But if he spoke falsely, would Skandar detect that?

He resigned himself to telling the truth. “If we attack the Americans, won’t they retaliate?”

“If we strike fiercely enough, they will not be in a position to attack us.”

“I meant, after this battle—”

“We must survive the battle first before worrying about the future. Do you not think the Americans are a threat?”

“The Americans have been neutral.”

“Do you think it is a coincidence that they have been nearby when the other attacks occurred? If they have not launched the attacks themselves, is it not possible that they provided intelligence to those who have?”

Memon had made this point, or one similar, to Admiral Kala. But now the idea filled him with fear.

“During the 1967 war between Israel and Egypt, the Is-raelis had a similar situation with an American vessel in the war zone,” continued the admiral. “The ship was attacked as a necessary expedient. There was no retaliation.”

“Yes,” managed Memon, not knowing what else to say.

“American policy in Asia is best served if neither China nor India are superpowers,” continued Skandar. “They want us to destroy each other. Their diplomats pretend otherwise, but it is a logical conclusion on their part. Their vessel may supply information, directly or indirectly, to our enemies. It cannot be ignored.”

The harsh fluorescent light made Skandar’s face appear somewhat paler than normal. But the effect, harsh on so END GAME

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many others, made the minister seem years younger. Only his eyes, with their crinkled corners, stayed old.

“You are afraid of attacking the Americans?” Skandar asked again.

“I worry about the consequences.”

Skandar nodded. “In a battle, many things happen. The diplomats will excuse it. They will say that the government did not order the attacks. I have consulted with our friends in congress on this; we have weighed the consequences.

The loss of the ship will be overshadowed by other events.

If the Pakistanis or their Chinese allies attack, the response will be devastating. And they will attack. This is a moment of history, Anil. It is the opening of a struggle for dominance in Asia, a new era. But you recognized this moment would come. You’ve spoken of it often.”

“Are we ready?” Memon asked weakly.

“We are prepared. You’ve helped see to that,” said Skandar. “The war will come. It is an inevitability.”

“Inevitable,” repeated Memon.

“You tasted blood.” Skandar’s voice rose slightly. “The encounter was more than you had thought it would be.”

Memon nodded.

“I could not hold food in my stomach for two weeks after my first battle, and the only dead men I saw were the enemy,” Skandar said. “You will be fine. Come.”

Memon followed along, as unsure as ever.

VIII

Inevitability

Diego Garcia

0055, 15 January 1998

(2355, 14 January, Karachi)

BREANNA PUSHED THE LOCK OF HAIR AWAY FROM HER EYE, arranging it behind her ear with her fingers. The mirror in the tiny bathroom wasn’t big enough to show more than a quarter of her face, let alone the rest of her. Her nightshirt—actually an oversized T-shirt she’d appropriated from Zen months ago—was hardly sexy, but it was marginally more alluring than the heavy sweats she usually slept in.

Not that she wanted to be alluring, or felt a need to be.

What she wanted to be was honest and easy and uncomplicated, not wracked with guilt and fear, if that was the right word. She wanted to talk with her husband without worrying about landmines, to be able to say she loved him and wanted the best for him, and ask why he was giving up.

Why was he giving up?

“Hey,” Zen grunted from inside the room. “You comin’

to bed?”

Breanna snapped off the light. “I’m thinking about it,”

she said, forcing her voice to be cheerful.

She opened the door and stepped into the darkened room, nearly tripping over the cots they’d pushed together to form a double bed. She slipped in beside him, wrapping her arm around his chest and then gently resting her head on his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

290

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Missed you too. More than ever.”

“You think you’ll be able to sleep? My body clock’s all messed up.”

“I have some Ambien if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

I’m being a coward, she told herself. Just blurt it out.

“Jeff?”

“You feeling frisky?” he asked, leaning his body to the side and starting to fondle her breast.

“I—”

Before she could continue, there was a knock on the door.

“Major Stockard? Captain?” said Boston from the hallway. “Uh, sir, ma’am? You awake in there?”

“We’re busy, Boston,” growled Zen. “Come back next year.”

“I really wish I could, sir. I really wish I could. But the colonel needs to talk to you ASAP over at the Dreamland Command trailer.”

“He’s back already?” said Breanna. She glanced at her watch. The original plan called for the Wisconsin to stay on station until the Levitow returned to the area. It wasn’t supposed to be ready to take off for another hour yet, at least.

“Uh, no, ma’am. He’s on the secure line.”

“All right. We’ll be right there,” said Zen, pushing himself upright.

TEN MINUTES LATER ZEN AND BREANNA JOINED THE OTHER

Dreamland officers crowding into the Dreamland Command trailer. Zen had to squeeze past the door and pivot to his right, never easy in these cramped quarters as he came up the ramp, and harder today, not so much because of the crowd as the fact that he was tired.

Danny had folded back the divider between the secure communications area and the main room, making it possible to swing the video conferencing unit out where everyone could see—or at least pretend to see. He’d also jacked END GAME

291

up the volume, though even at its highest level it was just barely audible at the far end of the trailer.

“We’ve had some more simulations done at Dreamland,”

Dog told them after briefly recounting their mission and the general situation. “The computer models show that we need more detonations to be successful than we thought earlier.

That means, for practical purposes, seven missiles, fired in a preplanned sequence. And from somewhat farther over Indian territory than we had originally planned.”

Zen guessed the rest: The Levitow and Wisconsin would have to stay on station until the crisis passed, or until more EEMWBs were manufactured. The Levitow, due to take off within the hour, would have two sets of pilots and an extra radar operator; the crews would rotate, with those off-duty trying to catch some z’s in the compartment behind the flight deck. Used by the defensive team in a

“stock” B-52, the compartment was designed for another set of Flighthawk operators, but in Dreamland EB-52s it was usually empty or else crammed with test gear. Cots had been installed during some deployments and long sorties. There was no confusing the accommodations with a deluxe hotel, or even a sturdy Army cot, but they were serviceable.

“What about the Flighthawks?” asked Zen.

“Two per plane. They’re not shielded, so Zen, you’ll have to work out a strategy to maximize protection if we have to move ahead. We’ll exchange Ensign English for a Flighthawk pilot on Levitow. The Piranha unit is nearing the end of its patrol time anyway; its fuel cell is almost used up. The second pilot will control it for as long as possible, then put it into autonomous mode.”

“What about the planes on the Chinese carrier?” asked Breanna.

“The Levitow will target them, with the Abner Read backing her up.”