Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (23 page)

 
          
Jennifer
watched as a small smile curled at the corner of Colonel Bastian’s mouth. She
hated calling him Dog; Tecumseh was such a beautiful, different name, and it
described him perfectly—tough and solid, protective, yet capable in a gently
way. It suggested thick muscles and, at the same time, nooks where you could
let your fingers linger.

 
          
“Some
of the Navy people are drawing up plans for a makeshift warhead,” added Rubeo.
“There are guidance issues, however.”

 
          
“I
doubt it’ll be necessary.”

 
          
“Gives
them something to do,” said Rubeo. “Otherwise, they tend to bother my people.”

 
          
That
wasn’t true—the Navy people and the Dreamland scientists got along very well.

 
          
Ax
opened the door, backing in with a tray of coffee and soda. Lieutenant
Commander Delaford came in behind him, looking rumpled and tired. He’d left the
computer lab about an hour before to take a nap.

 
          
“Don’t
you ever knock?” Rubeo asked Ax.

 
          
“Hey,
Doc, got you some of that green tea you like. Got some coffee for your Navy
friend, needs it. Pepsi for you, ma’am. Diet, of course.”

 
          
Ax
winked as he gave her the soda and Danish. She noticed she was the only one
with pastry,

 
          
“Thanks,
Chief.”

 
          
“Ax.
Call me Ax. More papers for you, Colonel. When you get a breather.” He
disappeared through the door.

 
          
“I’m
just telling the colonel we’re ready to deploy,” said Rubeo. The tea actually
seemed to have an effect—he seemed almost human.

 
          
Almost.

 
          
“I’d
like to make another recommendation,” Rubeo told Colonel Bastian. “I want to
add the UMB to the search matrix. It can survey the entire area and stay on
station for nearly twenty-four hours. We could incorporate some of the testing
schedule—”

 
          
“The
B-5 has only had a dozen flights,” said Dog. “No way.”

 
          
“Colonel,
the idea of Whiplash is to test new technology in real situations,” said Rubeo.

 
          
Dog
grimaced—his own words were being used against him.

 
          
“The
UMB has a long way to go,” said Dog. “There have been difficulties with the
engines, as well as delays with the control surfaces.”

 
          
“The
hydrogen-fueled engine would not be necessary for this mission,” said Rubeo.
“Otherwise, Colonel—”

 
          
“And
besides,” said Colonel Bastian,” the UMB’s pilot is in the Philippines.” He
glanced at Delaford, silently reminding him with a half-nod that he knew
nothing about the UMB and had not heard any of his highly classified
discussion. Delaford had been at Dreamland long enough to nod in reply.

 
          
“The
UMB pilot is superfluous,” said Rubeo. “Four different scientists, myself
included, are trained to handle the plane. During simulations—”

 
          
“The
simulations are not the real thing. We’ve got a lot of other things to worry
about right now. Let’s not get too complicated. End of discussion, Doc.” He put
his arms down on his desk and leaned forward. “Good work getting Piranha
ready.”

 
          
“Yes,”
said Rubeo.

 
          
“Thanks,”
said Jennifer. His glance at her felt like a physical thing, a caress. “We got
a few breaks.”

 
          
“I
want to deploy Iowa as soon as possible,” said Dog, turning to Delaford. “We
can use it to gather more data on the Indian submarine. We have a location from
the last encounter.”

 
          
“I’m
with you, Colonel,” said Delaford.

 
          
“Tonight
if we can. I’ll fly it myself.”

 
          
“Ensign
English and I will be ready,” said Delaford.

 
          
“We’ll
want technical people as well.” Colonel Bastian turned to Rubeo. “How many
other command sets for the device?”

 
          
“We’ll
have the backup and one additional unit ready within twenty-four hours,” said
the scientist. “But they’ll have to be installed in the Flighthawk bays. We can
do two more planes. We’ll need two full teams, though. I’d say about—”

 
          
“I’m
in,” interrupted Jennifer. “On the technical team, I want to go.

 
          
“It’s
not your project,” said Rubeo.

 
          
“Baloney—I
handled all the communications compressions, and the native intelligence
sections on the probe. I just fixed the E-PROM for you. I should be there.”

 
          
“I’d
agree,” said Delaford.

 
          
Rubeo
rolled his eyes but gave up—on her, at least. “Colonel, if I may—your place
really is at the Command Center. Captain
Teijen
can
fly the aircraft.”

 
          
“I
think I’ll make the call on personnel, Doctor, especially on military
assignments. If you care to recommend more technical people. I’m all ears.”

