“That might be a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, they weren’t expecting anything and I was only there for a minute. Not even. I was always right under the opening for the elevator. I could just escape straight up.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You took a big risk, mister. A huge risk.”

Starship nodded.

“Officially, you’re on report,” said Storm. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

The furrows in the captain’s brow deepened; he looked like a gargoyle about to spit stone.

END GAME

223

“Unofficially,” added Storm, “that was the ballsiest thing I’ve ever seen anyone ever do.”

Starship was confused, but he was even more confounded as Storm formed his hand into a fist and hit his shoulder with a roundhouse so powerful he was nearly knocked off his feet. The captain wore a grin that covered half his face.

“Way to go, Airforce,” Storm told him. “The intelligence geeks back at the Pentagon are going apeshit over this. It’s the coup of the year. You keep this up and you’ll be a permanent member of the team.”

“Thanks, sir,” said Starship, rubbing his shoulder.

National Security Council offices,

Washington, D.C.

2021, 12 January 1998

(0621, 13 January, Karachi)

JED BARCLAY KNEW ONE OF HIS PHONES WAS RINGING, BUT

couldn’t figure out which one it was until the third trill.

Then he pulled his personal cell phone out of his pocket.

“Uh, Jed,” he said, unsure who would be calling on the seldom used line.

“Jed, it’s your cousin Jeff.”

“Hey, Zen. How’s it goin’?”

“What’s going on in India?”

“Oh—jeez. All hell’s breaking loose.”

“Karachi was attacked. Breanna’s there,” Zen added. “I figured you could give me some background.”

“Listen, cuz, I really can’t talk about that on this line, you know?”

“Is Bree going to be OK?”

“Well, none of our people have been, uh, hurt that I know of.”

“I know that. I just talked to the base. That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Yeah. Um. I still can’t talk on this line.”

224

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“What if I call you back from Dreamland?”

Jed knew that the Dreamland contingent was being pulled out of Karachi because of the volatile situation there. But not only couldn’t he say so on a phone line that could be tapped, it wasn’t his place to be handing out that information.

“Maybe. You don’t sound like yourself,” Jed told his cousin. “You, like, worried about Breanna?”

“Damn straight.”

“She can take care of herself, though. I mean, Bree’s been—”

“I’ll call you in an hour.”

Zen hung up before Jed could warn him that he might be hard to reach; the National Security Council was setting up a meeting, and he expected to be called upstairs to help his boss prepare a presidential briefing any second.

Jed went back to his computer, looking at the images that had been forwarded from the Abner Read following the battle. The conflict had provided a wealth of tactical and strate-gic intelligence, but right now he just wanted something he could show the President to illustrate both the damage and the firepower of the ships involved.

The Abner Read had obtained particularly interesting video of the Chinese carrier Deng Xiaoping, thanks to the exploits of its Werewolf. Among the images Jed paged through were clear shots of the hangar deck, showing a number of planes in storage and even what looked like a weapons area. Wondering if the information might change the Pentagon’s assessment of the relative power of the two fleets—the analysts had been calling the Deng Xiaoping and Shiva about even—Jed picked up the phone and called the Pentagon.

The Navy intelligence officer he wanted to talk to was away from his desk. So were two other people he called. He was about to try someone at the CIA who specialized in weapons assessments when his friend at the Navy called him back.

END GAME

225

“You’re wondering about the Deng?” said the lieutenant commander.

“I’m wondering if these images are going to change your assessment that the two task groups are evenly matched, or if the battle did,” Jed told him.

“Too early to say for sure, but it looks like the Chinese have a new anticruise missile weapon. There’s something else even more interesting about the Deng, though.”

“More interesting?”

“You got W-AB73-20 there?” asked the officer, referring to one of the image’s index numbers.

“Hang tight,” said Jed, swinging around in his chair to the keyboard. He cradled the phone against his neck as he found the photo.

One of the series taken of the Deng Xiaoping’s hangar deck, it showed a pair of J-13 fighters, wings folded, roped off a short distance from the camera. There were two men near it; both had automatic rifles.

“OK, so I’m looking at it.”

“See those jets? They’re guarded.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Kind of strange, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Jed zeroed in and hit the zoom. “Are these guards? Or are these guys running up to the fight?”

“Jed, they’re in the hangar of an aircraft carrier. They’re guarding the plane.”

Oh, wow.

“Tai-shan?”

“That’s the guess. We’re studying the planes now. But, I’d say that’s a real good guess. Plane types are right. We’re digging into the equipment right now.”

“I’M NOT FAMILIAR WITH TAI-SHAN,” THE NATIONAL SECURITY

Advisor admitted to Jed when he took the news to his office a few minutes later.

“Two years ago, the Chinese navy conducted a series of tests in the Gulf of Tonkin, using what was then a prototype 226

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

of the J-13,” said Jed. “They operated from a base that had been mocked up so it was similar to an aircraft carrier—the dimensions were later shown to fit one of the Deng Xiaoping’s arms. The aircraft dropped practice bombs over the water. One of the mock missions was tracked, and from the bombing pattern, it seemed pretty clear that it was dropping a nuclear weapon. If you recall, this was right around the time the Xia, their only ballistic missile submarine, was taken out of service. But—”

“Wait, Jed,” said Freeman, nearly jumping from his seat.

“You’re telling me there’s a nuke on that ship?”

“Maybe two. There are two planes.”

“Let’s go talk to the President right now,” said Freeman, already in full stride.

The President was entertaining a delegation of church youth leaders from Minnesota on a postdinner tour of the White House when Jed and Freeman were ushered into the Oval Office. Entertaining was the right word—he was demonstrating a sleight of hand trick he’d learned on a recent trip to Florida. The President was particularly fond of the trick, and was taking obvious glee in making a silver dollar appear in various ears of his visitors.

“But I see, ladies and gentlemen, that duty is calling, and I’m late for my next meeting,” said the President. “We’re always burning the midnight oil here.”

He glad-handed the visitors as they left, mixing in variations of his silver dollar trick.

“Everybody loves magic,” said Martindale after they left.

“Now if I could only find a way to pull silver dollars from congressmen’s ears, I’d have no problem getting my budget passed.”

“There’s a new twist in the north Arabian Sea,” the National Security Advisor told the President. “It’s going to complicate things tremendously.”

Martindale’s smile faded quickly as Jed told him about the images from the carrier and their implications.

“You’re sure this is correct?” asked Martindale.

END GAME

227

“The intelligence agencies are preparing a formal estimate,” said Jed. “But I checked the original intelligence on the program. It’s a real match. A Chinese agent provided photos and a procedural manual.”