Danny led the way to the Abner Read’s Tactical Center, which the ship’s captain had loaned them for the briefing.

The holographic table at the center of the space displayed a three-dimensional map of northern India; Dreamland’s map of the possible locations of the warheads had been super-imposed on the layout. Danny quickly sketched out the situation.

The U-2 had spotted two missiles in a mountain valley south of the Pakistan-India border. Fired by India, the weapons had crashed in the high desert two hundred miles from the coast. The Bennett had identified another seventy-five miles to the northeast, closer to the border on lower land.

The remaining warheads—twenty-five—were still to be found.

“This area has the most promise,” said Danny, pointing to a spot in the southern Thar Desert. “You can see from the projections there may be as many as six here, all launched from Pakistan. The Bennett will look there next.”

Danny explained that both countries lost their power grids, throwing them into chaos. Things were even worse in the wide swath of territory affected by the EEMWBs, where all electronics had been wiped out, even those that ran on batteries or could be connected to backup generators off the grid. It included all of the areas where the missiles were thought to have gone down. With the exception of three small radars on 96

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the west coast, the military installations in the rest of India were either using their radars intermittently or not at all because of power problems. The Indians had two phased-array, long-range warning radar aircraft. One had been wiped out by the T-Rays and crashed near Delhi. The other was patrol-ling the east coast of the country, helping to monitor a Chinese fleet there.

The Chinese, meanwhile, had ordered the stricken aircraft carrier Khan to return to port. It was still north, near Pakistan, preparing to go south. Even if it remained where it was, Danny said, it was in no shape to challenge their operations.

“Our real handicap right now is low-level reconnaissance.

The Megafortress isn’t equipped with Flighthawks. That should be remedied by this evening. Which brings me to another problem—we need to get our top Flighthawk pilot down to Diego Garcia so he can help out.”

“Where is he?”

“Catching some z’s in a rack,” said Danny.

“He’s aboard ship?” asked Dancer.

“He’s been running the Werewolf and training the AbnerRead’s crew to handle it themselves. We were hoping you could take him back to the Lincoln and fly him down to Diego Garcia. We can arrange refuels.”

Dancer turned to Major Behrens. Danny stared at her face.

She was a serious, serious temptation, even for a married man.

Especially for a married man.

He just barely managed to look away as Dancer turned back.

“I think the general can persuade the captain of the Lincoln to spare an airplane,” said Behrens. “Or we can arrange something with Ospreys. We’ll work it out.”

“Good,” said Danny. He sensed that Dancer was staring at him and kept his own eyes focused on the table. “How soon can you get people on the ground, and what’s the game plan?”

“Major, Lieutenant, I’m sorry I was busy when you ar-

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rived,” said Storm, striding into the room unannounced. “Welcome aboard.”

Danny stepped to the side, thankful for the interruption.

He was married, he reminded himself. And this was work.

But damn, Dancer looked even more gorgeous than he remembered. The Marine camo uniform somehow accented her dusky rose face, and it didn’t hide her trim hips. She wore her black hair in a tight braid that looked part Amazon war-rior, part beauty queen.

“We’re happy to host you,” continued Storm. “Make us your operations center.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Major Behrens, “but we’ve already set up temporary ops on the carrier. Our ship is on her way; she should be close enough to handle full operations in fifty-six hours.”

“You’ll be done by then,” said Storm gruffly.

Danny kept his smile to himself. Storm liked to be in the middle of the action.

“Hopefully,” agreed Dancer. “In the meantime, Captain, we’d be grateful of any support you can give. This is one of the best ships in the Navy,” she added, turning to Behrens.

“It’s the future. I’ve seen the crew in the action. They’re very good.”

“What about you, Captain Freah?” Storm asked, pretending to ignore the compliment—though he’d shaded slightly.

“Where are you going to be?”

“You’re coming with me and the assault team, aren’t you, Captain?” asked Dancer.

“Wherever we’re needed,” said Danny, holding her gaze for the first time since she’d come on board.

It felt good—too good, he knew. But he didn’t break it, and neither did she.

DANCER’S UNSOLICITED COMPLIMENT ABOUT THE ABNER

Read didn’t lift Storm’s mood. Having shot off all his missiles in combat, he found himself nearly impotent just when things were going to turn hot again. True, he had torpedoes, 98

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but they were intended primarily for use against submarines and had nowhere near the range of Harpoons. Nor would they be much good against airplanes.

And the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was going to face airplanes very soon. Not from the Indians, but from the Khan.

The master of the Chinese ship resented the fact that they had picked up his pilot. Storm could tell from the brief communication he’d sent, almost a blowoff, when they’d shipped the man out in the Sharkboat. And the Khan was still north, clearly planning something.

“Captain, you have a minute?” asked Eyes as he started for the bridge.

“Sure,” he told his exec.

“In private?”

Storm nodded, then followed Eyes forward to the galley, a short distance away.

“Coffee, sir?”

“No, I’ve had my fill,” said Storm. “What’s up?”

“I’m wondering if we’re going to have an option on what port we put into, and if so, I’d like to make some suggestions,” said Eyes.

“Port?” sputtered Storm.

“Aren’t we going to get—”

Storm didn’t let him finish. “We’re not going into port.

Not now. Do you understand what we’re in the middle of?”

“We’ve done our part,” said Eyes. “Between the action earlier—”

“What’s gotten into you, Eyes?”

“What do you mean, Storm?”

“You don’t want to quit, do you?”

“Quit?”

“You’re talking about going home.”

“Captain, we have no more weapons. We have to replenish.”

“We have plenty of fuel.”

Eyes frowned. “I’m just trying to get the men the best place for R and R.”

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“You’re talking about shore leave at a time when we should be fighting,” said Storm. He felt his whole body growing warm. “You need to be coming up with a plan to deal with the Khan. Their captain is up to something.”

Eyes put his coffee down on the table. “We have no more Harpoons, Storm. Or Standard missiles. We have no fresh vegetables. The ship has been at sea for over a month. That’s twice as long as we’d planned.”

“Don’t be a defeatist. We’ll get resupplied once we meet the Lincoln.”

Eyes frowned. “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant commander picked up his coffee and started to leave.

“Were are you going, mister?” snapped Storm.

“I was just going back to my duty station, sir.”

Storm wondered if he should relieve Eyes. He couldn’t have someone with a negative attitude as his number two.

No, he thought. His exec was just tired. He hadn’t been to sleep for a day and a half, at least.

“Go get yourself some rest, Eyes,” Storm told him. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”