“It should. It’s Mark Stoner.”
Zen felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
“Stoner?” he said finally. “The Mark Stoner?”
“Yes.”
“The CIA officer who worked with us.”
She nodded.
“He died,” said Zen.
“Maybe not.”
“The hell he didn’t. I was on that mission, Bree. I remember — my Flighthawks — I couldn’t get there in time. We weren’t supposed to cross the border. Stoner’s helicopter went into the swamp.”
“His body was never recovered,” she told him.
“There’s no way he could have lived. What? They rebuilt him?”
“Something like that, maybe. We don’t know.”
“Shit. No way.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too — it’s like science fiction. A crash like that — there were bodies recovered,” he said, remembering. “There were definitely bodies.”
“Not his.”
“You can’t rebuild a human being. Look at my legs. They’re still useless. All those experiments—”
“Those just didn’t work. Maybe the experiments with him did.”
“No.” Zen shook his head. He simply didn’t believe it.
“Who would have believed an airplane could fly by remote control twenty years ago?” Breanna asked.
“I would believe it.”
“That’s because you were working on the project. Science fiction becomes reality pretty quickly these days. Ready or not.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Does Danny know?” asked Zen. “Is he involved in the mission?”
“I’m not discussing operational details with you. I can’t.”
“Come on, Bree. Danny’s our friend. Stoner was a friend of his, too.”
“Mark saved my life,” blurted Breanna. “Don’t tell me about friends.”
“You didn’t tell Danny, did you?” said Zen calmly. “He doesn’t know.”
“Jeff, I’m sorry I said anything.” She sighed. “I will tell him if it’s important. When it’s important.”
God, she screamed at herself inside. Why did you say that?
“You have to tell him, Bree.” Zen wheeled around to look into her face. “You have to.”
“You just said it was science fiction. He probably won’t believe it either.”
“But you do.”
“Yes. I do.”
“You have evidence?”
They had what they thought was a partial DNA match, if the computer records were right. But they might not be. And there were other explanations — long shots, but maybe no more implausible than this.
Still, she was convinced.
“You don’t know what the situation is.”
“If what you’re saying is true, which I don’t know that I believe,” added Zen, “but let’s say, for argument’s sake, that it is. Let’s say it is Mark Stoner, somehow, resurrected from the grave or hospital bed, whatever. Then that’s his friend who’s hunting him down. Who’s probably going to kill him.” Zen rolled his wheelchair close to her. “Is that why Whiplash is involved? So Danny can see if it really is Stoner?”
“Jeff—”
“That’s why you sent him. Because you think Stoner will recognize him, and hesitate. Or come over to our side. Somehow.”
It was part of what they were thinking, at least at the beginning. But then new evidence had seemed to contradict the conclusion that it was Stoner. Breanna had decided not to tell Danny — it would only confuse and complicate the issue. When the time was right, when they had more evidence, then she would tell him about the possible DNA match, and the rest of the theories. For now, the job was simple — find out who these people were.
Whiplash was the best group for the job, with or without the old Dreamland connection.
“You have to tell him,” Zen said.
“I thought you didn’t believe it.”
“But you do,” he answered. “You have to be honest with him.”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do. You don’t know what the pressures are.”
“What does this have to do with pressure, Bree? This has to do with basic honesty.”
“Honesty? Honesty? What the hell are you talking about, honesty? You lie to people all the time.”
“I don’t lie.”
“You’re a politician. Tell me you don’t lie.”
It was the worst fight they’d had in years. The only fight they’d had in years. There’d been disagreements, debates maybe, but nothing approaching this. This was a nuclear explosion, a blowout so severe it left them both trembling.
Maybe it had been a long time coming. Maybe they were just due. Maybe at its heart, the fight had little to do with Mark Stoner and Danny and who should know what.
Maybe at its heart, Breanna was worried about him and didn’t want to lose him. And he…
He wasn’t sure what he was worried about. He knew he was angry, over a lot of things, none of which had anything to do with his wife, not really.
Losing his legs most of all. Even now, even after all these years without them. He wanted them. He wanted them so badly he would trade anything for them.
Not his daughter. Not his wife, not even tonight in his anger. But anything else.
Zen stayed in the living room while Breanna went to the bedroom. He went into the kitchen and got himself a beer, then sipped it slowly, thinking back to his days at Dreamland.
He didn’t believe it could possibly be true. It wasn’t the question of whether Stoner had survived. He’d seen worse crashes — hell, his own for starters.
But to be rebuilt?
Science fiction bullshit.
The phrase was familiar. Zen looked down at his legs, trying to place it.
Oh yeah, he thought, remembering. It was what the Air Force secretary had said the day he arrived at Dreamland to review the Flighthawk project.
The day of his accident, when one of the Flighthawks cut too close to his tail.
The Air Force secretary had said it with a smile on his face, laughing, really, shaking his hand before the flight.
Science fiction bullshit, that just happened to be true.
Supermen
14
“Why Moldova?” Danny asked.
“I have no idea if it means anything,” Nuri told him as they debriefed the break-in over the secure sat phone. “He was looking at a lot of sites there. We’ll have a better idea in the morning, when MY-PID finishes churning through all the data. I just thought it was a little unusual. Moldova is not exactly the garden spot of the world. It’s not on the beaten path, that’s for sure.”
“It’s not,” agreed Danny.
“The guy loves porn,” continued Nuri. “And he’s an animal — he started screwing on the couch while I was there. I swear, I was ten feet away. Maybe closer. If they’d seen me, they probably would have asked me to join in.”
Nuri’s mention of Moldova brought back painful memories for Danny. A decade and a half before, Dreamland Whiplash had run an operation in neighboring Romania, helping rout guerrillas who were trying to disrupt a pipeline project. In the process, they’d helped rescue the country from a coup.
But they’d lost a key member of the team and a friend, CIA officer Mark Stoner. Danny could still remember getting the news.
They talked for a while more, about whether Flash should stay with Nuri or come to Kiev, about how many more people they’d need, about when to contact the local authorities.
Danny couldn’t focus on any of it. He kept thinking about Stoner.
He’d lost a lot of friends in the early part of his career, in Bosnia, and then with Dreamland. Later on in the Gulf and Afghanistan. It had been a luxury the last few years, not having to worry about forming friendships that could end all too suddenly.