None of which consoled Zen for missing.
Though the waves were now less than a thousand feet away, Zen hung on, still holding his nose down. The cruise ship grew rapidly into the size of a brick. He sprayed shells at the sea, and saw the swells grabbing them. At a hundred feet, Zen got a proximity warning, pulled up slightly, and kept firing. The splutter of bullets sailed all around the spinning gray cylinder. Suddenly, the stream connected. The missile shot into a somersault and then exploded. Zen yanked back on the stick, said, “Computer, take One,” and jumped into the cockpit of Hawk Two.
The computer had already started to fire. Its target jerked left, then nosed up. Zen overrode the computer, pressing the trigger though his pipper was yellow. The ocean suddenly was all he could see—the missile was riding straight into the water.
He jerked upward, thinking the ship had been saved. But even as he did, he caught a large splotch of black in his face, and realized he was a lot closer than he’d thought to the tanker. Even before climbing back and spinning around to get a good view of the battle area, Zen realized the missile had survived just long enough to find its target, slamming into the side of the vessel at five hundred knots.
Philippines
1730
Mark Stoner stepped off the helicopter swiftly, ducking reflexively as the whirling rotors whipped grit against his face and clothes. He moved quickly toward the edge of the concrete, lugging his two Alice packs with him. The concrete ran surprisingly smooth, though there were a few spots where men were working on burning up roots and vines, and at the northern end a bulldozer and a buzz saw or two were hacking down a thick row of overhanging trees. Overall, the strip looked long, wide, and amazingly well-prepared.
The Whiplash people had established a sensor perimeter, using audio sensors, land radar, and optical and IR mini-cams tied by land lines to a sandbagged area about ten yards off the southern end of the airstrip. Stoner spotted it and began walking in that direction, ignoring the wind whipping from the wash of the Chinook that had deposited him on the island. Captain Danny Freah, the young Air Force officer who headed the deployment team, stood with his hands on his hips looking over the shoulder of a Whiplash trooper as they surveyed the array of video tubes.
Stoner recognized the captain’s frown; he’d seen it on the face of every one of is superiors when he was in the Navy. Bastards must be issued it the day they graduate officer’s school.
“Captain,” said Stoner.
“Hey,” responded Danny. “Be with you in a second.” He leaned over his man and began tapping one of the two keyboards. About twice the size of a computer keyboard, it had two rows of oversized buttons at the top and several fat sections of others on either side of the QWERTY layout. There were tiny legends on several, but most merely had letters and numbers, like “A4” and “DD-2.”
“Impressive,” said Stoner when Danny straightened. “Shows you the whole perimeter?”
“Yeah,” said Danny.
“What’s that?” One of the video screens was focused on two pieces of cloth stretched in a clearing beyond a small pond.
“Looks like a little village,” said Danny. “Its beyond the ridge, down the rift, maybe a mile, little less.”
“I can get them moved,” said Stoner. He reached into his pack for his satellite phone.
“That’s not necessary. Not yet,” said Danny.
“No, it is.”
“My call here,” said the captain.
“No, it’s not.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set—another officer expression Stoner was very familiar with.
“With all due respect, Mr. Stoner, I’m responsible for security here. My call.”
“This is my mission,” said Stoner flatly. He pushed the cover of the phone up, and dialed his Agency liaison in Manila, the deputy station chief.
He’d hit the last digit when the captain’s thick black hand folded around the phone.
“No,” said Danny.
Stoner took a deep breath and straightened his body, fully relaxed except for his grip on the phone. If he jerked his knee up and pushed his left elbow, the Air Force officer would fall to the ground with a collapsed windpipe.
“Let me spell it out,” said Danny, still holding the phone. “There are no more than a dozen people there. At the moment, they’ve made no move to come up over the ridge, and they have no way of communicating with the outside world. The other side of their camp is covered by another swamp. I have the only path out under video surveillance, and I have the beach opposite them under watch as well. If we move them, we’ll make a lot of noise and potentially a lot of fuss. It’s definitely an option, but I’d like to hold if off until necessary. I can take them prisoner in a half hour if need be. They’re unarmed, and they’re not getting away.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” said Stoner. He heard the words of his Zen master at the back of his head, telling him to breathe, telling him to maintain the center of the burning candle flame in his chest.
“Granted,” said Freah. “But this is the best way to proceed if we’re going to keep this base covert.”
The captain was a young guy, with an impressive war record. He probably also thought he could deck Stoner if it came to that.
“Captain, please let go of my phone,” he said gently. “We’ll do it your way—but let me just tell you something.” He paused, waiting for the officer to let go of the phone. Released, he brought his arm down and bowed his head—then in a flash put his arm at Danny’s neck, fingertips precisely on the two common carotid arteries. “Do not touch me again. Sometimes reflexes can be deadly.”