Philippines

1730

Mark Stoner stepped off the helicopter swiftly, ducking reflexively as the whirling rotors whipped grit against his face and clothes. He moved quickly toward the edge of the concrete, lugging his two Alice packs with him. The concrete ran surprisingly smooth, though there were a few spots where men were working on burning up roots and vines, and at the northern end a bulldozer and a buzz saw or two were hacking down a thick row of overhanging trees. Overall, the strip looked long, wide, and amazingly well-prepared.

The Whiplash people had established a sensor perimeter, using audio sensors, land radar, and optical and IR mini-cams tied by land lines to a sandbagged area about ten yards off the southern end of the airstrip. Stoner spotted it and began walking in that direction, ignoring the wind whipping from the wash of the Chinook that had deposited him on the island. Captain Danny Freah, the young Air Force officer who headed the deployment team, stood with his hands on his hips looking over the shoulder of a Whiplash trooper as they surveyed the array of video tubes.

Stoner recognized the captain’s frown; he’d seen it on the face of every one of is superiors when he was in the Navy. Bastards must be issued it the day they graduate officer’s school.

“Captain,” said Stoner.

“Hey,” responded Danny. “Be with you in a second.” He leaned over his man and began tapping one of the two keyboards. About twice the size of a computer keyboard, it had two rows of oversized buttons at the top and several fat sections of others on either side of the QWERTY layout. There were tiny legends on several, but most merely had letters and numbers, like “A4” and “DD-2.”

“Impressive,” said Stoner when Danny straightened. “Shows you the whole perimeter?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

“What’s that?” One of the video screens was focused on two pieces of cloth stretched in a clearing beyond a small pond.

“Looks like a little village,” said Danny. “Its beyond the ridge, down the rift, maybe a mile, little less.”

“I can get them moved,” said Stoner. He reached into his pack for his satellite phone.

“That’s not necessary. Not yet,” said Danny.

“No, it is.”

“My call here,” said the captain.

“No, it’s not.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set—another officer expression Stoner was very familiar with.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stoner, I’m responsible for security here. My call.”

“This is my mission,” said Stoner flatly. He pushed the cover of the phone up, and dialed his Agency liaison in Manila, the deputy station chief.

He’d hit the last digit when the captain’s thick black hand folded around the phone.

“No,” said Danny.

Stoner took a deep breath and straightened his body, fully relaxed except for his grip on the phone. If he jerked his knee up and pushed his left elbow, the Air Force officer would fall to the ground with a collapsed windpipe.

“Let me spell it out,” said Danny, still holding the phone. “There are no more than a dozen people there. At the moment, they’ve made no move to come up over the ridge, and they have no way of communicating with the outside world. The other side of their camp is covered by another swamp. I have the only path out under video surveillance, and I have the beach opposite them under watch as well. If we move them, we’ll make a lot of noise and potentially a lot of fuss. It’s definitely an option, but I’d like to hold if off until necessary. I can take them prisoner in a half hour if need be. They’re unarmed, and they’re not getting away.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” said Stoner. He heard the words of his Zen master at the back of his head, telling him to breathe, telling him to maintain the center of the burning candle flame in his chest.

“Granted,” said Freah. “But this is the best way to proceed if we’re going to keep this base covert.”

The captain was a young guy, with an impressive war record. He probably also thought he could deck Stoner if it came to that.

“Captain, please let go of my phone,” he said gently. “We’ll do it your way—but let me just tell you something.” He paused, waiting for the officer to let go of the phone. Released, he brought his arm down and bowed his head—then in a flash put his arm at Danny’s neck, fingertips precisely on the two common carotid arteries. “Do not touch me again. Sometimes reflexes can be deadly.”

He pulled his hand back quickly.

The Whiplash trooper who’d been watching the video cams was standing behind him, his MP-5 pointed at Stoner’s head.

“Good point,” said Danny—whose pistol was out and pointed at Stoner’s stomach.

Aboard Quicksilver, over the South China Sea

1732

The flames licking up form the blackened metal were surprisingly small. The smoke, on the other hand,

furled in all directions, a massive squat funnel that stretched all the way toward the debris field where the first ship had gone down. Zen took Hawk Two through the thick hedge of black, and gray; not even the high-tech array of sensors on the Flighthawk could penetrate it.

“Can’t quite get a visual,” he told Breanna. “I think she’s broken in two, but still attached, if you know what I mean. Like a twig that snapped but it has the top back attached.”