The two B-2 bombers were “hot,” meaning they had live ordnance on board. They’d been in the air for eleven hours, having taken off from their home base at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri and flying a complex route, designed to test the crews’ abilities en route to their “target.”
Each plane was loaded with a conventional Block 30 weapons package: forty MK-82 five-hundred-pound bombs and thirty-six CBU-87 combined-effects munitions, each weighing a thousand pounds. Almost forty thousand pounds of ordnance was packed inside each aircraft, more than ten B-17 Flying Fortresses could carry. The bombs were loaded inside the fuselage on cylindrical racks, which allowed them to be dropped at a high rate of speed.
The two bombers were flying north at high altitude, having gone “feet dry” over the southern coast of Alaska. Their designated target was an Air Force bombing range in the middle of the state.
They were using GATS/GAM to conduct their mission: Global Positioning System Aided Targeting System/GPS Aided Munitions. In normal speak, that meant the two-man crews were basically surrendering control of targeting and even flight path to the computer, which had the location of the objective programmed in and which was updating the flight path every one thousandth of a second using Ground Positioning Satellites that fixed the aircraft’s position within two meters. The computer would not only get them to the target, it would release the bombs in a predetermined order to cause maximum destructive effect.
It was cutting-edge technology and something the crews of the planes didn’t particularly care for, as they were little more than observers.
Jackson found the two B-2s by following the GPS downlink. She flew above them on the virtual plane, admiring their sleek lines. While only 69 feet long, each aircraft was over twice that wide, at 172 feet. The smooth black surfaces were designed to make the aircraft virtually invisible to radar, and also served to make them almost invisible as they flew through the dark night sky.
Jackson slid into the first bomber. She found the master computer and entered it, flowing along the electronic paths inside.
Eagle Six’s hand barely twitched on the controls, but the RMS magnified the effort and the CS-MILSTAR satellite lifted off the floor of the cargo bay.
“The mainframe is still booting,” General Mitchell told McFairn. “But we have found access to an outside line. It’s an old one. Landline. As far as we can tell, it’s a regular phone line that someone forgot about.”
“Where?”
Mitchell led her out of the building they were in, into another that held stacks of crates. In the rear an old rotary dial phone hung on the wall. “One of my men checked it. It has a dial tone.”
McFairn grabbed it. There was a dial tone. She began dialing.
Dalton saw the ship below him, the large dishes facing the sky. He jumped once more, to the unoccupied flight deck at the rear of the ship behind the smokestack. He slipped from the virtual plane to the real. He assumed the form of Cesar and began moving forward along the port side.
He wished he had as clear a plan as Jackson did. He was winging it at best, but he figured thirty-five years of Special Operations experience would come up with something.
Mentor checked his watch. Five minutes until CS-MILSTAR was supposed to be on-line.
Hammond was at the computer console. “Barnes is out there, but he’s not responding to my attempts to contact him through Sybyl.” She scrolled down. “His pattern isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” Mentor asked.
Hammond shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just not right.”
Boreas glanced out the windows of the control center. Even on this moonless night he could make out the white peaks of the Wrangell Range. He glanced at the red digital countdown at the front of the control room as it clicked through four minutes.
His desk phone rang. He ignored it and hit Redial on the SATPhone. The desk phone continued to ring. He stalked over to the desk and grabbed the receiver.
“What?” he yelled.
“It’s McFairn. I have the code.”
Jackson left the first B-2 and went into the second. She knew what she was doing now and this time it went quicker.
Eagle Six had the arm at full extension. He locked the controls for a second and removed his hands. His palms were wet and he wiped them on his flight suit before regaining the controls.
“Status?” he called out.
“Green,” the payload master replied.
“Position?”
“Right on.”
“Attitude, velocity?”
“Within parameters.”
Eagle Six pulled a trigger and the end of the arm released the satellite. He spun ninety degrees to the right, to a communications panel, and accessed his private, secure link.
“Boreas, this is Eagle Six. Over.”
“This is Boreas. Over.”
“CS-MILSTAR is deployed. Operational in two minutes. Over.”
“Roger. Out here.”
“What the hell?” the pilot on the lead B-2 exclaimed as the plane banked to the right. He checked his navigation computer, then turned to the mission commander in the right seat. “We’re off course.”
The commander had already noted that and was furiously typing into his keyboard. “I can’t access control.”
“Shut it down then!”
“I can’t.” The commander slammed a fist down on the keyboard. “Where are we headed?”
“I have no idea.”
A red bulb lit up in front of them. The mission commander swallowed hard. “We’re weapons hot.”
Dalton cut through a cross corridor on his way toward the bridge and paused.
Jimmy.
He was perfectly still as he faded slightly from the real plane, accessing the virtual. He knew he was vulnerable, floating on the cusp between the two planes, but he felt Marie. He waited.
Two doors down. Left.
Dalton waited, knowing as he did so that he was running out of time to act, never mind come up with a plan. But there was nothing more from Marie.
He returned solidly to the real plane. He walked down the corridor and pivoted left in front of a door. He grabbed the knob and threw it open.
A woman was sitting on a bed, several plastic weapons cases next to her, a frame in her hand-the woman who had thrown the strange grenade at the villa in Saba. She jumped to her feet.
“Cesar! You’ve reconsidered?”
Dalton had to trust Marie. She wouldn’t have sent him in here without knowing more than he did. He shifted avatars, assuming his own form.
The woman was as fast as his change, her hand snaking to the shoulder holster and having a gun pointed at him before he had finished transitioning. “Who are you?”
That was an interesting question, Dalton realized, one he wasn’t sure how to answer.
“You’re American?” the woman asked.
Dalton nodded.
“A Psychic Warrior?”
“Yes. Sergeant Major Dalton.”
“I’m Valika.” The gun was still pointed at him. “Why are you here?”
“To stop the transmission.”
“It is bad, isn’t it?” Valika asked, the muzzle of the weapon lowering slightly.
“Yes.”
“Cesar is not himself.”
“He’s being manipulated.”
“By who?”
“A group. They-” Dalton searched for words. “Live on the other side. In the virtual plane.”
Valika nodded. “ Souris has also been corrupted by them. And they have changed her. I knew it. I knew something was wrong all along.”
“They mean to kill everyone on the planet.”
Valika shook her head, but not very convincingly.
“Cesar says the satellites will target specific places on the planet.”
“The MIL STAR satellites blanket the world,” Dalton said. “And he’s not in control like he thinks. Is Souris here?”