Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (12 page)

 
          
Stoner
started to unlock the door.

 
          
“Uh,
no, not until they say it’s okay.” Jed reached across and grabbed him. “They’ll
blow us up if you get out.”

 
          
Stoner
let go of the door handle. One of the Ospreys whipped past, its big shadow
covering the car. The other slowed to a hover about twenty yards away. The
reflection of the sun made it hard to see, but from where Stoner was sitting
there didn’t seem to be a pilot.

 
          
“Blue
Taurus, license plate X-ray Tetra Vector, exit your vehicle and stand by for
identification,” said a sharp, clear voice on the radio.

 
          
“That
would be us,” said Jed, unlocking the door. Stoner watched and then copied his
actions, taking a few steps away and holding out his hands. He looked upward as
the hovering Osprey moved forward slowly, its gun rotating, there was a camera
pod behind the weapon.

 
          
The
Osprey leapt upward. Stoner waited as the wash from the second aircraft pushed
his pants and shirt to the side.

 
          
“Okay,
let’s go,” said Jed, who was already trotting forward. The first Osprey landed
about fifty yards ahead; the second, meanwhile, had plopped down behind them,
depositing two fully armed Air Force special tactics team members to inspect
and investigate the vehicle.

 
          
The
door to the Osprey sprang open as Jed and Stoner approached. “Welcome, Mr.
Barclay.”

 
          
“Hey,”
said Jed.

 
          
“There’s
nobody flying this thing,” said Stoner as he climbed inside.

 
          
“This
is Dreamland,” said Jed. “What did you expect?”

 
          
Prince Hotel, Las Vegas

 
          
The
silkiness of his wife’s body worked like a drug, loosening knots Danny didn’t
know he had. He ran his hand slowly over her belly and breast, gently skimming
along the surface. The tips of his fingers tingled, as if electricity were
flowing from her. He pulled her hip toward him, rolling on top to make love
again. His mouth dove into hers.
Jemma’s
tongue slid
along the bottom of his lips; something tight in his neck let loose and he fell
inside her, his whole body plunging into a warm cave. He rolled through it,
luxuriating in the liberating heat.

 
          
How
long it lasted, Danny couldn’t say. At some point, he felt as if he were
floating at the top of an ocean; shortly afterward, he washed up on a beach,
still basking in the warmth of the summer sun.

 
          
“Good,”
said
Jemma
.

 
          
“Good,”
said Danny.

 
          
“We
could do this more often.”

 
          
“Exactly
what I was thinking.”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
Jemma
reached over to the floor, where they’d set the room
service tray with its decanter of tea. Danny slide his arm under the pillow,
wallowing in the decadence of the large bed. Living halfway across the country
from his wife sucked—but it sure did make things sweeter when they saw each
other.

 
          
“I
talked to Jim Stephens the other day,” said
Jemma
,
slipping back in bed with her tea, an herbal blend that smelled like orange and
cinnamon. Its perfume added to his intoxication.

 
          
“Uh-huh,”
said Danny, not really paying attention.

 
          
“There’s
a primary coming up this fall. A perfect shot. Happens to be the district where
I’m staying—and it’s an open seat.”

 
          
“You
should run,” he said, starting to drift toward sleep.

 
          
“Not
me,” she said. “You.”

 
          
“Me?”

 
          
“Yes,
you,” she took a sip of her tea. “You did talk to Jim Stephens, right? I know
you did, because he told me he had an excellent conversation with you. And he’s
very, very high on you.”

 
          
Stephens—election.
Jemma’s
master plan make him the next President of
the United States.

 
          
“I
can’t run for office while I’m in the Air Force,” said Danny, still drifting.

 
          
“Oh,
Jimmy can fix that. Don’t worry.”

 
          
Danny
reached his hand over to his wife’s breast. His fingers slid gently across her
nipple, brushing it erect.

 
          
“Changing
the subject?” she asked.

 
          
“Fact-finding
mission,” he said.

 
          
“Oh?
And what fact are you looking for?”

 
          
“Whether
you’re still horny or not.”

 
          
“Again?”
She said.

 
          
She
reached over and put her tea on the side table. As she turned back, Danny’s
cell phone began to buzz.

 
          
Danny
sighed, and immediately slide upright.

 
          
“Daniel.”

 
          
“They
wouldn’t call unless it was important.”

 
          
“Everything’s
important,” She reached her hand down to stroke his leg.

 
          
“
Mmmmph
.” Danny pulled the phone over from the stand on his
side of the bed.

 
          
“Freah,”
he said after clicking the talk button.

 
          
“Captain,
sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Whiplash order,” said Lieutenant McNally.
“Colonel needs you ASAP.”

