“You’re losing me, Doc.”
“It forces the tanks to blow, raising the submarine to the 262
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
surface. It’s apparently intended to be used in the case of an emergency where the crew is completely incapacitated. If you were looking to recover the submarine, you might build a strategy around that device. Theoretically.”
“Oh, very theoretically,” said Danny. “How soon can you get one of those Navy guys to talk to me?”
Aboard the Shiva ,
off the coast of India in the northern Arabian Sea 0640
THE HELICOPTER WAS ANCIENT, A COAST GUARD CHETAK THAT
had first flown in the 1960s. Its engine sounded like a rasping buzz saw as it headed for a landing on the Shiva’s deck.
But its white skin glistened in the sunlight, and the aircraft steadied herself with what seemed to Memon fitting dignity before settling to a landing on the deck. No sooner had the pogo-stick wheels touched down than the cabin flew open and Admiral Skandar emerged, stooping low to clear the blades, then straightening into full stride. He ignored the honor guard standing at full attention and walked to Memon and Captain Adri, who along with the deputy air commander and weapons officer had come out to meet him.
Skandar walked directly to Captain Adri, ignoring Memon completely; Memon felt his heart sink.
“Captain,” said Skandar. “You are prepared to launch an attack?”
“Our forces are ready and well-prepared,” said Adri. “We are positioned to strike.”
“You did not receive my order to pull back?”
“Sir, I complied with your order not to attack when it was confirmed by the Chief of the Navy, but upon reflection concerning my positioning, I believed that you had erred.
So I adjusted accordingly.”
“Captain, you will board my helicopter and return to Mumbai. I am in command of this vessel now.”
END GAME
263
“But—”
“If necessary, you will be arrested.” Skandar turned and addressed the other two officers. “If you are not prepared to carry out my orders without question, you may join him.”
The men stiffened, but said nothing.
“Admiral,” said Adri. “I wish to apologize.”
“Why are you not aboard the helicopter? Leave now—your personal belongings will follow. Take me to the bridge,” Skandar told the others. “Then I wish to inspect the damage and the wounded. After that, we will gather our commanders and prepare for the next stage of battle.”
Aboard the Abner Read , northern Arabian Sea
0710
STORM GRUNTED WHEN THE SEAMAN KNOCKED AT THE ENtrance to his cabin.
“Encrypted message from the Pentagon, Captain,” said the sailor.
“I’ll take it here,” said Storm. He glanced at his watch. A light sleeper by nature, he rarely got more than four hours of sack time in a row during a cruise; he’d already had nearly three.
“Brought you coffee, sir,” added the seaman.
“Johnson, you are a tribute to the service.”
The sailor chuckled. Storm, who slept in his uniform, padded to the nearby door. He opened it, took the carafe, and then went to the small communications set on his desk opposite the foot of his bed. The set consisted of a small flat-screen monitor, video cam, speakers, microphone, and keyboard; it was essentially a computer with dedicated circuitry. Storm took the unit out of stand by, typed in a generic system code, then his own password. As the unit came to life, he opened the carafe and refilled the mug that 264
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
sat in the indentation on the desk, not bothering to dispose of the coffee that filled its bottom.
The screen turned blue. Storm pecked in a second code word to clear the transmission. He found himself looking at an empty communications station in the Pentagon Situation Room. As he took his first sip of coffee, the top of a head appeared. Then a face came into camera range.
Storm had expected an intelligence officer. Instead, the face belonged to Admiral Balboa.
“Storm, I’ve just come back from the White House,” said Balboa. “I’ve been in meetings all day and night over there.”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Your mission’s being altered. Has Bastian gotten a hold of you yet?”
Please tell me he’s no longer in charge, prayed Storm.
“No, sir.”
“Typical. The President wants to stop World War Three.
Bastian and his Dreamland people are going to use their weapons to do it. That means you’re going to be on the front line against that carrier.”
“I already am, sir. I’m ready to sink it at a moment’s notice.”
“I want you to shoot down the planes, Storm. You don’t have to sink the carrier.”
“I can do both.”
“Don’t go overboard. Take the planes.”
“Aye aye,” said Storm, speaking into his mug.
“However—”
Storm’s ears perked up.
“If circumstances warranted—if you were to come under attack again,” said Balboa, “then the carrier would be a le-gitimate target.”
“Damn straight it would, Admiral,” said Storm.
“Since they’ve already been warned once, no one could accuse you of being trigger happy. Sinking the Chinese su-
END GAME
265
per carrier—so-called super carrier—would be quite an achievement. If the circumstances were right.”
“I understand completely, Admiral. I appreciate your guidance.”
“Merely stating facts,” said Balboa. “That Indian ship—is it as potent as they claim?”
“It didn’t do very well against the Chinese,” said Storm.
“Best thing would be for them both to go down,” said Balboa. “Not that they’re competent enough to sink each other. Now, what’s this theory about an Iranian submarine?
We have all their Kilos under observation in the Persian Gulf. You’re telling me the Navy missed one?”
“No. The theory is—Bastian’s theory—is that the Iranians are trying to instigate a conflict using civilian-style aircraft converted to military use. He thinks a civilian-style aircraft may have launched the torpedo that struck the Indian ship en route to Port Somalia.”
“Preposterous. Bastian sees Iran behind everything.”
Storm found himself in the unusual position of actually thinking the Air Force lieutenant colonel was correct. But now wasn’t the time to push the issue with Balboa.
“The attack on Karachi may have been carried out—definitely was carried out—by a commando team, some sort of SpecWar unit,” said Storm, treading carefully. “We did find a submarine in Pakistani waters following the attack. The curious thing—”
“I’ve seen the report. So your theory is that Iran is behind this, trying to instigate a war?”
“That’s Bastian’s theory. I don’t have an opinion.”
“Well, get one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Balboa frowned, then raised one of his bushy eyebrows.
“Stand by for Captain Connors and the intelligence updates.”
266
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Souda Bay U.S. Navy Support Base,
Crete
0915 (1215, Karachi)
DOG LEANED IN UNDER THE MEGAFORTRESS’S OUTER WING
and examined the EEMWBs that had just been installed on the Wisconsin’s wing. The weapon’s elongated and rounded nose added several feet to the overall length of the AGM-86C it had been attached to, making it impossible to carry inside the bomb bay. Two apiece were loaded on the Megafortress’s outer wing, beyond the Flighthawks. While they had a negligible effect on the Megafortress’s general performance, they increased her radar profile, making the planes easier to detect.
Unlike the Levitow, the Wisconsin had not been shielded against the weapons; if she exploded them nearby she would lose her electric systems. But the Levitow couldn’t stay on station indefinitely, and the only other aircraft in the world that was shielded against T-Rays was DreamlandRaptor, currently in several thousand pieces on the floor of one of the Dreamland hangars, being examined and overhauled. A crew of techies was heading toward Diego Garcia, where they would retrofit the Bennett with protective gear and shielding in the wings and fuselage; when they were done, that plane would be equipped with the missiles and alternate with the Levitow on patrol. For now, Wisconsin would play relief.