Strike Zone (15 page)

“Nice,” said Dog. He could practically feel the killer stare Miss Kelly was laying on Mack.

“I have been fortunate in finding old wrecks and restoring them,” said bin Awg modestly. “I also have a Catalina flying boat. A handsome aircraft as built, and I have added a few modern amenities. I've offered Major Smith the chance to fly some of my fleet,” added the prince. “Perhaps you would care to as well.”

“I'd love to,” said Dog. “When I get a chance. You really have an old MiG-19?”

“Yes, yes. The North Koreans will sell anything for food these days. It was in reasonable repair—if one overlooks the fact that it did not have an engine.”

“I told the prince he and his uncle could come up in a Megafortress for a spin tomorrow,” said Mack. “They're psyched.”

It took every ounce of Dog's restraint not to slap his erstwhile political officer across the face.

“Mack, let's talk for a second,” he told Smith. “Excuse us, Your Highness.”

He took two steps backward. Miss Kelly stepped forward to chat with the prince, who sampled some of the food in Dog's place.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dog asked Mack.

“Why?”

“We're not here as part of a carnival show. We have a mission.”

“Yeah, but Miss State Department Bombshell says we're supposed to make nice,” said Mack. “That's what I'm doing.”

“Bin Awg is head of the air force?”

“Unofficially,” said Mack. “He's more a consultant. See, the sultan is the head of the military forces. Then there are the professional officers and whatnot. My buddy Pehin is kinda between them and his uncle. Haven't seen him fly yet. Great guy. Knows where the best clubs are. Doesn't drink—that's his only flaw.”

“Mack, you're supposed to improve relations, not threaten them.”

“I am. So what do you say? We take him up for a spin in the morning? Morning's around noon here, if you get my drift.”

“Both planes are taking off at 0700 tomorrow,” Dog told Mack. “There's no time for a demonstration flight tomorrow.”

“Next day then,” said Mack. “Hey, Zen brought his nuggets with him. Hey, boys.”

As Mack walked off, Dog reminded himself that he had personally tagged the major to come along. While he'd made the choice largely because Mack was one of the few officers at Dreamland he could actually spare for a do-nothing job, it was nonetheless a decision that could not be cited as one of his best. Smith was an excellent pilot, but outside of the cockpit, he was a class-one boob.

Dog turned back to find bin Awg talking up Miss Kelly, who was flashing her full smile on him.

“We are very much in the mind frame of expanding our air force,” said the prince. “At present we have the Hawk 100s and 200s but, well, without disparaging our British friends—I fear the ambassador is within earshot—we are certainly in the market for upgrades.”

“We use a version of the Hawk ourselves,” said Dog. “It's a competent aircraft.”

“Yes, the Goshawk T-45A, as a trainer for the Navy,” said bin Awg. “Very suitable in that role. But as compared to an F/A-18 or a Mikoyan MiG-29 . . .  Well, Colonel, I leave the judgment to you.”

“You're thinking of buying Russian planes?” asked Miss Kelly.

Bin Awg smiled apologetically. “They are so desperate for hard currency these days that the price can be very attractive.”

“I'd think there'd be no comparison between the F/A-18 and a MiG-29,” said Dog.

Again, the prince flashed his apologetic smile. “The difficulty is perhaps with the export regulations. Sometimes these are not easily overcome.”

“Have you considered F-16s?” asked Miss Kelly.

“An admirable design,” said the prince.

“Better than the MiG,” said Dog.

“Yes,” said bin Awg. “To be candid with you, Colonel, our true desire is for an aircraft with much longer range. The F-15; that would be most desirable.”

“It is a good aircraft,” said Dog.

It was also a difficult one to obtain; Congress didn't relish the idea of the country's frontline fighter serving under other flags. Only the Japanese, Israelis, and Saudis had been allowed to buy it, and in each case the
decision involved considerable political wrangling.

“We are very much in the market for aircraft,” said bin Awg. “Perhaps we can talk tomorrow, when we are aboard the Megafortress.”