 
          
“I’m
on my way.” Danny clicked the phone off and rolled out of bed.

 
          
“Oh,
no,” said
Jemma
.

 
          
“I’ll
call as soon as I can,” said Danny, grabbing his pants.

 
          
“At
least put underwear on,” she called after him.

 
          
Danny,
embarrassed—he had in fact forgotten—let go of his pants and dropped to the
floor to retrieve his underwear.

 
          
“How
do you manage without me?” said his wife, laughing and shaking her head.

 
          
Dreamland

 
          
“The
political situation in both India and China is complicated, as you’d imagine,”
continued Jed Barclay.

 
          
“Just
a summary, Jed,” said Dog, trying to keep the NSC deputy on line. Barclay was a
genius and a strong advocate for Whiplash and Dreamland, but his dissertations
on international politics tended to sprawl.

 
          
“Yes,
sir. Basically, the extremists in India are trying to improve their position in
the upcoming elections. They calculate that China is a weak and easy mark due
to the conflict with us and Taiwan—well, you’re all familiar with the so-called
Fatal Terrain event.”

 
          
The
dozen top officers gathered in the secure briefing room nodded. Though the
details were still highly classified, most knew how Brad Elliott had chosen to
give his life to help prevent an apocalyptic war—their interpretation, not the
media’s.

 
          
“Of
course, the Islamic Alliance and the connection with China plays right into
this,
yada
,
yada
,
yada
, because now hitting the Chinese is the same as
hitting Muslims as far as most Hindus are concerned. Those who care anyway,”
continued Barclay. “And we’ve—uh, I better skip some of the political
wrangling.”

 
          
He
glanced at Dog, who nodded.

 
          
“On
the other side of the equation, the Chinese, domestically, needed something to
show they’re in power, that they’re not slipping. Because now, right, they look
weak. As we saw with the incident in Tibet …”

 
          
“Which
incident was that?” asked Rubeo.

 
          
From
anyone else, it would have been an innocent question—in fact, Dog himself
wasn’t sure what Barclay was referring to, but Rubeo took a perverse pleasure
in watching other squirm. An ever-so-subtle look of satisfaction flickered
across the scientist’s face as Jed stuttered, the train of his thoughts
bunching and crashing down a siding he hadn’t seen coming.

 
          
“Don’t
worry about Tibet, Pakistan, Taiwan, or any of that bullshit,” said Stoner. It
was the first time the CIA official had spoken since he arrived. “The action’s
out in the South China Sea. India and China are fighting a war out there,
sinking each other’s merchant ships. They’ve been rattling sabers and now
they’re using them. everything else is just bullshit.”

 
          
“Please,”
said Rubeo, in a way that implied many things other than courtesy or respect.

 
          
“I
think we can get a full rundown on Tibet later, along with any other geopolitical
matters anyone has an interest in,” said Dog. “Let’s move to our assignment.”

 
          
Anyone
else would have interpreted this as a mild reprimand. Rubeo, however, saw it
somehow as a vindication, and slipped back into his seat with a barely
concealed gloat. Before Jed could continue, the door alarm buzzed; the doors
slid back and Danny Freah appeared.

 
          
“Sorry
I’m late,” said Freah.

 
          
“We’re
just getting to the good part, Danny,” said Dog. “We’re being asked to mount a
surveillance mission in the South China Sea, observing a new weapon the Indians
have.”

 
          
“It’s
not limited just to that,” said Jed. “Information on everything going in—that’s
what Whiplash covers.”

 
          
“The
new technology is a prime concern,” said Stoner.

 
          
“Um,
everything’s of interest,” said Jed. “The order covers the entire situation;
the Chinese as well as the Indians. This is a twenty-four/seven operation,
completely covert and not coordinated with Pacific Command or any other
command.”

 
          
“Why
not?” asked Major
Merce
Alou, who had taken over command
of the Megafortress development project when Major Cheshire left to head the
operational wing.

 
          
“Security,”
said Stoner.

 
          
“Uh,
well, uh, there are several concerns,” said Jed. “We’re absolutely not
attempting to provoke anything, or increase tensions, which putting ships out
there would do. Pacific Fleet’s resources are already concentrated in the
Indian Ocean and around Taiwan. The threat of an invasion remains viable.”

 
          
“That’s
a bullshit estimate,” said Stoner.

 
          
“I
agree, but it’s not my call,” said Jed. “Also, the Director, um, the National
Security Director, would prefer not tipping off the Indians that we know, uh,
about Kali. Moving Naval assets would, at least arguably, tip them or the
Russians off. Which would be the same thing.”