 
          
Dog
listened as Delaford and Rubeo ran down the possibilities of technicians to
handle the mechanical systems of the Piranha device. They were talking about
twenty people, a small portion of the development team but far larger than a
normal field deployment under Whiplash. It was one thing to send military
people into a combat zone, and quite another to put scientists there.
Nonetheless, if they were going to use Piranha, they had to support it
adequately.

 
          
“All
right,” said Dog finally. “Pick the people you want. You and Ensign English
will fly in Iowa. We’ll go straight out and deploy the device, assuming we can
get a reasonable fix on the sub’s location.”

 
          
“We’ll
be ready.”

 
          
Dog
rose, indicating the meeting was over. There were two lit buttons on the bank
for encrypted calls, indicating calls on hold. As the others got up and filed
out, he put his eyes down at his desk, pretending to study the papers there. He
didn’t want to be caught eyeing Jennifer, but it was difficult. Finally, he
glanced up, and saw the slight sway of her hips through the doorway. It wasn’t
in any way provocative, it was just walking—but desire rushed into his veins
nonetheless. He sat back down in his seat, took a sip of his coffee, then
punched one of the buttons on hold without waiting for Ax to tell him who it
was.

 
          
“Bastian.”

 
          
“Um,
Colonel, good,” said Jed Barclay. “Sir, uh, standby for the President of the,
um, United States.”

 
          
Dog
sat upright in his seat.

 
          
“Colonel,
how the hell are you?” said President Kevin Martindale breezily. The President
had taken a liking to Colonel Bastian early in his administration, and his tone
always implied that they were friends.

 
          
“Sir,
very well.”

 
          
“Good.
Now I’ve had the full briefings, and even young Jed here has filled me in, but
I’d like to hear from you—the Chinese plane. What happened?” asked the
President.

 
          
Dog
explained carefully and as fully as he could, then segued from that into a
description of the ensuing engagement between the Sukhois and the Indian sub,
which had resulted in the sinking of the oil tanker and the probable loss of
three men.

 
          
“Thank
you, Dog.” The President’s voice remained friendly; they could had been discussing
a hunting trip where they’d come up empty.

 
          
“Sir,
we do have plans in place now to track the Indian submarine,” Dog added.

 
          
“Well,
you carry on, Colonel,” said the President. “I’m afraid I have some pressing
matters.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir, thank you, sir,” said Dog reflexively. It was doubtful that the President
heard his last few words; the line had snapped dead before he finished.

 
          
His
intercom buzzed. Dog picked it up and barked at Ax. “Why the hell didn’t you
tell me that was the President on hold?”

 
          
“Didn’t
know it was the President,” said Ax. “It was Mr. Barclay, as far as I knew. And
he wasn’t on hold more than ten seconds. Line two Admiral Allen. He’s spitting
bullets.”

 
          
“Why?”

 
          
“Born
that way.”

 
          
“Listen,
Ax, I’m going to be deploying to the Philippines—”

 
          
“Camp
Paradise, huh? Pack a bathing suit, and a raincoat—there’s monsoons this time
of year.”

 
          
“Thanks.
Make sure everything’s in order. Is Major
Ascenzio
still in the secure center?”

 
          
“Far
as I know, Colonel. How long will you be gone?”

 
          
“A
few days.”

 
          
“Just
wanted to know how many signatures I’ll need to forge.”

 
          
“Very
funny, Ax.”

 
          
Dog
punched the phone button and got a tired-sounding lieutenant on Admiral Allen’s
staff.

 
          
“The
admiral wants to speak to you, sir,” said the lieutenant.

 
          
“That’s
why I’m here,” said Dog.

 
          
“Tecumseh,
what the hell is going on?” said Allen, coming on the line a few seconds later.

 
          
“Not
exactly sure what we’re talking about, Admiral.”

 
          
“I
hear from my sources you’re looking for authority to fire at Chinese vessels.”

 
          
“Not
at all, Admiral.”

 
          
“Don’t
give me that crap. What are you trying to do, Colonel? Start World War III?”

 
          
“Admiral—I
don’t know where that rumor came from,” said Dog. “I haven’t asked for
authority to do anything.”

 
          
“What
happened with the tanker?” asked Allen.

 
          
“The
Chinese aircraft were firing at an Indian submarine,” Dog told him.

 
          
“Which
conveniently disappeared.”

 
          
“We
have tape of the incident,” said Dog. He wondered if Allen was being sabotaged
by enemies over at the Pentagon—or if he was the target. “The details should
have reached you by now.”

 
          
“They
haven’t. I want to see it.”

 
          
“I’m
sure if you called over to the NSC—”

 
          
“Don’t
give me that bullshit,” said Allen.

 
          
“Admiral,
my hands are tied.”

 
          
“From
now on, you check with my people before running any more missions.”

 
          
“I
can’t do that, Admiral,” said Dog. “And I won’t.”