The Complete Mackenzie Collection (36 page)

She reached into his open robe and firmly cupped him. “One place it isn’t,” she replied sweetly, “is here.”

He began to fill her palm as he responded to her touch, despite their recent lovemaking. “I’ll give you two days to stop that, then I’m calling the police.”

“We don’t have two days,” she pointed out. She looked at the clock. “We only have about eight hours.”

“Then damn if I’m going to waste a minute of it,” he replied, swiftly lifting her into his arms. He preferred the bed for prolonged lovemaking. As he carried her into the other room she clung tightly, wishing that time could stand still.

It didn’t, of course. It couldn’t, despite her wishes. It felt strange leaving their intimate cocoon, but by six-thirty they were headed back to the base. She sat silently, trying to brace herself for the abrupt end to the intimacy they had shared for the past two days. She would sleep alone that night and every night, until the weekend came again. Perhaps even then. He hadn’t said anything about tomorrow night, much less next weekend.

She glanced at him. It was a subtle difference, but the closer they got to the base he became less her lover and more the colonel. His thoughts were already on Night Wing, on those sleek, deadly, beautiful planes and how they responded to his skilled hands. Maybe the change in him was that he became their lover rather than hers. They flew for him; they carried him higher and faster than she ever could. She only hoped they would protect him as fiercely, and bring him back to her.

Long before she was ready, he was depositing her at her door. He stood in front of her, those clear, bottomless eyes lingering over every detail of her appearance. “I’m not going to kiss you good-night,” he said. “I won’t want to stop. I’m too used to having you.”

“Then…good night.” She started to hold out her hand, then quickly pulled it back. She couldn’t share even a handshake with him. It was too much after the concentrated intimacy of the weekend, too much of a temptation, too sharp a reminder that tonight they would sleep alone.

“Good night.” He turned abruptly and strode to his truck. Caroline quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, not wanting to see him drive away. The tiny quarters, luxurious as they were in comparison with most of the temporary quarters on base, were both desolate and suffocating. She quickly turned the air conditioner on high, but nothing could ease the emptiness. Nothing, that is, except Joe.

She didn’t sleep well that night. She kept reaching for him, searching for his warmth, for the big, hard, masculine body she had slept draped over and entangled with for the past two nights. Her own body, abruptly deprived of the sensual orgy it had become accustomed to, ached with frustration.

She was awake well before dawn and finally gave up on sleep. Work had always been a panacea for her, so perhaps it would be again. She
was
assigned to the project to work, after all, not to moon over the project manager.

It did help. She managed to lose herself quite satisfactorily in preparation for the day’s tests. Joe didn’t stop by, for which she was oddly grateful. She was just now getting her bearings back; if he’d kissed her, she would have been lost again. She would probably also have been stretched out across one of the desks with her legs wrapped around his waist. Typically, he had seen the temptation and resisted it. She wasn’t certain she could have.

As usual, Cal was the second to arrive. “Where were you this weekend?” he asked casually. “I tried to call a couple of times to see if you wanted to catch a movie.”

“In Vegas,” she replied. “I stayed there.”

“Wish I’d thought of that. It’s a fun town, isn’t it? Did you hit the casinos?”

“I’m not much of a gambler. Miniature golf is more my game.”

He laughed as he got himself a cup of coffee. “You’d better watch living in the fast lane like that,” he advised. “Too much excitement can make you old.”

If that were the case, she would have aged at least a hundred years over the weekend. Instead, she felt more alive than she ever had before.

Joe wasn’t in the control room when the laser team arrived; the pilots were already in the aircraft, engines screaming. The assignments were the same as they had been on Friday: Joe and Bowie Wade in the Night Wings, Daffy Deale and Mad Cat Myrick in the F-22s. All the project teams gathered around their assigned monitors so they could scan the sensor readouts during the flight.

The birds lifted off.

It went smoothly at first, with the lasers locking on to the drones just the way they were supposed to do. Caroline let out a long sigh of relief. She wasn’t naive enough to think there wouldn’t be any more problems, but at least that particular one seemed to have been solved. They ran through it time after time, at different speeds and ranges. Yates was smiling.

