“No, I mean you saw me on TV?”
“The Secretary of State did most of the talking. He’s a bit full of himself, that one. But you got a few words in about the ship. And Dreamland.”
“I didn’t say anything about Dreamland,” said Jed.
“Your father wanted to tape it, but by the time he found a tape you were gone. There was a girl who’s going to the national spelling bee from Lincoln.”
“I’m like in a real fancy hotel here,” said Jed.
“Good for you, honey. Did they have silk sheets?”
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“I’m not sure,” said Jed.
“You did pull down the covers, right?”
“Well, yeah. I just don’t know what silk feels like.”
“You would if you slept on it.”
“Maybe it was,” said Jed.
“Who paid for you to stay there? Not the government.”
“No, Ambassador Ford set it all up.”
“You aren’t being paid by lobbyists, are you, Jed? On a junket? You don’t want to get in with those lobbyists.”
“No. They’re just friends, I think.” Ford had made the arrangements. Jed had no idea who was actually paying, just that it wasn’t him.
A tall man in a suit walked into the lobby. He saw Jed and walked over, flashing State Department credentials.
“Gotta go, Ma.”
“Have a good day, honey. And get a haircut!”
“I will.”
THE SECRETARY OF STATE LOOKED AS IF HE HADN’T HAD ANY
sleep; it was likely that he hadn’t. He’d gone back to Ford’s penthouse on the East Side, planning to work the phones as long as necessary. Ford, who probably had gotten as little sleep as the Secretary, was just about flying. According to the ambassador, the French had come around; there would be abstentions, but the measure was going to pass and not be vetoed. It was an important day for the U.S. and the world.
An overstatement, he knew, but his enthusiasm and con-viction were contagious. Jed followed them into the Security Council chamber, holding his laptop bag and some newspapers in one arm and a full cup of coffee in the other. The room seemed almost familiar today, and certainly friendlier.
Jed sat, propping the bag by his chair and unfolding the newspapers onto his lap. He hadn’t had a chance to read them yet.
He nearly dropped his coffee when he glanced at the cover of the Sunday Daily News.
It was his cobbled picture of the tanker on fire.
VII
Friends and Enemies
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
1900
THE SUBMARINE HAD BARELY MOVED SINCE THE LAST PATROL, but now that night was falling, Delaford predicted it would come up to periscope depth, take a look around, then proceed.
And sure enough, as the Megafortress circled to the north to get a better look at the British ship that had come through the gulf earlier in the day, the Libyan sub began nudging upward.
“Here we go, Colonel,” said Delaford, monitoring it with the Piranha.
“Good. Zen, you hear that?”
“Flighthawk leader,” said Zen, acknowledging.
Dog was about to hook into the Abner Read when the Dreamland communications channel buzzed with an incoming Eyes Only message. Dog gave his verbal password, then tapped the keypad at the right side of the screen, clearing the transmission in. Major Catsman’s face came on the screen.
“Colonel, the UN has just authorized the pursuit of pirates in territorial waters in the Gulf of Aden.”
Good, thought Dog.
And bad.
“Thank you, Major. I’ll talk to Captain Gale.”
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard the Abner Read,
Gulf of Aden
1905
“GO AHEAD,” THE DREAMLAND TECHIE TOLD STORM. “IT’S A channel on your com system. You’re always connected now.”
Storm looked down and pressed the button on the box on his belt. “Captain Gale.”
“The UN is approving the resolution allowing us to attack in territorial waters,” Dog told him. “We should get the official word in a few hours. I thought you’d like a heads-up.”
A peace offering? Between that and sending the world’s most beautiful woman to his ship, Bastian might yet prove human.
“Good. We’ll move in and get this bastard,” said Storm.
“No. Too soon.”
“Why do you have to disagree with everything I say, Bastian?”
“I don’t disagree with everything you say. Just things that need to be disagreed with.”
“Explain yourself,” said Storm tightly.
“If we attack now, we just get the submarine, and the patrol boat,” continued Dog. “You want their base. Nothing’s changed—except that in a few hours we’ll be able to do something about them, once and for all.”
“We have some places we think are likely candidates,”
said Storm. “We can hit them one by one, after we take out the sub.”
“Or we can follow it to the candidate,” said Dog. “And, as an extra bonus, if we wait, we can do it right. By tomorrow night we can have two Megafortresses, each with two Flighthawks. And more important, rested crews. We can bring my Whiplash people up during the day, and they can spearhead the land attack, along with your shipboard tactical teams.”
“The SITT people are good to go now,” said Storm, using the abbreviation for the specially trained teams of sailors SATAN’S TAIL
271
who specialized in boarding ships and dealing with difficult situations on land. The letters stood for Shipboard Integrated Tactical Team. “But I don’t have enough of them. I’m bringing in Marines.”
“All the better.”
Storm looked down at the deck. Once again Bastian was right. Attacking now might be bold, but it was also likely to be rash. Wait twenty-four hours, and they’d have more firepower. More important, they’d have a coherent plan, rather than reacting ad hoc.
Of course. That was the decision he would have made himself once he’d thought it out. He was resisting only because it was Bastian who’d suggested it.
“Be ready to act if something changes,” Storm told him.
“I always am.”
JENNIFER WATCHED STORM AS HE ENDED THE CONVERSATION
with Dog. His whole manner had changed as soon as he started talking with the colonel. She had seen the type before: fine, even supportive, when dealing with subordinates who didn’t threaten them by questioning their decisions; but come on too strong, and they reacted like an elephant protecting its place in the herd.
She picked up a headset and plugged into the circuit.
“Dog?”
“Hey, Jen.”
“We’re set to try connecting into the Megafortress’s radar system. But I’m worried that we’ll throw you off if something goes wrong here.”
“So what do we do?”
“It might be best to run it when Wisconsin is coming off patrol. We can isolate it to that system, then bring it up.
Worst case then, we just blind one aircraft.”
“Means you’re going to have to wait another four or five hours there.”
“There’s plenty to do. I still have the Werewolves to get ready. I’m training a new pilot.”
272
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“You are?”
“Storm wants one of his crew handling them.”
“I warned you. How’s Danny?”
“He’s fine. The Marines that have been chopped to Xray Pop are the same ones who were at Khamis Mushait, so he’s having a good time.”
“Oh?”
If she didn’t know Danny was married, she would say he had a serious crush on Lieutenant Klacker, aka Dancer. But this wasn’t the place for gossip.
“All right,” said Dog when she didn’t answer. “We’ll contact you when we’re ready. Take care.”
“Love you.”
As always, he hesitated before responding. “Me too.”