“I'm afraid we're not going to be available for a flight tomorrow,” said Dog as apologetically as he could. “We have orders from Washington to have both aircraft in the exercises. I'm sorry.”

The barest flicker of displeasure passed over the prince's face.

“I'm afraid Major Smith made the commitment without checking with me,” added Dog.

“A raincheck perhaps,” said the prince.

“Definitely,” said Dog. “Definitely.

Z
EN LISTENED TO
the Australian ambassador lecturing on the weakness of China.

“A few cruisers and a pair of submarines could hold the communists at bay,” said the diplomat. “They're a shadow of themselves. A shadow of a shadow. That's why they're willing to talk to Taiwan. Their day is over.”

Zen had everything he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Granted, Mainland China had suffered some reverses over the past few months; the country remained a potent military force. Forget the ghost clone: It had several hundred more aircraft than the ambassador's country, along with several new pocket aircraft carriers capable of projecting power throughout the region. Toss in cruise missiles, nuclear submarines, and undoubtedly a long-range bomber or two that the intelligence boys hadn't caught on to yet, and you had a serious military power.

Not quite in America's class, but nasty nonetheless.

Shadow indeed.

Stoner, standing across from Zen, nodded like a metronome as the ambassador continued.

Finally, Zen could take no more and wheeled himself away.

He found Kick standing by himself at the edge of one of the tables.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” he said to the Flighthawk pilot. “Where's your partner in crime? Did he leave to catch up on his beauty rest?”

“Yeah right,” said Kick.

“You don't like Lieutenant Starship?” asked Zen.

“He's all right,” said Kick. “I think he headed out with Mack.”

Zen asked for a fruit drink from the waiter behind the table. There was no alcohol at the event; Brunei was an Islamic nation, and the sultan was a devout believer who would not have countenanced a violation of his religious principles.

“You sore because Starship is going to take the decoy flight tomorrow?” asked Zen.

“No, sir.”

Zen smiled at the obvious lie.

“It's all right to be pissed,” he told the lieutenant. “If I were in your shoes, I'd be mad too. Come to think of it, I have been in your shoes. And I was pissed.”

Kick seemed surprised by Zen's response and looked at him as if trying to figure out whether he was being tested. “Starship's background with the F-15s means he has a little more experience. Right?”

“Just a little. You'll catch up.”

Zen took a sip of his drink. Maybe, he thought, there was something more, something in their personalities.
It seemed to him Kick was trying hard to be nice. He wouldn't have.

Maybe that was all for show. Make nice to the boss.

“How's your wife?” asked the lieutenant, trying to change the subject.

“Don't know. She's sleeping every time I call her,” said Zen.

“How's the punch?” asked Stoner, coming over.

“It's punch,” said Zen. “You agree with that crap the Australian was putting out?”

“Of course not,” said Stoner, taking a drink for himself.

“You didn't argue with him,” said Zen.

“You think I could have changed his mind?”

Zen shrugged, though of course he didn't.

“If I don't listen to what people tell me, I won't know what they're thinking,” said Stoner. “It's useful.”

“Man, I could never be a spy,” said Zen.

“Some of us are just born slimy,” said Stoner, his voice deadpan. “Right, Lieutenant?”

“I wouldn't know, sir.”

Stoner looked down at Zen, smirking. Despite the fact that he still didn't like the SOB, even Zen had to laugh along with him.

Dreamland
0500

J
ENNIFER LAY ON
the couch, watching as the channels on her television clicked by, a mélange of infomercials, talking heads, and crashes filling the screen. She had
been here for an hour or so, unable to sleep, not really up to leaving the apartment for her usual early-morning run. She was still locked out of her computers, and it seemed pointless to go anywhere or do anything.

Finally she saw the start of an old Warner Bros. Bugs Bunny cartoon and stopped. She observed scientifically as Bugs made his way out of the hole and began tormenting Elmer Fudd.

Wabbits. He sounded a bit like Ray.

But at least Rubeo had been fighting for her. He'd told Cortend exactly what he thought. More than she could say about any of her other so-called friends.