On their return to base, Mad Cat was on Joe’s wing and Daffy was shadowing Bowie Wade, to provide visual verification during the flights. Caroline was still idly watching the monitor when suddenly Bowie’s target signal lit up. “Did he hit the switch?” she asked aloud.

Yates and Adrian turned back to the monitor, their brows knit with puzzlement. Cal looked up from his own computer. Almost simultaneously, the computer started flashing the red firing signal and all hell broke loose on the radio and in the control room.

“I’m hit, I’m hit!” Daffy screamed, and Bowie was yelling, “This goddamn thing just went off! What the hell happened?”

“What’s the damage?” It was Joe’s voice, deep and cool, the authority in it overriding everything else.

“No control, my hydraulics are shot to hell. I can’t hold it.” Daffy’s voice was tight.

“Eject!” Bowie was yelling. “Stop screwing around, Daffy. You can’t make it!”

The voices were stepping all over each other, and the control room was in an uproar. The pilots there were turned to stone, their faces frozen masks as they waited to see if one of their own made it back or was going to die right in front of them.

Then Joe’s voice again, roaring. “Eject—eject—
eject! Now!
”

The iron authority got through to Daffy as nothing else could have, and the computers registered a pilot ejection.

“I see a chute!” It was Mad Cat. “He’s too low, he’s too low—”

Then the radio exploded with noise as the F-22 augered into the desert floor.

J
oe was in a rage when he strode into the control room, but his rage was cold, ice-cold. His eyes were blue frost as he fastened them on the laser team. “What the
hell
happened?” he snapped. “The laser cannon isn’t even supposed to be activated, much less go off by itself.”

They were all at a loss. The systems had checked out perfectly on Friday afternoon.

“Well?” The single word was as sharp as the crack of a rifle. “I nearly lost a man because of it. An eighty-million-dollar aircraft is in tiny pieces all over a square mile of desert. Do any of you have any idea
what the hell you’re doing?
”

The control room was dead silent as everyone waited for a reply, any reply. Yates said softly, “We don’t know what happened. But we’ll find out.”

“You’re damn right you will. I want a report on this within thirty-six hours, your analysis of the problem and what you’ve done to fix it. All flights are scrubbed until I know what happened and I’m satisfied it won’t happen again.” He didn’t even glance at Caroline as he turned and walked out, still as furious as he had been when he had entered the room.

Someone whistled softly through their teeth. Yates’ face was drawn. “We don’t sleep until we know,” he said simply.

The loss of the aircraft was bad enough, but it was Daffy’s close call that had stretched Joe’s control perilously close to the snapping point. Daffy was lost to him anyway: he’d been too low when he ejected for his chute to adequately deploy, and he had landed too hard and too fast. He was hospitalized now with a concussion and a broken left leg.

Bowie, badly shaken, swore he hadn’t touched either the lock-on switch or the trigger, and Joe believed him. Bowie was too good, too careful, but the damn laser cannon had somehow locked on and fired by itself, and Daffy had nearly died. The computers would tell them exactly what had happened, but what Joe wanted to know was
why.
The lasers weren’t supposed to be activated yet, but the one on Bowie’s bird, at least, had been. Had peak energy been used, the F-22 would have been destroyed in the air and Daffy wouldn’t have had any chance at all.

Joe’s anger was intensified because the misfire was probably linked to the lock-on problem they’d had the Friday before. Caroline had said the problem was a simple break in the electrical signal and that it had been corrected, but obviously the trouble was much worse than that, and, far from being corrected, it had nearly killed a man. His fury included Caroline; she was part of the laser team, and his relationship with her had nothing to do with her responsibility as a team member. It wouldn’t win her any special favors or leniency.

The laser team wouldn’t be the only one working late. The loss of an F-22 and the injury of a pilot weren’t things the Air Force took lightly. He had to make a report to the base commander and to General Ramey in the Pentagon. Moreover, they couldn’t afford this kind of trouble with the Night Wings, not with the vote for funding coming up shortly in Congress. He had to get the tests completed and the kinks worked out; one of the major pluses the project had going for it was that it was coming in on time and under budget, and delays meant money. If the Night Wings were over budget and not working properly when the vote was taken, the project would be in trouble. Funding depended on how well he did his job and demonstrated both the feasibility and dependability of the birds.

