Strike Zone

Da

“First target is near Sungshan, the domestic airport not far from here,” said Stoner. “The others are in the south on the coast near Kaohisiung. We’ll drive over to the site near the airport, look around. Then we’ll arrange for a helicopter at the airport. All the easy spots have been looked at already by my associates, and I don’t know how close we’re going to get to the ones that are left on our list, so this may all take a while.”

Taipei

0805

WITH EVERY SECONDthat passed waiting for the elevator in the lobby of his grandfather’s building, Chen Lo Fa

Surely, his grandfather already knew that he had failed. The communists had not attacked the Americans or the ASEAN fleet, despite their rhetoric. Nor had they called off the summit.

The criminals were cowards at heart. That was why they picked on lesser nations instead of facing truly worthy opponents. Chen Lee no doubt knew this.

But that did not remove his grandson’s duty to inform him.

Chen Lo Fa

Professor Ai had taken the helicopter back with him, and offered to come along to talk to Chen Lee, perhaps thinking he could soften the blow. But Chen Lo Fa

The elevator opened. Chen Lo Fa

He remembered jumping up to tap the button as a child. The memory pushed down against his shoulders as the car slowly made its way upward.

The secretaries stared at him as he got off. Chen Lo Fa

It wasn’t his failure, it was the communists’. And most especially the treacherous president’s, their supposed leader. A coward, a quisling, a traitor.

Page 147

Chen Lee’s secretary nodded. He could proceed.

Chen Lo Fa

Chen Lee sat at his desk, his back to the door, staring out the window. Chen Lo Fa

“My plan has failed, Grandfather,” he said, no longer able to bear the weight on his chest. “The mongrels will not make war and the president will go ahead with his meeting.”

The old man said nothing.

Chen thought of what to suggest. Assassination had been debated; as desperate as it was, perhaps it was the best option now. The only option.

But there would be other traitors. The people to strike were the communists, the usurpers. Chen had suggested bombing the capital with the UAV, but they did not possess a strong enough weapon to guarantee the death of all the thieves.

“Grandfather?” he said, when the old man failed to respond. “Grandfather?”

As unbearable as the weight had been before, now it increased ten times. Chen flew across the room, turning the chair roughly.

His grandfather’s slender body slid from the chair into his arms. His pale skin was cold; the old man’s heart had stopped more than an hour before.

Chen Lo Fa

“The weapons are in place,” said the note.

Chen stared at the ideograms. He was not sure what weapons his grandfather was talking about, or even where they might be. Silently, he folded the paper and placed it back in his pocket. And then he went to find out.

Club Lion, Brunei

1205

ALL HIS LIFE, Starship had been on top of the wave. He’d ridden it to the State Class A Football Championship in junior year as all-league quarterback; the next year he’d taken the state trophy in wrestling. The Academy—more success in football, of course, where his exploits against Notre Dame were still the talk of the place. Pilot training, F-15 squadron. The assignment to Dreamland was supposed to be another notch in the belt.

It was. But it wasn’t going precisely as he had pla

For one thing, he hadn’t pla

ma

He’d managed to finesse a slot with the Flighthawks and figured he’d be in a good position to transition eventually—though eventually might be far down the road.

But what Starship hadn’t counted on was the pressure. Because even though he was good—better than good—he’d felt unbelievable stress ever since the start of the deployment. He wasn’t sure why—was it because he was so far from the plane he was flying? Was it the fact that Kick was looking over his shoulder? Was he intimidated by Zen, a pilot so tough he could lose the use of his legs and still come back for more?

Or was it fear?

He slid another ten-dollar bill on the bar of the club.

Eating at the palace last night with Mack Smith had been a revelation. He’d thought the job proposal was complete BS, but the sultan turned out to be serious. He wanted to take Brunei into the twenty-first century—even beyond. He wanted frontline fighters and Megafortresses. Mack Smith could build an empire here.

And it looked like he was going to take the job.

If he did, Starship would be in line to help. Major Smith had said so. More than likely, much of the work at first would be staff BS and PR, but he would have the pull to fly whenever he wanted.

Those little trainer jobs they flew at first, but eventually, real planes.

A week ago, he’d have laughed out loud about the whole idea. But now he wasn’t sure.

Starship took his drink and slid around in his seat to watch the girl dancing on the stage. The girl started to slide her skirt down.

Someone shook Starship from behind.

“What’s the story?” he said angrily, turning.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” said Kick. “I can see why.”

“Hey, roomie. Pull up a stool. How’d you find me?”

“Mack Smith suggested I look here.”

“Yeah, good ol’ Major Smith. Have a drink.”

“Thanks but no thanks. Zen wants us ASAP.”

“What for? It’s our day off. Besides, we’re still grounded, right? Because of the Chinese baloney?”

“Not anymore. Colonel Bastian arranged for Pe