“Where’d you learn to fly?” he asked Viktor.
“Bosnia. Croatia. That’s what I did in the military. Search and destroy.”
“Good place to build your nerves.”
“And get killed.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“How far?” Cassiopeia asked through the headset.
They were flying east, at nearly three hundred kilometers an hour, toward Ely’s cabin in the Pamirs. Zovastina would soon be free, if not already, so he asked, “What about anyone coming after us?”
Viktor motioned ahead. “Those mountains will give us cover. Tough to track anything in there. We’ll be into them shortly, and we’re only minutes from the Chinese border. We can always escape there.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” Cassiopeia said. “How far?”
Malone had intentionally avoided answering. She was anxious. He wanted to tell her he knew she was sick. Let her know somebody cared. That he understood her frustration. But he knew better. Instead, he said, “We’re moving as fast as we can.” He paused. “But this is probably better than being tied to trees.”
“I assume I’ll never live that one down.”
“Something like that.”
“Okay, Cotton, I’m a little upset. But you have to understand, I thought Ely was dead. I wanted him to be alive, but I knew-I thought-” She caught herself. “And now-”
He turned and saw excitement in her eyes, which both energized and saddened him. Then he caught himself and finished her thought, “And now he’s with Stephanie and Henrik. So calm down.”
She was seated alone in the rear compartment. He saw her tap Viktor on the shoulder. “Did you know about Ely being alive?”
Viktor shook his head. “I was taunting you on the boat in Venice when I told you he was dead. I had to say something. Truth is, I’m the one who saved Ely. Zovastina thought someone might move on him. He was her adviser and political murder is commonplace in the Federation. She wanted Ely protected. After that attempt on his life, she hid him. I haven’t had anything to do with him since. Though I was head of the guard, she was in charge. So I really don’t know what happened to him. I learned not to ask questions, just do what she said.”
Malone caught the past tense observation concerning Viktor’s job status. “She’ll kill you if she finds you.”
“I knew the rules before all this started.”
They continued flying smooth and straight. He’d never flown in a Hind. Its instrumentation was impressive, as was its firepower. Guided missiles. Multibarrel machine guns. Twin cannon pods.
“Cotton,” Cassiopeia said, “do you have a way of communicating with Stephanie?”
Not a question he wanted to answer at the moment, but he had no choice. “I do.”
“Give it to me.”
He found the world phone-Magellan Billet-issue, provided by Stephanie in Venice-and dialed the number, slipping off his headset. A few seconds were needed before a pulsating buzz confirmed a connection and Stephanie’s voice greeted him.
“We’re headed your way,” he said.
“We left the cabin,” she said. “We’re driving south on a highway marked M45 to what was once Mt. Klimax. Ely knows where it is. He says the locals call the place Arima.”
“Tell me more.”
He listened, then repeated the information to Viktor, who nodded. “I know where that is.”
Viktor banked the copter southeast and increased speed.
“We’re on our way,” he told Stephanie. “Everyone here is fine.”
He saw that Cassiopeia wanted the phone, but that wasn’t going to happen. He motioned no with his head, hoping she’d understand that now was not the time. But to comfort her, he asked Stephanie, “Ely okay?”
“Yeah, but anxious.”
“I know what you mean. We’ll be there before you. I’ll call. We can do some aerial recon until you get there.”
“Viktor any help?”
“Wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for him.”
He clicked off the phone and told Cassiopeia where Ely was headed.
An alarm sounded in the cabin.
His gaze found the radar display that indicated two targets approaching from the west.
“Black Sharks,” Viktor said, “coming straight for us.”
Malone knew those choppers, too. NATO called them Hokums. KA-50s. Fast, efficient, loaded with guided missiles and 30mm cannons. He saw that Viktor also realized the threat.
“They found us quick,” Malone said.
“There’s a base near here.”
“What do you plan to do?”
They started to climb, gaining altitude, changing course. Six thousand feet. Seven. Nine. Leveling at ten.
“You know how to use the guns?” Viktor asked.
He was sitting in the weapons officer’s seat, so he scanned the instrument panel. Luckily, he could read Russian. “I can manage.”
“Then get ready for a fight.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
SAMARKAND
ZOVASTINA WATCHED AS HER GENERALS CONSIDERED THE WAR plan. The men sitting around the conference table were her most trusted subordinates, though she tempered that trust with a realization that one or more of them could be a traitor. After the past twenty-four hours she could not be sure of anything. These men had all been with her from the beginning, rising as she rose, steadily building the Federation’s offensive strength, readying themselves for what was about to come.
“We’ll take Iran first,” she declared.
She knew the calculations. The current population of Pakistan was a hundred and seventy million. Afghanistan, thirty-two million. Iran, sixty-eight million. All three were targets. Originally, she’d planned a simultaneous assault, now she believed a strategic strike better. If infection points were chosen with care, places of maximum density, and the viruses planted with skill, the computer models predicted a population reduction of seventy percent or more would occur within fourteen days. She told the men what they already knew, then added, “We need a total panic. A crisis. The Iranians have to want our assistance. What do you have planned?”
“We’ll start with their military forces and government,” one of the generals said. “Most of the viral agents work in less than forty-eight hours. But we’ll vary which ones we use. They’ll identify a virus fairly quickly, but then they’ll have another to deal with. That should keep them off guard and prevent any productive medical response.”
She’d been concerned on that point, but not anymore. “The scientists tell me the viruses have all been modified, making their detection and prevention even more difficult.”
Eight men surrounded the table, all from her army and air force. Central Asia had long languished between China, the USSR, India, and the Middle East, not part of any of them, but desired by all. The Great Game had played itself out here two centuries ago when Russia and Britain battled each other for dominance, neither caring what the native populations wanted.
Not anymore.
Central Asia now spoke with unity through a democratically elected parliament, ministers, elections, courts, and a rule of law.
One voice.
Hers.
“What of the Europeans and the Americans?” a general asked. “How will they react to our aggression?”