by Dale Brown
Dreamland
8 March, 0245 local (0645 Brazil)
The breeze kicked up as Iowa rocketed into the sky, but it was an oddly warm breeze, as if the big plane’s engines were warming the night. Colonel Bastian stared at the Megafortress as it rose, the tremble of its long wings reverberating in his chest. He belonged in the sky, not on the ground pushing paper. On any given day, the best use of his talents was in the air — and today was more than any given day.
More than likely, his flying days were over. Keesh would see to that. Not his flying days exactly just his Air Force ones. The loss of the Boeing and Flighthawks was bad enough when it looked like an accident. But someone stealing a plane — that was a different story. And then losing a Mega-fortress and two more Flighthawks — Brad Elliott had been cashiered for less.
Not exactly. In Elliott’s case, the thief was a Soviet spy, with the backing of a world superpower. Here he was simply a madman.
If Dog was going to be bagged anyway, why the hell not get his butt up in the air and do something?
Do what? Kill his own daughter?
What the hell kind of father would he be if it came to that?
The kind who had sworn an oath to protect his country.
What sort of oath had he taken when Breanna was born?
If he was there, he might be able to help her somehow. But then, hadn’t that been the story of his life — he’d never been there when she was growing up.
The Megafortress began banking, heading south. Dog turned and climbed aboard the black Jimmy waiting to take him back to the Taj. The driver threw the SUV in gear.
They were almost at the building when Bastian put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Take me back around to the Megafortress hangar,” he said. “Shed Two. Then knock off for the night.”
“Sir?”
“You have forty-eight hours leave. I’d suggest you don’t waste a minute of it.”
Chapter 99
Aboard Galatica
Over Colombia
8 March, 0545 local (0645 Brazil)
Minerva had figured out how to program the course in on the flight computer, and was watching Breanna carefully. Rap flew the plane precisely as her captor directed, skimming across the ragged landscape just at the edge of a thunderstorm at 8,500 feet. Sooner or later an opportunity would present itself, even if it meant pushing the plane into a mountain.
“F-15’s, twenty miles ahead at compass point three-two-zero,” said Madrone over the interphone. He had one of the Flighthawks flying eight miles ahead as a scout, using its passive sensors to check for threats. “Two planes, one at twenty-five thousand feet. The second is at twenty-eight.”
“Attack them,” said Minerva.
“We can get by them,” suggested Breanna. “It will be safer.”
“Do it.”
“Hold on. I’m going to take us out of this turbulence. Computer—”
“Don’t change the course,” Minerva hissed, leaning toward her.
“Do you want to get by them or not?”
“Don’t change the course, or the altitude.”
“I just have to get out of this storm.”
Minerva grabbed her hand.
The Flighthawk screen showed the Eagles in a standard search sweep, running well off to the west. A standard B-52 would be clearly visible to them, but Gal had the profile of a barn swallow, and unless the plane made a sudden movement, the interceptors were likely to miss it.
“They’re off my radar,” said Kevin.
“If we switched our radar on, we’d see threats two to three hundred miles away,” Breanna told Lanzas.
“Three hundred miles?”
“How do you think we were able to track you to Brazil? Gal is testing a—”
“The radar would also allow our enemies to see us coming,” said Lanzas, her voice tired. “Please, Captain, do not test me further.”
* * *
Jeff cursed as the F-15s passed out to sea, another chance lost.
“I know you’re watching me, Jeff,” said Madrone. His voice came from a small speaker in the console ordinarily used only by the Megafortress’s systems. “Put the headset on.
Slowly, Jeff pushed upright and reached for the headset. His sore upper body moved like the works in an old rusted clock, creaking and cracking.
“Kevin, how did you manage to use that speaker?” he asked. “It’s not part of ANTARES or C3.”
“There are no boundaries I can’t cross, Jeff.”
“You flew Hawkmother too. How? Through the gateway?”
“I’m beyond ANTARES, Jeff. I don’t need the computer.”
“Show me. Take off the control helmet.”
“Don’t try and trick me. I’m not stupid.”
“Withdrawal from the Theta drugs makes you paranoid,” Jeff said. He turned and looked across the bay at the man who had been his friend. “It did it to me. It still affects me.”
“It’s not paranoia when people are really out to get you.”
“I thought I could feel my legs,” said Jeff. “It really tricked me.”
“You’re the only one playing tricks.”
“I can’t feel my legs, Kevin. It was a dream — a desire or something I can’t control. It’s not too late,” he said. “Geraldo can help you. Take us back to Dreamland and surrender. I’ll help you. I swear 1 will.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Stoking Madrone’s anger was the only weapon Jeff had. Down here there’d be no one to stop him. Zen couldn’t walk, but he would pit his upper body strength against anyone’s. As soon as Madrone lunged, he’d grab his neck and strangle him. Whatever it took to subdue him, he’d do.
Whatever it took to help him, he’d try; he hadn’t been lying about that.
“You going to hit me?” he told Kevin. “Come on, Monkey Brain. Hit me, Twig.”
Madrone didn’t move.
“What are you waiting for, Monkey Boy?”
