It looked like a hatchet blade. It’s not going to stop.
The diamond-shaped jet slammed down on the deck. Something black — Boyce guessed it was rubber from one of the main tires — shot out from under the wings. The nose gear came down hard, compressing the long skinny strut. Boyce winced. He expected to see the strut snap, the jet collapsing and breaking apart.
It didn’t. It continued hurtling down the short deck, trailing hunks of rubber, traveling faster than Boyce had ever seen an airplane move on a carrier deck.
The jet plunged into the nylon webbing. And kept plunging straight ahead.
“Oh, shit,” Boyce heard someone say. The wedge-shaped nose of the jet was knifing through the webbing like a scimitar.
Through the thick glass on the bridge, he couldn’t hear the sound of the straps snapping and flailing the air — but he could see them. They were slicing backward along the sharp leading edges, breaking away like rubber bands.
“There it goes,” muttered Stickney. The nylon net was near its limit, stretching in a tight V-shape toward the end of the angled deck.
The jet was still careening ahead. Involuntarily Boyce glanced at the end of the deck. Beyond it waited a sixty-foot drop to the sea.
A strap grabbed the nose gear strut. More straps wrapped around the main gear.
The Black Star lurched like a tethered beast. Its nose protruded through the webbing, clawing its way to the open sea beyond. The jet was slowing… slower…not slow enough.
The nose gear rolled over the edge of the deck.
And stopped.
With its long nose and cockpit extending out over the open sea, the Black Star hovered like a praying mantis over the deck edge. Behind it trailed a web of torn and stretched and snapped nylon.
Stickney sucked in his first breath since the Black Star appeared behind the Reagan’s ramp. Boyce jabbed him with an elbow. “You see that, Sticks? Just like I told you. A piece of cake.”
CHAPTER 25 — ZAIJIAN
Alone, finally.
The two-hour debriefing was over. There would be more later, but Boyce had intervened by declaring a temporary moratorium on stupid intelligence officer questions.
The Black Star had been wrapped in a shroud and hustled down an elevator to a sealed compartment off the hangar deck. The few personnel who had seen the mysterious jet land aboard the Reagan had been ordered down to the SCIF— Special Compartmentalized Intelligence Facility — where an intelligence officer gave them dire warnings about the penalties of disclosure and had each sign a declaration of understanding.
Maxwell walked Mai-ling to her assigned stateroom. Neither spoke as they navigated the labyrinthine passageways, down the ladder to the 0–3 deck, through a score of knee knockers.
As he stepped over the knee knockers, he recognized the old familiar numbness that clung to him. It was the product of a non-stop adrenaline rush, the sweet satisfaction of a mission accomplished, a bone-deep fatigue from lack of sleep.
They located Mai-ling’s stateroom, on the forward deck. She let them in and closed the door. It was a junior officer’s room, with two bunk beds and two steel desk-cabinets.
She peered up at him. “You may kiss me now.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw the way you were looking at me. Go on, admit it. You’ve been wanting to do it for the past two hours.”
“Okay, I admit it.” He did exactly as she ordered. He tilted her chin up and kissed her.
It was just like the first time back at Chingchuankang — tentative, polite, barely touching her lips. Then she pressed herself to him. Her arms went around his neck, kissing him back with an energy and passion that took him by surprise.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Chen Mai-ling clearly possessed every essential quality a woman ought to have. With those high, regal cheek bones, her fine nose and flashing eyes — the girl bordered on drop-dead gorgeous. Even through the coarse ninja suit he could feel the tight, slender body, firm breasts pressed against his chest. She had loosened her tied-back black hair, letting it flow in a cascade over her collar.
There was more. She possessed a keen, high-spirited intelligence. She was undeniably brave. Mai-ling would be easy to love.
Why not?
Good question. Why was he even asking the question? What was holding him back?
Fatigue, for one thing. And something else. Something from another part of his life that he hadn’t let go. Not yet, anyway.
He looked at her. “We’re getting very close to a breach of Navy discipline.”
“What kind of breach is that?”
“Intimate relations while aboard a naval vessel.”
“I’m not in the Navy.”
“Good point. But I am, at least for the moment. As a squadron skipper I’m supposed to discourage this sort of activity.”
“Does that mean we shouldn’t make love?”
“It means another place, another time.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Another life, you mean?”
He didn’t answer. In the silence that passed between them, he sensed a chasm opening. He continued holding her. Nearly a minute passed while neither spoke.
He knew he couldn’t trust his feelings now. The past twelve hours had produced a special intimacy between them. More than intimacy. Passion for sure. Was it more than that?
She seemed to be reading his thoughts. Without lifting her head from his chest, she said, “What will happen to us, Brick?”
“What do you want to happen?”
“The usual things. I want us to be happy.”
“What would it take to make you happy?”
She thought for a moment. “To find a place where I belong. With someone I love and trust.” She took his hands in her. “I don’t know where that is. Or with whom. But my Chinese woman’s intuition is talking to me.”
“What is it telling you?”
“That you, Sam Maxwell, are not truly free. That your heart belongs to someone else.” She looked up at him. “Am I close?”
He nodded. “You’re close.” Maybe it was true about Chinese women. He had never told her about Claire or any of the secret things that had dwelled in his heart.
She lapsed into a silence. Finally she said, “What will they do with me?”
“Swear you to secrecy. What happened never really happened. The jet will go to the United States somewhere, and they’ll take it apart to see how much the PLA has learned about stealth technology.”
“And you?”
“I’ll resume my job as commanding officer of VFA-36, here aboard the Reagan.”
She thought for a moment. “Then I will return to Taiwan. It’s a place where I’m needed, at least until the war is ended. Then maybe I can go to the United States. I’m still a scientist. Perhaps I can be useful.”
He nodded. “You’re brilliant — as well as gorgeous.”
She looked at him. “You’re my hero. I will always love you because you saved my life.”
There it was. They both knew it. Another place, other circumstances, another life — it would be easy. Not here, not now. They were ships on different courses, to different destinations.
They stood with their arms around each other. She looked up at him with large, somber eyes. He saw tears forming.
“Zaijian, Brick.” She kissed her finger, touched it to his lips. “Live well.”
“Zaijian, Mai-ling. You too.”