Armageddon

“Boston, is that you?”

“Sir! An alert from Washington, D.C.”

Da

“Center is requesting your presence,” said Boston, much louder than Da

“Yeah, I’m coming, Sergeant. Relax.”

Da

Da

It didn’t, at least not fatally. The screen blinked, allowing the co

“Freah,” said Da

“Captain, this is Jed Barclay over at the White House.”

“Jed? What’s up?”

“We’ve been tracking developments at Brunei and the national security advisor was wondering, uh, hoping he could get a direct report from your people there.”

“Right, yeah,” said Da

“Can you locate her?”

“Yes, sir,” said Da

“Are there other perso

He thought they had at least one technical expert there. Da

“Deci Gordon. He’s a wizzo—a radar intercept officer who handles the gear in the AWACS versions of the EB-52s,” said Da

“We’d like to talk to anyone who might be able to give us on-the-spot insight,” said Jed.

“Zen was there,” said Da

“I know the number,” said Jed. “Can you get a hold of Mr. Gordon?”

“Will do. And I’ll track down Brea

“Thanks. We’ll be waiting.”

Bandar Seri Begawan (capital of Brunei)

11 October 1997, 1710

“Mack, I agree this is a difficult situation, but we must use patience.” Prince bin Awg paced the length of his office in the modern-high rise overlooking the bay, the soles of his Italian shoes squeaking softly on the polished marble floor. “But it is a time for diplomacy, a delicate time.”

“Look, Prince, you know airplanes pretty well,” said Mack. “You’ve got a great collection of Cold War hardware over in your hangars. Those aren’t just pretty planes. The Russians and the Americans—the reason there wasn’t a nuclear war was that we were both matching each other. Those were serious war machines, and both sides had to be careful of the other.”

“What’s your point, Mack?” asked the prince.

“It means you have to show your resolve, not just to these terrorist punks, but to the Malaysians.”

“The Malaysians say they weren’t involved,” said bin Awg. “The helicopters were on a routine training mission.”

“Aw, that’s bullshit and you know it. They were clearly in our territory. And their Sukhois would have hit the police station if we didn’t stop them. You have to help me clear the red tape away so we can get missiles to shoot them down,” said Mack. “And we need F-15s. Or something. Hell, I’ll settle for the Sukhois Ivana Keptrova was peddling.”

“The sultan does not want to upset the current equilibrium?’ said bin Awg. “He’s put all our purchases on hold for the time being.”

“He better change his mind damn quick,” said Mack. “Or he’ll be the ex-sultan. Now where’s my pilot?”

“She was taken over to the central ministry to be interviewed. I’m sure she’ll be released after a few hours.”

Mack had already spun around and headed for the door.

“Mack!” said the prince.

Against his better judgment, Mack stopped.

Confusion and fear mixed in equal parts of the prince’s face. Bin Awg had not impressed Mack as a great statesman; it was clear he was used to the finer things in life and was a bit too fond of pleasure to make the personal sacrifices you needed to make to be a great leader, even in peacetime. But neither had he thought he was a coward or fool.

“Mack, listen,” said the prince, his voice firmer than it had been earlier. “I want you to succeed. Take the steps necessary, and I will do what I can. But there are procedures that we all must follow, even myself.”

Mack glanced at bin Awg’s hands, curled together in tight fists. He wants to be brave, Mack thought to himself, and he knows he has to be. But he’s used to having things laid out for him, and letting other people do the dirty work.

At least his heart is in the right place. That’s going to have to be enough.

“Just back me up, okay?” said Mack.

Bin Awg hesitated, then nodded.

“I’ll keep you informed.”

THE FACT THAT MCKENNA WAS AT THE CENTRAL DEFENSE ministry allowed Mack to kill two birds with one stone. He and his two security men, weapons ready, marched up the steps and through the reception area, pausing at the desk where two Brunei policemen looked at them with jaws just about on the floor.

“Your country is under attack,” Mack told them. “And we’re kicking butt to protect it. I need more security people. So if you get tired of this bullshit desk job, you come see me. We’ll pay twice what they pay you here, and you’ll be patriots besides.”

Mack then spun and walked up the grand stairway before either man could manage to gather his wits. He marched to the office of the central minister, in theory his boss; the man was gone for the day.

Just as well, thought Mack, who then proceeded back downstairs, this time to the basement where McKe

A guard stood outside the interrogation room. Mack walked up to him.

“Soldier, you’re at war. At a minimum, your sidearm should be ready to be used,” said Mack, pointing at the buttoned holster. “If you want to see real action, you join us at the airport.”

He slapped the door open and walked into the room, where McKe

“About freakin’ time, Mack,” said McKe

The two officers looked at Mack in disbelief. One of them started to say something, but stopped as Mack’s soldiers came in behind him.

“Come on, McKe

“Pretty butt? I think that’s sexual harassment,” said McKe

New Lebanon, Nevada

0400

Though he would have flown past a dozen anti-aircraft batteries in a Sopwith Camel before admitting it, Zen slept very poorly when his wife was away. In fact, he hardly slept at all most nights. He was watching ESPN SportsCenter when the phone rang, and he snagged it on the first ring.

“Yeah?”

“Zen, it’s Jed. Hey, you awake?”

“Well no, I’m sitting here talking to you in my sleep, cousin. What’s the story?”

Jed brought him up to date on the situation in Brunei, where there had been somewhere around a dozen terrorist attacks over the course of the day. Zen flipped over to CNN as they talked, hitting the mute; there was no mention of the attacks.

“I’ll tell you, that place is a lot more dangerous than people think,” Zen told his cousin. “And something’s going on with Malaysia. Bree said they picked up two Sukhois the other day that supposedly don’t exist.”