The blur slowly drew into focus.
Was there something under the right wing?
Zen nudged the throttle for more speed, but got a warning from the computer that he was too far from Raven. He backed off, telling himself not to get too impatient. The two-engine plane slowly came into better focus.
The wing was clean.
Converting a civilian plane into a conventional bomber was not particularly difficult; a bomb bay could be cut into the floor in an afternoon with plenty of time left over for the crew to catch happy hour. Add some proper targeting gear, and the Boeing could be at least as accurate as the aircraft used in World War II. Of course, a 767 would never stand a chance against an interceptor or a ground-defense system—unless it had the element of surprise on its side.
“Wes, Target Two is not answering my hails,” Zen told the op upstairs over the interphone. “Why don’t you take a shot at it with the translator?”
“Doing so now, Zen.”
Zen continued to fly toward the plane, trying to get a look at the body. If there were bottom-opening doors beneath the fuselage, they weren’t obvious.
Unlike the 767 he had intercepted earlier, there were no cabin lights, even though he could see the outlines of windows.
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“No answer,” said Wes.
“Try all frequencies.”
“I’ve tried every one known to man.”
“Dog, I think we may have found our target,” said Zen.
Dreamland
1155
JENNIFER TOOK Asip of her Diet Pepsi as she continued to scan the NSA intercepts of telemetry being gathered in real time over the South China Sea by Elint satellites and an RC-135. She’d programmed the computer to tell her if anything came across similar to the segment from the email.
Reams and reams of material were now being intercepted by satellite and listening stations all over the South China Sea, and even with the computer’s help, looking for the UAV would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Zen had just pulled close to one of the 767 flights. It wasn’t answering hails—this looked to be a good bet. She heard Colonel Bastian talking to the White House directly, asking for instructions.
They were going to tell him to shoot it down, she knew.
Jennifer reached to flick her hair back behind her ear, belatedly remembering she had cut it off.
Dog was telling Jed they had the plane.
Something in her reacted viciously to that. Anger at her lover, or ex-lover? She clicked on the circuit.
“Colonel, that’s not the plane,” she snapped.
“Jen?”
“That’s not the plane,” she insisted.
“You sure?”
She wasn’t sure at all—logically, it probably was. But she insisted she was.
Why?
Jennifer wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him to screw off. And she wanted everyone to see her telling him off.
She wanted to be right, and she wanted everyone to know it.
But she wasn’t, was she? Because it had to be the plane.
“Colonel Bastian, you are authorized to use all necessary force to terminate that flight if they won’t turn back,” said a deep, sonorous voice over the Dreamland Command frequency.
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The President himself.
“It’s not the right plane,” Jennifer insisted. She slapped her computer keyboard, backing out from the intercept screen to the communications profiles stored earlier. The 767 had taken off from Taipei—they had some data from it somewhere in the vast storehouse of intercepts, didn’t they?
“Jen, this is Colonel Bastian. Can you explain?”
Fuck yourself, thought Jennifer. She began paging through data.
“Major Catsman?” said Dog.
“Um, just a second, Colonel. Jennifer’s working on something here.”
Aboard Raven
0259
ZEN HAD THEplane fat in his target screen; two bursts from his cannon and it would go down. All he needed was an okay from Colonel Bastian.
A Chinese Chengdu J-7 was on a rough intercept from the northwest, its intentions unclear. It wouldn’t be a factor for another two or three minutes, however; by then this should be over.
As he waited, Zen checked Hawk Four, flying a routine trail behind Raven. He decided to put it into a preset position ahead of Raven called Escort Two; the robot would fly seven miles ahead of the mother ship’s left wingtip. That would give him a reasonable position to deal with the communist interceptor if it continued south and he was still hanging behind the 767.
C3acknowledged his command, whipping the tiny plane forward. When he’d first learned to handle the Flighthawks, Zen would have insisted on taking the plane himself. But he’d grown to trust the computer, and knew he could concentrate on Hawk Three and the 767.
“Hawk leader to Raven. Colonel, what’s the story?”
“Dream Command is checking on something.”
“That J-7 is going to afterburners,” said Delaney.
“Coming for us?” asked Zen.
“We’ll know in a minute,” said Delaney.
Dreamland
1200
JENNIFER SAW ITon the screen as Dog nagged them again for an update. She pointed to the break in the transmission so Major Catsman could see as well.
“This back here is them saying they have radio trouble,” said Jennifer. She paged back to the translation screen, trying to get the right place.
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She couldn’t find it, and for a moment she doubted herself, thought that her anger at him had made her unconscious mind invent it. She stabbed at the cursors.
Where is it? Where is it?
“Wait,” said Catsman, grabbing her hand. “Calm down. Go back. Just relax. We have time.”
Two backspaces.
“Colonel, it looks like the aircraft you’re querying was having intermittent radio trouble shortly after takeoff. They may not be able to hear your hails. I’m not sure why they didn’t turn back,” said Catsman.
“But maybe you can get their attention visually.”
Jennifer pushed back from the screen. Tears were falling down her cheeks.
She hadn’t invented it.
“Are you all right?” asked Catsman.
Slowly, she nodded.
The major put her hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “We won’t shoot down the wrong plane. We won’t.”
Aboard Raven
0305
ZEN ACCELERATED OVERthe right wing of the 767, pushing past the cockpit. The pilot in the big jet did what any self-respecting pilot would do when a UFO blasted across his bow—he ducked.
And took the aircraft with him. Fortunately, the big jet was athletic enough to handle the violent jerk on her controls fairly calmly—if rolling through an invert can be considered calm.
“Getting some radio flickers but nothing intelligible,” said Wes upstairs. “I think Jennifer’s right—I think he’s having radio problems and didn’t realize it.”
“Wouldn’t he have checked in with civilian controllers?” Zen asked.
“Well, given the situation between the two Chinas, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t talk to them at all, and vice versa. His flight plan has him heading for South Korea.”
Whatever the situation, the 767’s pilot appeared to realize he was in fact in trouble. Rather than coming back to his original course, he turned southward, as if he were heading back to Taiwan.
“Taiwan Mirages have him on their radar,” said Dog. “They’re going to hook up and escort him home.”
“Roger that,” said Zen. “But if he’s not our guy, who is?”
On the Ground in Kaohisiung
0305
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THEMARINE CAPTAINwanted to blow the bunker entrance with C-4, but Danny wouldn’t let him.
“That’ll kill them for sure,” said Danny. “Best bet’s to keep digging.”
“Sooner or later they’re going to run out of air,” said the Marine. “We can’t get those big blocks out of the way.”