“I’m not going to hit you, Jeff.” Madrone’s voice sounded sad, and far away. “You tried that before and it worked. But it won’t work now. No.”
“Come on, Monkey Brain. Microchip Head. Mack Smith nailed it for once. Come on. You’re a wimp. Come on.” But Madrone no longer spoke to him.
Chapter 100
Pej, Brazil
8 March, 0647 local
Bison’s hands shook as he angled the screwdriver blade beneath the small metal band. He nodded. Danny closed his eyes.
Something snapped. But there wasn’t an explosion. “Okay, we’re ready to work on the native timer and lock mechanism,” said Bison. “It’s hot.”
As Danny relayed the information to Annie, he saw that his sergeant’s hands were shaking violently.
“Undo the LED panel on the code-lock assembly right next to the explosive that launches the pellet,” said Annie. “You see it?”
Danny told Bison. The munitions expert nodded, then pushed a Phillips-head screwdriver down toward the light green panel.
The blade slipped and clattered on the floor.
Danny grabbed Bison’s arm as he reached for the screwdriver. “Kevin, let me try.”
“I’ve d-done this a million times.”
“I know. Let me take the responsibility, though. It’s not just us who’s blowing up.”
“We evacuated the Army guys, Captain,” said Bison, but then he slid back.
The panel wouldn’t come off.
Bison held the Satcom to his head. “Now what, Annie?” said Freah.
“Try it again,” she said.
“Shit.”
“It’s either that or reattach the timer and reset the detonation time.”
“Jesus.”
“You sound nervous, Captain. We will try sorting through the wires. Just don’t cut them all. As I told you before, complete power loss will trigger—”
There was a click and the line went dead.
“Annie? Annie?”
“I think t
hat storm’s blocking the satellite,” said Bison, working the radio. “Time’s down to two minutes,” he added.
Danny stared at the back of the LED panel. The large integrated circuit had several small solder points at the back, but nothing that gave any clue about how it worked.
“Let’s short the thing out,” offered Powder from behind him. “Dump it in water. I got a bucket right here.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Powder?” said Freak “You were supposed to bug out.”
“None of us are going to leave you, Captain,” said Liu. “Don’t tell me you’re all here. Are you?”
“No, sir. We’re not here,” said Reagan.
Danny turned his attention back to the Satcom. “Annie? Annie?”
Nothing.
He leaned over the bomb. He could cut the wire that connected the LED lock mechanism. Annie had said that doing that would probably kill power to the spytron, the highly sensitive and accurate trigger that activated an accelerating explosive lens around the “catcher’s mitt” of uranium once the radioactive seed was launched toward it. But the explosive that sent the radioactive seed into the rest of the material would still ignite, as would the lens itself — a nanosecond or two too late to start a chain reaction maybe, but definitely in time to kill them.
“Everybody out of the hangar,” Freah shouted, taking the thick combat knife in his hand and reaching it across the thick wires. “That’s a fuckin’ order. Get out of here.”
“Captain!” shouted Powder.
“Go!”
“Nuke’ll get us anyway, Captain,” Bison said. “Rather be able to tell St. Peter I didn’t run away.”
“Just the explosive is going off,” said Danny. “Go!”
“Klondike said that might not work.”
“Go!”
“Thirty seconds,” said Bison, studying at his own watch.
“Here, Captain,” shouted Powder, running across the floor with a ceramic cup and a plastic gallon jug of water. He slipped on the smooth concrete, managing a leg-first slide near the bomb. He held the cup and jug out in front of him. “Douse it. We got nothing to lose.”
“Twenty seconds. He might be right,” said Bison.
Powder spilled water from the jug into the cup, his hands wobbly as he tried to slip it in place under Freah’s hand.
Would that work?
If it didn’t, he’d cut the wires.
Danny hesitated.
Do both at the same time.
“Fifteen.”
One way or the other, everyone in the hangar would die.
Bison reached over, trying to steady Powder’s hands. But he was shaking just as bad.
“Go!” Danny yelled.
“No time!” shouted Liu.
Danny closed his eyes and pulled back on the knife, sliding the blade through the collection of wires. He waited for the long millisecond before death, heard the fizzle of the explosion as it began.
But it wasn’t the explosion at all.
“Jeez, Louise, that was close,” said Powder. He pulled the LED into the water.
The fizzle had come from the clock circuit shorting.
“Captain, did you cut the wires?” asked Liu.
“They’re cut,” said Freah, looking at them.
“Shit,” said Powder.
“Got Ms. Klondike!” yelled Liu.
Danny sat back on the floor. The fluorescent lights in the hangar seemed very yellow. Liu came over on his knees and held the handset to Danny’s ears.
“Where have you been?” Annie asked.
“I cut the wires,” he said. “Powder dumped the timer in water and shorted it. I think that saved us.”
“No,” said the weapons expert. “The mechanism is impervious to moisture. Water wouldn’t have done anything.”
“It fizzled.”
“You cut the wires. It is odd, though — at least one end of the device should have exploded when all current was lost, unless the designer was completely inept. Are you sure you cut all the wires?”
Danny looked over at the harness. Fourteen of the sixteen wires had been cut clean; two remained.
