“I’m sorry,” said Danny.
“Not your fault,” said Dog.
“Haven’t had much sleep, huh?” asked Danny, following as Dog walked toward the door.
“No rest for the wicked.”
“You ought to get another pilot to sit in for you,” suggested Danny.
“I look that tired?”
“You do.”
Dog laughed. “I respect your honesty, Captain.”
“Just telling it like it is.”
“How’s security?”
“Pakistanis have been cooperative. They have close to three companies on our perimeter, along with two armored vehicles. Politicians are protesting, but the people here are OK. Hasn’t been stirring in town about us, and of course everybody’s been keeping a low profile. I thought I ought to mention—the Levitow’s encounter with the Indian carrier aircraft has gotten back to the base commander. He wants to host the crew for lunch.”
“Just what we need,” said Dog.
The bright noonday sun hit him in the face as they went outside the building and crossed to the Dreamland trailer.
Sergeant Kurt “Jonesy” Jones snapped to attention outside the trailer; inside, Sergeant Ben “Boston” Rockland got up from the console as the colonel and Freah came in.
“At ease, Boston,” Dog told the sergeant. “How are things?”
“All quiet, Colonel.”
END GAME
157
Dog slipped in behind the communications console. He put on the headset, then authorized the encrypted communication. Storm’s face immediately appeared in the screen.
“I hope you’re happy, Bastian,” said the Navy captain.
“Now we’re peacekeepers.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“The President wants Xray Pop to sail east into the Arabian Sea. We’re supposed to help encourage the Indians and the Pakistanis to make peace.”
“All right.”
“You talked to the NSC about that loony theory that a plane dropped the torpedo that attacked the Indian destroyer?”
“It’s not a loony theory, Storm. It’s the only explanation for what happened.”
“So where’d the plane go?”
“I don’t know for sure. My guess, though, is somewhere in Iran.”
“We’ll need to set up new patrol grids. Eyes will contact you with the information when we have the plan worked out.”
“What exactly are we supposed to do?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe Washington thinks the Indians and Pakistanis will run away if we show our faces,”
said Storm. “We’re to patrol in the Arabian Sea. I need around-the-clock air cover as well as radar surveillance, airborne and on the surface. Not only are the Indians there, but the Chinese aircraft carrier Deng Xiaoping is on a course due east. It’ll be in the Arabian Sea no later than twenty-four hours from now. The Chinese don’t like the Indians.”
“What about whoever it is who’s attacking the Indians?”
“We watch for them. But—and let me make this as absolutely crystal clear as I possibly can—under no circumstance, absolutely no circumstance, are you to engage anyone without a specific order from me personally. Do I make myself clear?”
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“Crystal.”
“Make sure all your people get the word. And knock some sense through your daughter’s thick skull before she ends up being court-martialed—if it isn’t already too late for that.”
The screen blanked.
BREANNA WANTED TO TALK TO ZEN, BUT SHE DIDN’T WANT TO
go back to the Dreamland Command trailer. So she hiked over to the Pakistani side of the base, found a pay phone, and used her international phone card to make the call.
It was a bit past eleven P.M. back in Nevada, and she wasn’t sure that Zen would still be up, but her husband grabbed the phone before the first ring ended.
“Yeah,” he snapped.
“Jeff?”
“Bree, God, are you OK?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I was worried.”
“I’m fine.” Breanna ran her finger down the metal wire connecting the handpiece to the phone. “How did everything go today?”
“Same old, same old. Boring.”
“Are you doing well?”
“Doc says so. I don’t feel bupkus. And still no beer.” He laughed, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry.”
“Hey, I’m not worried.”
Among the many things she loved about her husband was the fact that he was a terrible liar. But she let this one go, and matched it with her own.
“We’re doing fine out here. I’m doing great. Piece of cake,” she told him. “I want you to get better. OK?”
“Getting better every day. You’re OK?”
“Yes.” Breanna glanced to the side and saw two other END GAME
159
people waiting to use the phone. “I do have to go, though.
Take care, OK?”
“Roger that.”
“I love you.”
“Me too, babe.”
MACK WALKED SULLENLY TO THE DREAMLAND COMMAND
trailer, where Dog had just convened a meeting with all of the flight crews and officers. He’d spent the last hour reviewing the tapes of his encounters. He’d severely damaged at least one of the planes, and managed to get lead into everything he tangoed with. But he hadn’t shot anybody down, and as far as he was concerned, that was as bad as missing completely.
“Hey, Major, heard you had some fun,” shouted Cantor, trotting up behind him.
“Yeah,” muttered Mack.
“Got pieces of three of them?”
“Don’t rub it in,” snapped Mack, pushing through the small crowd at the door of the trailer.
A five-handed poker game made the command trailer seem crowded. With nearly two dozen people crammed inside, it felt like the mosh pit of a rock concert. The air conditioner couldn’t keep up with the load, and the place smelled sweaty. Mack managed to squeeze to the far side of table at the center of the room, standing behind Stewart, who’d gotten there early enough to snag a seat.
“All right, I think we’re all here,” said Colonel Bastian, standing near a large map of the Arabian Sea.
“Thanks for coming over. I know some of you were sleeping. If it’s any consolation, so was I. Or I should say, I was about to.”
Mack listened as Dog laid out the change in orders and their mission.
“More peacekeeping crap,” Mack groused.
“That’ll do, Major,” said Dog.
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“Aw, come on, Colonel. You know this is garbage.
They’re sending the Abner Read to stand between two aircraft carriers? That’s like sending a canoe to tow the Titanic into port.”
Everyone laughed, or at least snickered—except for Bastian.
“Then start thinking of yourself as an iceberg, Mack,”
said the colonel. “And shut up.”
Mack clamped his teeth together as Dog laid out the change in patrol areas and schedules. They would continue to have two Megafortresses in the air at all times. One would orbit in the eastern Arabian Sea. The other would patrol to the west—first near the coast of Iran, then eastward, following the Abner Read as it made its way to the northern Arabian Sea.
“I want to still look for that airplane,” said Dog. “The one we believe fired the torpedo.”
“Waste of time,” said Mack under his breath—or so he thought.
“Excuse me, Major?”
“Nothing.”
“Out with it, Mack.”
“I looked at those images and the intercepts. I have to tell you, Colonel, no disrespect to the eggheads and Dr. Ray, but there’s just no way, no way, that little plane carried a torpedo, let alone fired it.”
“Then who did?”
“Either the oil tanker or a submarine. My money’s on a Chinese sub, probably doing some advance scouting for the Deng Xiaoping. He saw his shot, knew he could get away with it. The Indians couldn’t find a lit Christmas tree in a bathtub at night. And the Abner Read—well, no offense to our Navy friends, but they’re in the Navy for a reason, if you know what I mean.”
“Fortunately for you Mack, I don’t. Dismissed. Everybody go get some sleep. A few of us are so sleep deprived we’re starting to become delusional.”