His call on a secure line to General Ramey only underlined his concern. “You have to find out what happened with that laser cannon and make damn sure it never happens again,” the general said quietly, but those who knew Ramey knew that he meant what he said. “The vote is close, too close for us to afford this kind of snafu. What good is it to have the first feasible X-ray laser cannon if it’s uncontrollable? We have to have it, Joe. The Night Wing project is too important.”

“Yes, sir,” Joe replied. Having flown the birds, he knew exactly how important they were. An aviator going up in a superior aircraft had a much better chance, all other things being equal, of coming back alive. The Night Wing birds gave a huge advantage to American pilots, and to Joe that meant American lives saved as well as wars won. He had already been in two wars and he was only thirty-five, and the world situation was even more volatile now than it had been when he had entered the Academy back during the Cold War. Brush-fire wars sprang up overnight, and all of them had the potential of dragging the rest of the world into the maw, while technology was exploding. Within five years the F-22s would merely be equal to other countries’ fighters, rather than vastly superior. The Night Wings would get that edge back—in a big way.

“Is there any indication of sabotage?” the general asked.

“There haven’t been any alarms triggered, but I’ve asked the security police for an analysis of the work patterns to see if there’s anything suspicious.”

“What’s your gut feeling?” General Ramey had the utmost respect for Joe’s instincts.

Joe paused. “A catastrophic situation developed without warning. We don’t know yet if it involves only that one laser cannon or if it’s common to all the aircraft, but it’s either a major problem with the system, or someone deliberately caused it. It’s fifty-fifty, so I can’t ignore the possibility of sabotage. I’ll know more after I get the computer analysis.”

“Call me immediately when you know something.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Joe sat back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. Sabotage. No one ever liked to consider it, but he couldn’t afford to discount it. Technology constantly created new techniques in spying and sabotage. The security police had gone to great lengths to keep Night Wing under wraps, which was why every entrance into every building, both doors and windows, contained sensors linked to a central computer that kept track or who was in each building at any given time, recording both entrance and exit times. Guards were also posted at the hangars at night and no one had approached the planes without proper clearance, but if the problem was sabotage, that meant only that the saboteur had the required security clearance.

If he were lucky, the laser team would find the problem and it would be something mechanical, something explicable. If not, he wanted to have the security check already in progress.

What a bitch. If they didn’t find out what was wrong immediately, it would ensure that he wouldn’t see Caroline tonight, and last night without her had been pure torment. It was amazing how quickly his body had become accustomed to frequent gratification, and how strong his sexual hunger for her was. He’d never wanted a woman that way before, like an incessant fever that refused to be cooled. He’d never enjoyed a woman that way before, without any boundaries or restrictions. She was vital and electric, as straightforward with her loving as her thoughts and personality were.

It had been a mistake to let his thoughts slip to her. His pants had become very uncomfortable.
Down, boy,
he thought wryly. Now was definitely not the time or the place.

No matter how they checked, they couldn’t discover how the laser had been activated by accident. Caroline’s actual expertise was with the laser itself, not with the triggering mechanism. That was Adrian’s field, and he was surly because of it. If the problem was laid at his door, he might be recalled from the project or possibly even fired. Typically, he took out his frustration on Caroline.

“What are you, a jinx?” he muttered, scowling as he painstakingly checked every detail of the firing mechanism. “Everything was going fine, just a few minor kinks now and then, until you showed up. Things started falling apart as soon as you started working on them.”

“I haven’t worked on that mechanism,” she pointed out, refusing to let him anger her or to get embroiled in a finger-pointing episode. She didn’t have to say anything else, however, because Adrian took her comment to mean that he
had
been working on it, so therefore it was obviously his fault.

“Let’s stop the bickering,” Yates ordered. “Cal, is
anything
showing up on the computer?”

Cal looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot from staring at a monitor screen and stacks of dim print outs for too many hours. He shook his head. “It’s all checking out on paper.”

