“His Royal Highness Pehin bin Awg,” whispered Miss Kelly, a second before Mack could. “The sultan’s nephew. Unofficial head of the air force.”

“Your Highness,” said Dog.

“Colonel Bastian. We have heard much about you and your squadron,” said bin Awg. “We are extremely impressed, and deeply honored to have you in our kingdom.”

“The pleasure’s ours, I assure you,” Dog told him. “I’m glad that we could assist in the ASEAN

exercises.”

“Most delightful,” said bin Awg.

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“Pehin’s a collector,” said Mack.

Dog saw Miss Kelly stiffen. She had explained yesterday that “Pehin” wasn’t a name but rather an honorific used by important members of the government. But bin Awg ignored the faux pas, smiling and tilting his head.

“I have a few old airplanes,” said bin Awg. “It’s a hobby.”

“I see,” said Dog. “What sort of airplanes?”

“You’ll have to come to see for yourself.”

“I hope to,” said Dog.

“Hell, Colonel, Pehin’s got two MiG-19s, a MiG-21 from Yugoslavia, a Mirage III—piece of shit, take it from me—and, get this, a Badger. A Badger, Colonel.”

“Nice,” said Dog. He could practically feel the killer stare Miss Kelly was laying on Mack.

“I have been fortunate in finding old wrecks and restoring them,” said bin Awg modestly. “I also have a Catalina flying boat. A handsome aircraft as built, and I have added a few modern amenities. I’ve offered Major Smith the chance to fly some of my fleet,” added the prince. “Perhaps you would care to as well.”

“I’d love to,” said Dog. “When I get a chance. You really have an old MiG-19?”

“Yes, yes. The North Koreans will sell anything for food these days. It was in reasonable repair—if one overlooks the fact that it did not have an engine.”

“I told the prince he and his uncle could come up in a Megafortress for a spin tomorrow,” said Mack.

“They’re psyched.”

It took every ounce of Dog’s restraint not to slap his erstwhile political officer across the face.

“Mack, let’s talk for a second,” he told Smith. “Excuse us, Your Highness.”

He took two steps backward. Miss Kelly stepped forward to chat with the prince, who sampled some of the food in Dog’s place.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dog asked Mack.

“Why?”

“We’re not here as part of a carnival show. We have a mission.”

“Yeah, but Miss State Department Bombshell says we’re supposed to make nice,” said Mack. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Bin Awg is head of the air force?”

“Unofficially,” said Mack. “He’s more a consultant. See, the sultan is the head of the military forces.

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Then there are the professional officers and whatnot. My buddy Pehin is kinda between them and his uncle. Haven’t seen him fly yet. Great guy. Knows where the best clubs are. Doesn’t drink—that’s his only flaw.”

“Mack, you’re supposed to improve relations, not threaten them.”

“I am. So what do you say? We take him up for a spin in the morning? Morning’s around noon here, if you get my drift.”

“Both planes are taking off at 0700 tomorrow,” Dog told Mack. “There’s no time for a demonstration flight tomorrow.”

“Next day then,” said Mack. “Hey, Zen brought his nuggets with him. Hey, boys.”

As Mack walked off, Dog reminded himself that he had personally tagged the major to come along.

While he’d made the choice largely because Mack was one of the few officers at Dreamland he could actually spare for a do-nothing job, it was nonetheless a decision that could not be cited as one of his best. Smith was an excellent pilot, but outside of the cockpit, he was a class-one boob.

Dog turned back to find bin Awg talking up Miss Kelly, who was flashing her full smile on him.

“We are very much in the mind frame of expanding our air force,” said the prince. “At present we have the Hawk 100s and 200s but, well, without disparaging our British friends—I fear the ambassador is within earshot—we are certainly in the market for upgrades.”

“We use a version of the Hawk ourselves,” said Dog. “It’s a competent aircraft.”

“Yes, the Goshawk T-45A, as a trainer for the Navy,” said bin Awg. “Very suitable in that role. But as compared to an F/A-18 or a Mikoyan MiG-29 … Well, Colonel, I leave the judgment to you.”

“You’re thinking of buying Russian planes?” asked Miss Kelly.

Bin Awg smiled apologetically. “They are so desperate for hard currency these days that the price can be very attractive.”

“I’d think there’d be no comparison between the F/A-18 and a MiG-29,” said Dog.

Again, the prince flashed his apologetic smile. “The difficulty is perhaps with the export regulations.

Sometimes these are not easily overcome.”

“Have you considered F-16s?” asked Miss Kelly.

“An admirable design,” said the prince.

“Better than the MiG,” said Dog.

“Yes,” said bin Awg. “To be candid with you, Colonel, our true desire is for an aircraft with much longer range. The F-15; that would be most desirable.”

“It is a good aircraft,” said Dog.

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It was also a difficult one to obtain; Congress didn’t relish the idea of the country’s frontline fighter serving under other flags. Only the Japanese, Israelis, and Saudis had been allowed to buy it, and in each case the decision involved considerable political wrangling.

“We are very much in the market for aircraft,” said bin Awg. “Perhaps we can talk tomorrow, when we are aboard the Megafortress.”

“I’m afraid we’re not going to be available for a flight tomorrow,” said Dog as apologetically as he could. “We have orders from Washington to have both aircraft in the exercises. I’m sorry.”

The barest flicker of displeasure passed over the prince’s face.

“I’m afraid Major Smith made the commitment without checking with me,” added Dog.

“A raincheck perhaps,” said the prince.

“Definitely,” said Dog. “Definitely.

ZEN LISTENED TOthe Australian ambassador lecturing on the weakness of China.

“A few cruisers and a pair of submarines could hold the communists at bay,” said the diplomat. “They’re a shadow of themselves. A shadow of a shadow. That’s why they’re willing to talk to Taiwan. Their day is over.”

Zen had everything he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Granted, Mainland China had suffered some reverses over the past few months; the country remained a potent military force. Forget the ghost clone: It had several hundred more aircraft than the ambassador’s country, along with several new pocket aircraft carriers capable of projecting power throughout the region. Toss in cruise missiles, nuclear submarines, and undoubtedly a long-range bomber or two that the intelligence boys hadn’t caught on to yet, and you had a serious military power.

Not quite in America’s class, but nasty nonetheless.

Shadow indeed.

Stoner, standing across from Zen, nodded like a metronome as the ambassador continued.

Finally, Zen could take no more and wheeled himself away.

He found Kick standing by himself at the edge of one of the tables.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” he said to the Flighthawk pilot. “Where’s your partner in crime? Did he leave to catch up on his beauty rest?”

“Yeah right,” said Kick.

“You don’t like Lieutenant Starship?” asked Zen.

“He’s all right,” said Kick. “I think he headed out with Mack.”

Zen asked for a fruit drink from the waiter behind the table. There was no alcohol at the event; Brunei Page 73

was an Islamic nation, and the sultan was a devout believer who would not have countenanced a violation of his religious principles.

“You sore because Starship is going to take the decoy flight tomorrow?” asked Zen.

“No, sir.”

Zen smiled at the obvious lie.

“It’s all right to be pissed,” he told the lieutenant. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be mad too. Come to think of it, I have been in your shoes. And I was pissed.”