Piranha

By the time they got themselves sorted out, Zen had rocketed up past twenty thousand feet and started back in the other direction.

“Engine three and four at specified parameters,” reported the computer. It sounded as if it were chortling. “Phase Three test complete. Preparing for Phase Four.”

“Computer, cancel Phase Four. Authorization Zed-Zed-Zed.”

“Canceled.”

“Hey,” said Da

“Not a problem.”

“Ten minutes to that raft—we don’t quite see it yet.”

“They’re all yours,” Zen told him.

South China Sea

1515

The ship had stopped coming toward them. Even the Sukhois were gone. They were alone, as good as dead.

Bree sank to the bottom of the raft. Stoner had his arms draped over it, his head resting on the side.

Zen, she thought, I love you, baby. I love you. Why aren’t you here?

The sun flickered in her face.

If she’d lived, they would have had a kid. They should have. It wouldn’t be easy, would not have been easy, but they should have.

She felt bad for that. Jeffrey would have been good with a kid.

“Shit,” said Stoner softly.

The sharks, she though. Oh God.

She jumped up to help him, cringing.

But it wasn’t the sharks. There was another plane in the distance, to the south.

It moved too slowly to be a Sukhoi. It had propellers. It was loud.

It was an Osprey.

It was an Osprey!

Aboard Dreamland Osprey

1520

Da

“You ready?” Da

“Born ready, Cap.” The sergeant put his hand to his earphone. They had to be careful about getting too close to the small raft. The downdraft from the big rotos could be fierce. Da

“Here we go!” said the sergeant.

As they cruised parallel to the raft at low speed, Da

Bison got there a stroke ahead of him. The Whiplash trooper pushed Stoner into the raft, threw one of the preservers over his head.

“Here!” Da

Her face looked as if it had been pounded with a baseball bat. Her fingers were swollen and puffy. Da

“We’re going home. We’re taking you back.”

Aboard Iowa

1535

Zen watched the Osprey come in as he climbed back—picture, next picture. It approached, it started to hover, someone was leaning from the door, a line was down, she was okay, she was okay.

He floated out over her, happy she was okay. He reached toward her but she was gone, the Osprey veering off.

“Jeff, we have that radio—it’s a PRC beacon,” said Major Alou.

“Roger that. I need the coordinates.”

“Dreamland has them. They’re plugged in. Thank God Bree’s alive.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Roger that,” he said.

South China Sea

1540