They were standing grouped around the laser pod on the belly of the aircraft Bowie had been flying. Caroline stared at the pod, deliberately blotting out what everyone else was saying as she tried to sort things out. The laser seemed to be in perfect working order, as did the firing mechanism. The lock-on was also performing perfectly, but then, they already knew that. After all, it had locked on to Daffy’s bird and blown it out of the sky. But what had
told
it to lock on? According to the computer record, Bowie definitely hadn’t touched the switch, so the lock-on and firing mechanisms had both operated automatically, something they weren’t supposed to do. Nor was the laser supposed to have been activated; actually firing the lasers hadn’t been scheduled for another ten days. Three things had gone wrong simultaneously: the laser had activated, the lock-on had targeted Daffy’s aircraft and the thing had automatically fired. None of those three things was supposed to have happened at all; for all of them to have happened at the same time went beyond chance or Murphy’s Law.

She didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking. If it wasn’t logical for those three things to have happened by accident, then they had to have happened by design. The laser couldn’t be activated by an accidental bump, and it certainly didn’t have an outside switch labeled On and Off. Activating the laser was something the laser team had to do with a precise set of commands to the computer. Because of the security involved, they were the only ones with access to those commands.

Inescapable logic indicated that one of the team had activated the laser.

Caroline didn’t believe in leaping to conclusions. Her work habits were orderly and painstakingly precise. Before she let herself begin thinking that one of the three men she worked with was deliberately sabotaging the laser, she had to make certain there was no way anyone outside the team could do it. Everything was computerized now, and though safeguards were built into the programs and elaborate precautions taken, nothing was impossible. There were a lot of things so difficult that no one had done them yet, but that didn’t make them impossible. It was feasible that if someone could get the activation commands, he or she could also get into the program and use them. And it would be child’s play for anyone that knowledgeable about computers to add commands that would override the pilot’s physical keying of the lock-on switch, say if another aircraft came within a certain distance. Maybe Bowie had been flying a ticking time bomb today, just waiting for the right set of circumstances. It had been Daffy’s bad luck that he had been assigned to shadow Bowie, but it could as easily have been Mad Cat, or even Joe, who had been shot down.

Yates had been watching her thoughtfully for several minutes. She was standing motionless, her gaze locked on the pod but not seeing it, with all her concentration turned inward. He could almost see that computer brain running down a checklist and inexorably narrowing the possibilities.

“What is it?” he finally asked when he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Any ideas?”

She blinked, and her eyes slowly refocused on him. “I think we should check the computer program,” she finally said. “If it isn’t the equipment, it has to be the program.”

Cal looked positively haggard. “Do you know how long it will take to check this entire program?” he asked incredulously. “This thing is huge. It’s the most complicated program I’ve ever worked on.”

“Maybe a Cray…” she murmured, looking back at the pod.

“Book time on a Cray supercomputer?” Yates made it a question, but he was already mentally running through the logistics. “Expensive as hell.”

“Not as expensive as stopping the program.”

“It could take forever to get a booking, unless the Pentagon can line up some priority time.”

“Yeah, that’s a fine idea,” Adrian said impatiently, “but you people are forgetting that the big man gave us thirty-six hours, of which we have already used ten. I don’t think he’s going to be satisfied with a possibility.”

“We’ve come up with nothing everywhere else. Do you have a better idea?” Caroline replied just as impatiently.

He glared at her without answering. The truth was, they had all reached a dead end.

Caroline didn’t mention her other conclusion, that if the solution to their problem was in the computer program they still had to discover whether it was a basic error in programming or if someone had deliberately programmed it in, but running everything through a Cray would give them the answer to that. By comparing the working program with the original, the Cray could tell them if the working program had been altered in any way. If it hadn’t, then it was back to the drawing board for DataTech; if it had, then they had to find the person responsible for the changes.

“So what do we do?” Cal asked, rubbing his eyes. “Stop looking and just assume we’re going to find it in the program, or stay up all night looking for something when we don’t know what we’re looking for?”

Despite herself, Caroline had to grin. “If you’re as groggy as that sentence sounded, I don’t think you
can
stay up all night.”

He gave her a bleary look and an equally bleary grin. “Sad, isn’t it? In my younger days I could carouse all night and work all day, then go back out for more carousing. What you see here is a shadow of my former self.”