“I’m just telling the colonel we’re ready to deploy,” said Rubeo. The tea actually seemed to have an effect — he seemed almost human.
Almost.
“I’d like to make another recommendation,” Rubeo told Colonel Bastian. “I want to add the UMB to the search matrix. It can survey the entire area and stay on station for nearly twenty-four hours. We could incorporate some of the testing schedule—”
“The B-5 has only had a dozen flights,” said Dog. “No way.”
“Colonel, the idea of Whiplash is to test new technology in real situations,” said Rubeo.
Dog grimaced — his own words were being used against him.
“The UMB has a long way to go,” said Dog. “There have been difficulties with the engines, as well as delays with the control surfaces.”
“The hydrogen-fueled engine would not be necessary for this mission,” said Rubeo. “Otherwise, Colonel—”
“And besides,” said Colonel Bastian,” the UMB’s pilot is in the Philippines.” He glanced at Delaford, silently reminding him with a half-nod that he knew nothing about the UMB and had not heard any of his highly classified discussion. Delaford had been at Dreamland long enough to nod in reply.
“The UMB pilot is superfluous,” said Rubeo. “Four different scientists, myself included, are trained to handle the plane. During simulations—”
“The simulations are not the real thing. We’ve got a lot of other things to worry about right now. Let’s not get too complicated. End of discussion, Doc.” He put his arms down on his desk and leaned forward. “Good work getting Piranha ready.”
“Yes,” said Rubeo.
“Thanks,” said Jennifer. His glance at her felt like a physical thing, a caress. “We got a few breaks.”
“I want to deploy Iowa as soon as possible,” said Dog, turning to Delaford. “We can use it to gather more data on the Indian submarine. We have a location from the last encounter.”
“I’m with you, Colonel,” said Delaford.
“Tonight if we can. I’ll fly it myself.”
“Ensign English and I will be ready,” said Delaford.
“We’ll want technical people as well.” Colonel Bastian turned to Rubeo. “How many other command sets for the device?”
“We’ll have the backup and one additional unit ready within twenty-four hours,” said the scientist. “But they’ll have to be installed in the Flighthawk bays. We can do two more planes. We’ll need two full teams, though. I’d say about—”
“I’m in,” interrupted Jennifer. “On the technical team, I want to go.
“It’s not your project,” said Rubeo.
“Baloney — I handled all the communications compressions, and the native intelligence sections on the probe. I just fixed the E-PROM for you. I should be there.”
“I’d agree,” said Delaford.
Rubeo rolled his eyes but gave up — on her, at least. “Colonel, if I may — your place really is at the Command Center. Captain Teijen can fly the aircraft.”
“I think I’ll make the call on personnel, Doctor, especially on military assignments. If you care to recommend more technical people. I’m all ears.”
Dog listened as Delaford and Rubeo ran down the possibilities of technicians to handle the mechanical systems of the Piranha device. They were talking about twenty people, a small portion of the development team but far larger than a normal field deployment under Whiplash. It was one thing to send military people into a combat zone, and quite another to put scientists there. Nonetheless, if they were going to use Piranha, they had to support it adequately.
“All right,” said Dog finally. “Pick the people you want. You and Ensign English will fly in Iowa. We’ll go straight out and deploy the device, assuming we can get a reasonable fix on the sub’s location.”
“We’ll be ready.”
Dog rose, indicating the meeting was over. There were two lit buttons on the bank for encrypted calls, indicating calls on hold. As the others got up and filed out, he put his eyes down at his desk, pretending to study the papers there. He didn’t want to be caught eyeing Jennifer, but it was difficult. Finally, he glanced up, and saw the slight sway of her hips through the doorway. It wasn’t in any way provocative, it was just walking — but desire rushed into his veins nonetheless. He sat back down in his seat, took a sip of his coffee, then punched one of the buttons on hold without waiting for Ax to tell him who it was.
“Bastian.”
“Um, Colonel, good,” said Jed Barclay. “Sir, uh, standby for the President of the, um, United States.”
Dog sat upright in his seat.
“Colonel, how the hell are you?” said President Kevin Martindale breezily. The President had taken a liking to Colonel Bastian early in his administration, and his tone always implied that they were friends.
“Sir, very well.”
“Good. Now I’ve had the full briefings, and even young Jed here has filled me in, but I’d like to hear from you — the Chinese plane. What happened?” asked the President.
Dog explained carefully and as fully as he could, then segued from that into a description of the ensuing engagement between the Sukhois and the Indian sub, which had resulted in the sinking of the oil tanker and the probable loss of three men.
“Thank you, Dog.” The President’s voice remained friendly; they could had been discussing a hunting trip where they’d come up empty.
“Sir, we do have plans in place now to track the Indian submarine,” Dog added.
“Well, you carry on, Colonel,” said the President. “I’m afraid I have some pressing matters.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” said Dog reflexively. It was doubtful that the President heard his last few words; the line had snapped dead before he finished.
His intercom buzzed. Dog picked it up and barked at Ax. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that was the President on hold?”
“Didn’t know it was the President,” said Ax. “It was Mr. Barclay, as far as I knew. And he wasn’t on hold more than ten seconds. Line two Admiral Allen. He’s spitting bullets.”
“Why?”
“Born that way.”
“Listen, Ax, I’m going to be deploying to the Philippines—”
“Camp Paradise, huh? Pack a bathing suit, and a raincoat — there’s monsoons this time of year.”
“Thanks. Make sure everything’s in order. Is Major Ascenzio still in the secure center?”
“Far as I know, Colonel. How long will you be gone?”
“A few days.”
“Just wanted to know how many signatures I’ll need to forge.”
“Very funny, Ax.”
Dog punched the phone button and got a tired-sounding lieutenant on Admiral Allen’s staff.
“The admiral wants to speak to you, sir,” said the lieutenant.
“That’s why I’m here,” said Dog.
“Tecumseh, what the hell is going on?” said Allen, coming on the line a few seconds later.
“Not exactly sure what we’re talking about, Admiral.”
“I hear from my sources you’re looking for authority to fire at Chinese vessels.”
“Not at all, Admiral.”
“Don’t give me that crap. What are you trying to do, Colonel? Start World War III?”
“Admiral — I don’t know where that rumor came from,” said Dog. “I haven’t asked for authority to do anything.”
“What happened with the tanker?” asked Allen.
“The Chinese aircraft were firing at an Indian submarine,” Dog told him.
“Which conveniently disappeared.”
“We have tape of the incident,” said Dog. He wondered if Allen was being sabotaged by enemies over at the Pentagon — or if he was the target. “The details should have reached you by now.”
“They haven’t. I want to see it.”
“I’m sure if you called over to the NSC—”