Breanna suddenly felt underdressed and unprepared — she hadn’t even done her lipstick.
“General, nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to the Ukrainian official.
“My pleasure, Ms. Stockard. We have always admired the work of Dreamland.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t believe you know our defense minister,” added the general as a tall, elderly gentleman approached from the stairway of the Antonov. “Dr. Gustov.”
“No, I don’t think we’ve met,” said Breanna.
Despite his age — Gustov was seventy-seven — he moved quickly across the tarmac. Dressed in a blue pin-striped suit, with a full head of jet black hair brushed straight back against his scalp, he held himself perfectly erect, with an athletic air. His face was smooth and his gestures elegant; Breanna thought he must have been quite a ladies’ man in his youth.
Perhaps even now.
“Dr. Gustav, allow me to introduce Breanna Stockard, a member of the U.S. Pentagon,” said General Josef.
The minister took her hand. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss it in the old-world style, but instead he held it and bowed his head slightly. It was just as charming.
“A pleasure, Ms. Stockard. You are with the Pentagon?”
“I’m the director of the Office of Technology.”
“Stockard — I know the name.”
“She was a member of Dreamland,” said the general.
“Ah, Dreamland,” said the minister. “We heard of your battles.”
“We still study the encounters,” said Major Krufts.
“When you faced the Chinese and flew over their capital, were you scared?” asked Minister Gustov.
“I think you may be talking about my father,” said Breanna. “I don’t think he was scared of anything. Is scared,” she said, realizing she had talked about him in the past tense. “But I did have a few encounters with them,” she said hastily. “Some of their pilots were quite good.”
“Who were the best pilots you encountered?” asked the general.
“Hard to say.” They had all been difficult, and Breanna didn’t like to rank them. She was asked the question a lot, though, so she gave the answer she usually did. “Probably the Indians. Their technology at the time was very underrated. They took a lot of Russian equipment and upgraded it tremendously. And they trained very effectively.”
“And now you are on to other things,” said General Josef. He turned to the defense minister. “We saw the plane while you were on the phone. It’s quite an aircraft.”
“Turk already gave you a tour?” Breanna asked.
“He showed us the plane. But of course we would all like to see it fly.”
“I told them we could probably arrange a private fly-by in a couple of hours,” said Turk. “Have to do a check flight anyway.”
“By all means.”
“I’d go right now, but the minister has a meeting,” added Turk. “That’s one of the design benefits — plane can be turned around for a sortie like in nothing flat.”
You don’t have to sell them, thought Breanna. They can’t afford it.
“You feel like flying again so soon after coming across the ocean and continent?” asked the minister.
“There’s never a time I don’t feel like flying.”
Everyone, including Turk, laughed.
“It’s good be young,” said General Josef.
Major Krufts glanced at his watch. “General, I hate to be the one to remind you…”
“Contractors,” said the defense minister. “Always trying to sell us new toys.”
“Upgrades,” said the general. “Necessary.”
The minister gave a skeptical “Hmmm.”
“We have a meeting. Breakfast,” said the general. “We should get going.”
“Our meeting is at the Old Castle,” the defense minister explained to Breanna. “The Czechs have renovated the ruins to appear as if they are still in medieval times. You should tour the museum.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m on my way there to meet my husband and daughter.”
“Then you will go in our car, and we can continue this conversation,” said the minister. “General, wouldn’t you say?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea.”
Breanna glanced at Turk. “Is everything OK with the Tigershark?”
“I could take off in ten minutes if you want,” he told her.
“You should get some rest.”
“I’m fine.”
Breanna turned to the Dr. Gustov.
“It would be my pleasure to ride with you,” she told him. “Please lead the way.”
71
The early guests in the small restaurant were an inconvenience, not a complication. The Black Wolf had them brought into the kitchen with the workers, while he finished examining the room where the meeting was to take place.
There was not much to it — he would stand near the door and shoot the general, then the minister. It would be over in seconds.
Then they would leave. The helicopter would land moments after the alarm was sounded. He was sure of this, since he himself would sound the alarm.
He would take one of the civilians, someone from the kitchen staff, as a hostage, insurance just in case something unforeseen happened.
No — he would grab one of the men who had been having breakfast. They were important guests; their death would be more sensational.
“Done,” said Gray Wolf, coming back. “They are locked in the storage pantry.”
“And they can’t get out?” asked the Black Wolf.
“Blue is there.”
The Black Wolf nodded. The men used English to communicate, since they came from different countries. The teams were always mixed. The Black Wolf had worked with all of the men involved on this mission before, but not together.
“The one with the wheelchair was trying to make a phone call. I stopped him,” added Gray.
“A wheelchair?”
Gray repeated the word in German.
“I understood the word,” said the Black Wolf.
“Yes, a chair. Here is the phone.”
Gray handed him a BlackBerry. Black Wolf stuffed it into his pocket, then put his hand to his ear set.
“Cafeteria is secure. Red, what is the situation?”
“Nothing on the road.”
“We will wait,” said Black Wolf. “It should not be long now.”
Zen rolled the wheelchair back against the shelf unit in the storeroom, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. Besides himself and Lynch, there were three other people inside the large pantry storeroom — the waiter, a cook, and his assistant, a woman roughly Caroline’s age. All had been searched, the contents of their pockets emptied.
“Is this a robbery?” whispered Lynch.
“No,” said Zen. “My bet is they’re after whoever’s coming to that meeting the staff was setting up for. It’s a kidnapping or an assassination.”
“Bloody hell. Leave us out of it.”
“We’ll be lucky if they do,” said Zen. He thought of the girls upstairs. There was no way to get a message to them.
Had the man he’d seen been Stoner?
It couldn’t have been. And if it was, it wouldn’t help.
“There wouldn’t happen to be a trapdoor in the place?” Lynch asked the others. “A secret exit or something?”
“No,” said the waiter.
“How about a ventilation shaft?” asked Zen. “For the air conditioner or heating?”