Admiral Brooks had brought along two of his own aviation experts. They admired the Tigershark, speaking highly of its recovery at the end.

“It was the only thing that impressed me,” said Captain Fairfield, who had served as an F/A–18 wing commander in Afghanistan. “Any other aircraft put its nose up like that…”

He shook his head. Another Navy aviator mentioned a Russian MiG pilot who had tried a somewhat similar maneuver at an air show and ended up becoming the posthumous star of a viral video on disastrous plane accidents.

Still, it was a tough crowd, and as they broke up for lunch, Breanna sensed they had lost the pitch. General Magnus pulled her aside as one of Dreamland’s colonels met them and led them toward the executive dining area.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “It’s a problem with the Sabres. Something similar happened the other day and they thought they had it repaired.”

“I understand. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“The accident—what happened was similar to what happened to your husband.”

Breanna felt her face turning red.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized.”

Breanna felt tears welling in her eyes. She felt bad about how she had left things with Zen.

“I think it’s important to get the Tigershark to the air show,” said Magnus. “But only if this sort of thing isn’t going to happen.”

“The Tigershark itself is fine.”

“OK.”

Magnus started to turn away.

“General—I was wondering,” said Breanna. “What do you think—I wonder if I might tag along with you to the air show?”

“Really? You want to go?”

“Well, Jeff and my daughter are actually going to be there.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say that? Of course. We can take your family.”

Magnus smiled.

“They already have arrangements. My niece is going as well. They’re leaving tonight. He has to go to the NATO conference.”

“Ah—well then, you probably shouldn’t wait for me. I’m not flying out until Monday night. You’ll miss him.”

“Oh.”

“Go out tonight,” said Magnus.

“By the time I get back East—”

“Boss 12 is going out to Ukraine empty,” said Magnus, referring to an Air Force C–20B used as a VIP transport. “They need a backup in case something happens in Kiev. I’m sure they could arrange a stop in Prague. It is on the way.”

“You think?”

“Well, geography never was my best subject,” said Magnus, struggling to keep a straight face. “But I’m pretty sure it’s in that general direction.”

36

Northeastern Moldova

Nuri drew the task of coordinating with the Moldovan government and the CIA field office in Chisinau, which Reid had called in for support. He left for the capital around noon, planning to meet with the CIA station chief around dinnertime. Danny and Flash continued monitoring the farm, watching and planning how to proceed with the raid.

A car arrived shortly after 9:00 A.M. Two men got out and carried luggage into the house. About a half hour later a taxi drove up and dropped off another man at the roadside, leaving him to walk up the long drive on his own. He went in through the side door facing the garage and disappeared. Another did the same a half hour later. Then another car arrived with two men, just like the first.

Nothing happened for a few hours. Danny flipped back and forth through the feeds from the Predators—both were on station now—sipping the awful but free coffee he’d retrieved from the motel lobby.

He tried to imagine Stoner, constructing an image from his memories as well as the intelligence. Six-foot, stocky, square jaw and yet a slightly hollow face, the face of someone who had walked through a desert.

Physically ‘enhanced’?

There was no clear guidance on what that might mean. The intelligence was vague, based on vaguer reports. The Wolves were physically fit and in extremely good shape—that was a given for any special ops type group, which essentially described what they knew of the operation.

But they were more than that. The implication was that, at a minimum, they were using exoskeleton technology to help them run and lift things. And that the technology was more advanced than what anyone else, including the U.S., was using, since it hadn’t been detected.

Which in Danny’s view was highly unlikely.

Even staring at the old pictures, it was hard to see Stoner now. Gray hair? Fuller cheeks?

More than likely he wasn’t here. More than likely he was still at the bottom of that swamp.

Shortly before 1:00 p.m., MY-PID alerted Danny to activity at the back of the farmhouse. Danny hit the hot key on the laptop, bringing up the proper feed just in time to see two figures emerge from the cement stairwell that came out of the basement. Moments later a third and a fourth came out, finally a fifth. They trotted up the steps from the basement, moving around in a haphazard pattern—warming up, Danny thought, like a basketball team.

A sixth figure emerged. The others formed a semicircle around him. They began doing jumping jacks.

It was exactly like a basketball team. Right number, too.

Danny put his finger on the control slider and zoomed to maximum magnification, trying to get close-ups of the faces. He got a partial on one—it was clearly not Stoner.

The man next to him had what looked like the right build. But all he could see was the top of the man’s head. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, with only a small part of his scalp exposed.

“Request facial images,” Danny told the computer. “All subjects.”

The request had to be relayed to the Predator pilot. By the time the aircraft changed its orbit to attempt to see the face, the men had already begun to run around the property. The trees and hills—not to mention the UAV’s altitude—made getting close-ups of the faces very difficult, and the aircraft was only able to obtain two before the men returned to the house via the basement door. Neither man looked like Stoner.

Then again, the images were grainy and obscured by shadows—who could really say?

Flash came in a short time later, while Danny was replaying the warm-up routine.

“You sure we ain’t watching a soccer team?” he asked.

Danny could only shrug.

The farm was quiet for the next several hours. Then, just as dusk began to fall, figures started emerging from the house again. This time it was clear they weren’t an eccentric sports team on retreat—they were in full battle rattle, helmets and vests, rifles and sidearms. They moved over to the large steel building very deliberately, in a combat spread. Once there, they lined up in a close semicircle, waiting as the last figure came out and stepped in front of them.

Danny could easily picture the scene from the ground. He’d done it a hundred times.

OK men. This barn is our target. We infiltrate through the open door. We move through silently to the second floor. This is just to warm up…

Flash leaned forward next to him, watching.

“That’s not Manchester United,” he said.

They switched to the penetrating radar. From above, the image looked like a maze, with rats running through it.

“They firing, you think?” asked Flash. The infrared cameras weren’t picking up any gunfire.

“First time through, probably not,” said Danny. He’d already checked the general layout of the building interior. It didn’t match the building where the NATO meeting was taking place in Kiev. But then again, it looked fairly generic to him.