The phone rang.

Maybe it was Dog, calling to see how she was. If it was, did she want to talk to him? Why should she? What could he possibly say?

The phone stopped. She waited a minute, then picked it up and checked her voice mail system.

No message.

Jennifer turned back to the TV just in time to see Fudd blast himself with his own shotgun.

She felt so sorry for him she started to cry.

Brunei IAP, Field Seven
Dreamland Mobile Command Post
11 September 1997
0710

D
OG,
Z
EN,
A
LOU,
and Stoner previewed the mission together, reviewing the latest intelligence from the States as well as Dreamland and the ASEAN flag staff. Two
dozen ASEAN ships, mostly frigates and destroyers, would track the progress of a pair of Australian submarines across a swatch of ocean nearly twelve hundred miles wide over the course of the next few days. The exercises today were being conducted in an area two hundred miles east of the Vietnamese coast; besides the allied vessels, the Chinese had two trawler-type spy ships in the vicinity, as well as a submarine. Further to the north but still in the open sea, the Russians were expected to fly a long-range surveillance aircraft; they had done so yesterday, following the progress of the exercises. There were also a number of civilian flights and merchant vessels that would routinely ply the area.

“Flight plan is basic. We come up, rendezvous with the frigates, then keep going. Stop short of Hainan, we do a square out and catch the clone in the flat,” said Zen. “
Penn
rides just to our half of the international side of the property line to make sure we have their attention.
Raven
and the Flighthawk with the passive sensor set are out in the flat, waiting for the lateral here to the West.”

“Who's got the blitz?” asked Dog.

“We audible that at the line,” said Alou, not missing a beat.

“The Chinese may or may not pick up the U/MF that launches from
Penn
on their radar,” said Zen, getting the hint and dropping the football metaphors. He pointed to the radar installation on the southern tip of the island. “Starship will pull around here and throw off some chaff so he's visible on radar. Once they know he's there, he heads southeast and launches the dummied-up Hellfire. It transmits and you track it a bit, Colonel. Basically orbit around for an hour, which should give them
time to get the clone over in our direction.”

“They may send fighters if you get this close,” warned Stoner. “The Chinese aren't known for subtlety.”

“I've gone through it with my guys. They know to ignore the fighters,” said Zen. They were standing in the main room of the Whiplash security trailer, which doubled as a home-away-from-home sit room. Live connections to Dreamland, and from there to the rest of the world, were just a hot key away. “Only way we're going to get their attention is if we're obnoxious.”

“If it's Chinese, yes,” said Stoner.

“Only one way to find out,” said Dog. “Are you sure your guys can handle the decoy?” he asked Zen. Neither of the new Flighthawk pilots had ever seen combat.

“All they have to do is fire the missile and hang on. We're starting them off slow,” said Zen.

“Slow to us, but not the Chinese,” said Stoner. “Hainan is part of their country. It would be like going over Staten Island.”

“Worse case, Starship puts the Flighthawk on automatic and follows
Raven
home. Merce'll kick them in the butt if they screw up,” added Zen, nodding to Major Alou.

“I don't think I'll have to,” said Alou.

“I'll be watching from
Raven.
All they have to do is yell for help.”

Dog looked over the charts. Hainan was a large island below the Chinese Mainland across from northern Vietnam; its western shores edged the Gulf of Tonkin. The clone had appeared to the southeast of Hainan on the earlier mission. Zen and Stoner were theorizing that the clone was based northeast of there, and so its flight path would inevitably cross close to
Raven
.

The techies had made a few small tweaks to
Raven
's Elint gear to optimize gathering in the frequencies the clone appeared to use.
Raven
should be able to detect and record transmissions at about two hundred miles, which would allow it to get plenty of data without having to go over Chinese territory. Of course, there was no real way of knowing how far its net would truly extend until the clone appeared.

Dog looked down at the charts, sorting out possible bases. Southern China was regularly covered by a variety of systems, from optical satellites to RC-135 launcher trackers. How could a UAV base be missed or overlooked?