How long it lasted, Danny couldn’t say. At some point, he felt as if he were floating at the top of an ocean; shortly afterward, he washed up on a beach, still basking in the warmth of the summer sun.

“Good,” said Jemma.

“Good,” said Danny.

“We could do this more often.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Jemma reached over to the floor, where they’d set the room service tray with its decanter of tea. Danny slide his arm under the pillow, wallowing in the decadence of the large bed. Living halfway across the country from his wife sucked—but it sure did make things sweeter when they saw each other.

“I talked to Jim Stephens the other day,” said Jemma, slipping back in bed with her tea, an herbal blend that smelled like orange and cinnamon. Its perfume added to his intoxication.

“Uh-huh,” said Danny, not really paying attention.

“There’s a primary coming up this fall. A perfect shot. Happens to be the district where I’m staying—and it’s an open seat.”

“You should run,” he said, starting to drift toward sleep.

“Not me,” she said. “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” she took a sip of her tea. “You did talk to Jim Stephens, right? I know you did, because he told me he had an excellent conversation with you. And he’s very, very high on you.”

Stephens—election. Jemma’s master plan make him the next President of the United States.

“I can’t run for office while I’m in the Air Force,” said Danny, still drifting.

“Oh, Jimmy can fix that. Don’t worry.”

Danny reached his hand over to his wife’s breast. His fingers slid gently across her nipple, brushing it erect.

“Changing the subject?” she asked.

“Fact-finding mission,” he said.

“Oh? And what fact are you looking for?”

“Whether you’re still horny or not.”

“Again?” She said.

She reached over and put her tea on the side table. As she turned back, Danny’s cell phone began to buzz.

Danny sighed, and immediately slide upright.

“Daniel.”

“They wouldn’t call unless it was important.”

“Everything’s important,” She reached her hand down to stroke his leg.

“Mmmmph.” Danny pulled the phone over from the stand on his side of the bed.

“Freah,” he said after clicking the talk button.

“Captain, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Whiplash order,” said Lieutenant McNally. “Colonel needs you ASAP.”

“I’m on my way.” Danny clicked the phone off and rolled out of bed.

“Oh, no,” said Jemma.

“I’ll call as soon as I can,” said Danny, grabbing his pants.

“At least put underwear on,” she called after him.

Danny, embarrassed—he had in fact forgotten—let go of his pants and dropped to the floor to retrieve his underwear.

“How do you manage without me?” said his wife, laughing and shaking her head.

Dreamland

2000

“The political situation in both India and China is complicated, as you’d imagine,” continued Jed Barclay.

“Just a summary, Jed,” said Dog, trying to keep the NSC deputy on line. Barclay was a genius and a strong advocate for Whiplash and Dreamland, but his dissertations on international politics tended to sprawl.

“Yes, sir. Basically, the extremists in India are trying to improve their position in the upcoming elections. They calculate that China is a weak and easy mark due to the conflict with us and Taiwan—well, you’re all familiar with the so-called Fatal Terrain event.”

The dozen top officers gathered in the secure briefing room nodded. Though the details were still highly classified, most knew how Brad Elliott had chosen to give his life to help prevent an apocalyptic war—their interpretation, not the media’s.

“Of course, the Islamic Alliance and the connection with China plays right into this, yada, yada, yada, because now hitting the Chinese is the same as hitting Muslims as far as most Hindus are concerned. Those who care anyway,” continued Barclay. “And we’ve—uh, I better skip some of the political wrangling.”

He glanced at Dog, who nodded.

“On the other side of the equation, the Chinese, domestically, needed something to show they’re in power, that they’re not slipping. Because now, right, they look weak. As we saw with the incident in Tibet …”

“Which incident was that?” asked Rubeo.

From anyone else, it would have been an innocent question—in fact, Dog himself wasn’t sure what Barclay was referring to, but Rubeo took a perverse pleasure in watching other squirm. An ever-so-subtle look of satisfaction flickered across the scientist’s face as Jed stuttered, the train of his thoughts bunching and crashing down a siding he hadn’t seen coming.