“Shit,” said Danny. Then he told her what he saw.
“Out of curiosity, Captain, what’s your birthday?”
“Why?”
“I was thinking one of us ought to run down to Las Vegas and play those numbers on the roulette wheels.”
Chapter 101
Aboard EB-52 M-6
Dreamland
8 March, 0351 local
Both McAden and Fenner insisted on staying with M-6 even after Bastian ordered them to stay on the ground; he finally decided it didn’t make much sense to argue with them. No one would blame them for flying, and besides, Magnus’s order applied to him, not them.
McAden wasn’t all that happy about taking the copilot’s seat, but there Dog had an easier argument — Dog had very little experience using the EB-52’s weapons systems, which were more easily handled from the copilot’s station.
As they got ready to fly, a black SUV hurtled up the ramp toward them, blue light flashing.
Dog watched the Jimmy screech to a halt. Undoubtedly Magnus had gotten to the security people somehow; he was about to be placed under arrest.
He edged his hand toward the throttle bar. As soon as the men were out of the car, he’d hit the gas and lurch away. By the time they got back in the vehicle he’d be on the runway.
But instead of heavily armed security men, a thin figure jumped out of the Jimmy. Dog stared at the shadow, which seemed to have small wings.
Or just very long hair.
Jennifer Gleason. She waved frantically and ran toward the plane. Another person jumped from the SUV — Dr. Geraldo.
“What should I do, Colonel?” asked McAden.
“Let’s find out what they want,” said Bastian.
McAden dropped the ramp. Gleason appeared on the flight deck a few seconds later.
“Colonel, let me aboard,” she said.
“We’re just flying backup,” he told her.
“I can override C3,” she said. “I can send feedback through the command link. It’ll break the connection with ANTARES and disable the Flighthawks.”
“That’ll work?”
“It’s either that or you’ll shoot them down, isn’t it?”
“Colonel!” yelled Geraldo from below.
“And what exactly is your plan?” he asked the psychologist as she came up.
“I want to try talking to him,” said Geraldo.
“It’s not going to work.”
“Better than shooting him down.”
“We almost certainly will have to,” said Dog.
Neither Gleason nor Geraldo said anything else.
“This won’t be a joy ride,” he said finally.
“I fly in Megafortresses every day,” said Jennifer.
“Shut the hatch,” Bastian told McAden. “Jen, show Dr. Geraldo how to strap herself in downstairs.”
Chapter 102
Aboard Galatica
Approaching U.S.
8 March, 0805 local (0705 Dreamland)
The fingers of the AWACS groped the air, reaching for him, desperately trying to grab him. Two F-16’s cruised not five miles to his left, at less than five thousand feet, determined to ferret him out.
The bastards would all miss. He was within sixty minutes of San Francisco, sixty minutes of having revenge.
And then?
Then they could kill him. He wouldn’t even bother to run.
“Losing connection,” warned C3.
“Closer,” he screeched on the interphone.
“But—” Breanna began.
“Closer!”
The Megafortress lurched upward and to the left. C3’s warning flashed off.
“AWACS tracking,” warned the computer.
“Impossible,” Madrone muttered. The threat screen on the Flighthawk showed he was clear.
Breanna had tricked him —
the F-16’s had seen the Mega-fortress.
“F-16’s being vectored for mother ship,” said the computer. “Attempting to activate ident.”
Madrone started to slip out of Theta. His view of the U/MF screen went blank.
Kevin took a deep breath, felt himself relaxing. The feeds returned. But he couldn’t feel Galatica across the gateway. He was too drained, and his brain worked in slow motion — he had too much to hold in his mind.
“We’re being targeted by a pair of interceptors,” he told Minerva.
“What?”
“This!” He flashed the computer’s threat screen into the cockpit HUDs.
He’d have to take over Galatica as well as the Flighthawks. He’d have to find the strength somehow.
* * *
Zen saw the F-16s on the Flighthawk screen as they turned to target the Megafortress just under forty miles away. But the slippery black plane danced at the edge of their radar coverage; they would have to ride much closer to lock on. Most likely their rules of engagement demanded visual identification before firing anyway.
Or maybe not. The launcher indicators on the Flighthawk went red. Sparrow radar missiles were in the air.
* * *
Breanna pushed down on the stick, aiming to use the confusion to her advantage. But the plane moved in the opposite direction — Kevin had somehow taken control.
The rest was automatic. Tinsel shot from Gal’s backside as its ECM computer zeroed in on the AIM-7Ms and knocked them senseless with a blast of Gangsta Rap fuzz. At the same time, Galatica accelerated toward the F-16’s to keep its connection with the Flighthawks. The Air National Guard F-16 Vipers launched another salvo of missiles at approximately twenty miles; these two were easily confused.
Thirty seconds later, Hawk One began a front-quarter attack on the lead Viper. The fireball trailed across the left windscreen; as it flared out, a second appeared on the left.
“Why are you doing this, Kevin?” Breanna said.
“I’m destroying Livermore,” he said. “They poisoned my daughter there with their radiation. They claimed they were treating her, but it was a lie.”
