Piranha

Stoner glared over the map spread across the table.

“No ships out there?” he asked.

“Not that we saw,” said Brea

“There could be spy posts on these atolls here.” He pointed his finger at some brown dots on the map. “That might be one way the Indians or Chinese are keeping track of what’s coming down the pipe. Or the Russians. Or us.”

“Us?” asked Zen.

“You never know.”

Da

Not that most of the claimants needed such a good reason to disagree.

“We can dogleg off a mission and check it out,” said Zen.

“What if it’s defended?” asked Brea

“That’s why we use a Flighthawk.”

“We could get on those islands with the Osprey,” said Da

“Yeah,” said Stoner. Da

“I think we ought to recon it first,” said Zen. “You guys got enough to do here. Besides, we don’t even have a real location for you, do we, Torbin?”

The radar intercept expert looked like a blond bear, shrugging and shaking head. “I can get it down to a few miles. We can pass it on to Major Alou, have them take a look if they get a chance.”

“All right.”

“Sooner’s better than later,” said Stoner.

The others looked at him. Da

Good, he thought to himself. It’s not just me. The spook is a jerk.

Aboard the trawler Gui in the South China Sea

August 24, 1997, 0823

Chen Lo Fa

The limitations of the Russian-made planes had been clear before the accident with the Americans, but Beijing had reacted with shock and dismay, sending a long, rashly worded message filled with outrage.

To his credit, the admiral in charge of the task force had not tried to hide what had happened; he could easily have blamed the Americans for the accident or even claimed they had shot down his plane. Instead, the transmissions back and forth to the mainland made it clear that he was a man of integrity. While his actions cold be questioned—he clearly should not have authorized his attack planes to fire at the Indian submarine from long distance—his honor could not.

Undoubtedly he would be rewarded for his honesty with disgrace.

Reinforcements were on the way.

Opportunity, Fa

What if they prevented the inevitable confrontation? What if they forced the navies back?

Until the arrival of the Megafortresses, the American posture seemed clear. The Pacific Fleet, concentrating on protecting vessels bound for Korea and Japan, was too far north to intervene in a clash, nor did its commanders seem of much mind to do so. Diplomatically, there was a lean toward India, and relations with Mainland China were as low as, if not lower than, at any time since Nixon’s trip to Beijing a generation ago.

But the Megafortresses represented unwelcome change.

Chen had promised conflict. His position with the government rested entirely on that promise.

This was not a time for panic. Surely, fortune continued to smile. Within a day, if not hours, there would be two aircraft carriers sailing southward. The Indians must react to their presence.

Chen was sure the submarine would act tomorrow; he was staking is career on it. At that point, fortune would take over.

The Taoist master Lao Tzu said the river was king because it knew how to take the low path. The river did not shrink from its strength, but it bided its time.

The sea was merely the river at large.

The Megafortresses and their small escorts presented a difficult problem, but as Chen considered it, he realized they represented opportunity as well. Perhaps there was more potential than the mere conflict he had seen. Perhaps there was an opportunity others might only dream of.

Dreamland

August 23, 1723 local (August 24, 1997, 0823 Philippines)

Je

“So?” asked Ray Rubeo, standing on the sides of his shoes. “Work or not?”

“It’ll work,” Je

“Good, let’s go tell your sweetheart. He’s still up in his office. I’ll have Commander Delaford meet us there.”