Chen Lo Fann gazed at the back of his grandfather’s white head. The old man had given him many lessons here, allowed him to watch and listen. Fann’s education in America was nothing compared to those lessons.

“I have a second plan,” said Chen Lo Fann. “The ASEAN exercises can be disrupted.”

Chen Lee had clearly thought of this already, because he answered without his usual pause to consider.

“Simply disrupting them will not be enough. An attack must be provoked.”

“If the Americans participate,” said Chen Lo Fann, “I will succeed.”

The old man said nothing. Chen Lo Fann realized he had made the same promise in the matter of war between the communists and India.

“If the meeting is not canceled, we shall have to take graver action,” said Chen Lee. “Be prepared.”

He turned back to the window.

“Yes, Grandfather,” said Chen Lo Fann. He bowed, then left the room.

Dreamland Commander’s Office

2050

ZEN ROLLED HIMSELFinside the office, surprised to find that everyone else was already there.

Stoner had started the brief on the mission without him.

Zen banged against an empty chair getting in; no one seemed to notice.

“Major Stockard can give you the hard details,” said Stoner, nodding toward him. “Basically, we get their attention by flying near their territory, and then make like we’re testing a new weapon. The weapon is just a Hellfire missile with an ELF transmitter, but it’s different enough to attract attention. So if the clone is a spy plane, it’ll be worth checking out. You want to take over, Zen?”

“You’re doing fine.”

Stoner ticked off a list of areas to probe, starting with China and then moving to Vietnam—it was possible the Russians were using that country as a base. The ASEAN exercises were taking place about Page 49

two hundred miles to the east of northern Vietnam.

“We’re going to locate in Brunei,” interrupted Colonel Bastian. “I realize it’ll be a haul, but the facilities are first-rate. There’s no doubt about that,” said the colonel.

Dog added by way of explanation that Dreamland would be fulfilling a secondary diplomatic mission by being located in Brunei. It was clear to Zen that Dog didn’t particularly like that part of the assignment, but he soldiered on with it, noting that the kingdom was constructing a new military air base near the international airport in the capital. The facilities would be made available to Dreamland, carte blanche.

The sultan was rolling out the red carpet, a gracious host.

“The State Department is sending a babysitter,” added the colonel. “There’s some protocol crap we have to deal with. It won’t get in your way, I promise.”

The colonel ran down a tentative schedule ondeployment—first thing tomorrow morning.

Really first thing: 0400.

Everyone in the room was used to dealing with rapid deployments, but 0400 was going to be tight, and Zen watched the concern rise on Major Alou’s face. Alou, who would be in charge of the Megafortresses, had to round up full crews for two aircraft, get support people in place, move supplies, fuel.

“Major Alou, problem?” asked Dog.

“What the hell language do they speak in Brunei, anyway?”

Everyone laughed.

“Malay and English,” said Stoner. “You’ll be able to get by very well with English.”

“Zen, problem?” asked Dog, turning to him. “I know you were looking for a deployment next week.”

Zen shrugged. He’d already told two of his best Flighthawk trainee pilots to stand by. Rounding up the maintainers and other technical people would be a pain—but not particularly out of the ordinary. Most of the key people wore pagers when they were off campus, for just such a contingency.

“We can do it,” said Zen. “We just have to hustle.”

“I know it’s impossibly short notice, but those are our orders,” said Dog. “I’m going on the mission myself, and will serve as one of the Megafortress pilots. Major Catsman will stay here and take care of the farm. Questions?”

The colonel paused for his usual quarter of a second before slapping his hand on the desk and rising.

“Let’s do it, then.”

“Colonel, what’s the story with Jennifer Gleason?” asked Major Alou. “Is she under arrest or something?”

“Jennifer?” said Zen, taken by surprise.

Page 50

Dog turned to Danny Freah.

“Jen is being questioned about possible security violations,” said Danny.

“What violations?” asked Zen.

“I can’t get into details,” said Danny. “Look, my advice for everyone is to simply cooperate and answer whatever questions that come up. It’s just an informal inquiry, not an investigation.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Zen. He turned to Dog. “Jennifer? A spy? Shit.”

Dog started to say something, but Danny interrupted. “Colonel Bastian can’t comment on anything in any way that would be considered prejudicial.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Zen.

Dog put up his hand. “All right. Obviously, because of what we do we’re under special scrutiny. All of us, not just Jennifer.”

“I wanted her along to handle the computers and whatnot,” said Zen. Technical staff often accompanied the Dreamland team on missions, even those in combat zones.

“You better find someone else,” said Danny. “At least for a couple of days.”

“Colonel?”

“Is she essential for the deployment?” asked Dog.

“Not essential. But—”

“At this point, I think Danny’s right. Once Colonel Cortend is finished talking to her I’m sure she’ll be fine to come back.”

TWO HOURS LATER,dog finally finished squaring away everything that needed to be squared away before he left with the rest of the team for Brunei. He needed to get sleep—if takeoff time didn’t slip, he’d be briefing his flight in a couple of hours. But more important than sleep, he wanted to talk to Jennifer.

He wanted to call her. In theory, there was no reason not to.

It might not look good, however, not if there had been a real violation of security protocols. As unit commander, he would eventually have to deal with the matter.

He could recuse himself, of course. Probably he had to.

Or just put an end to the whole thing.

No doubt if he did that, Dreamland’s enemies would seize on it as ammunition for something—what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

Page 51

He reached for the phone. No harm in calling her, for cryin’ out loud.

He dialed the lab but then remembered that she had no computer access; Danny had had to cut it off as soon as he learned about the possible security breach, as minor as it was. He paused, trying to remember her apartment number without going to the directory.

When he dialed it, her voice mail answered.

Maybe she was taking this harder than he thought.

Or maybe she was out partying.

Before Dog could leave a message, there was a knock on the door. He looked up and saw Colonel Cortend spreading her frown across the threshhold, trailed by a Dreamland security team and several of her aides. He put down the phone and waved her inside.

“Captain Freah said you’d be here,” said Cortend, sitting in the chair nearest his desk.

“I often am,” said Dog. “I understand you’ve been questioning my people.”

“I’ve questioned several of your people, yes. On an informal basis. They’ve all volunteered to cooperate.”

Dog let that particular fiction pass.

“Let’s get to the marrow on this,” said Cortend. “There’s no need for fencing.”

“I’m a right-to-the-marrow guy myself,” said Dog. He slid back in his seat, knowing that Cortend had come to ask about Jennifer.

And perhaps exactly because that thought occurred to him, he glanced toward the door and saw her standing behind Cortend’s aides, frozen, as if she’d taken a step inside before spotting them.

Was she really there? Or was it some strange trick of his imagination.