Satan's Tail

“Fire,” he told Habib.

As his lieutenant reached for the button, the screen went blank again.

ZEN SLID THE FLIGHTHAWK DOWN TOWARD THE WAVES, RIDING

the aircraft through two thousand feet, coming down to five hundred. The two speedboats were a hundred yards behind the Shark Boat; all three vessels were doing close to 52

knots.

The radar aboard the Shark Boat had not been activated. It had a limited antiaircraft capability—two banks of heat-

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seeking missiles that were essentially seagoing versions of the shoulder-launched Stinger were mounted in the superstructure fore and aft. As long as the radar was off and he got in without warning, he would be out of range before the system was activated.

What he would do on the second pass remained to be seen.

“Hold on, Da

“ARK ROYAL HASN’T PICKED THEM UP, AS FAR AS I CAN TELL,”

said Dish. “Hasn’t picked us up, for that matter.”

“Let’s talk to them,” said Dog.

McNamara raised the British ship on the radio. The seaman on the Ark Royal was confused as to who they were.

“This is EB-52 Wisconsin,” Dog explained. “Part of Xray Pop Combined Action Group.”

“Are you the aircraft that was attacked by the Yemen planes?”

“Negative,” said Dog. “We’re pursuing an American craft that may have been taken over by pirates.”

“Pirates?”

There was a pause. A new voice came on the radio.

“This is Captain Joyce. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Tecumseh Bastian, U.S. Air Force.

There’s an American vessel approaching you that we believe may have been hijacked by terrorists.” He checked the screen and read the coordinates.

“Impossible,” said the captain. “I’m looking at the radar now. There’s no ship there.”

“You’re going to have to believe me. If the Shark Boat has been hijacked, it’s going to be very hostile. It may attempt to attack you.”

“A dark day for him if he tries.”

THEY WERE FORTY YARDS, MAYBE THIRTY, FROM THE SHIP.

Da

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

up over the windscreen, steadying himself so he could jump onto the bow.

Suddenly he lurched forward, the boat slowing.

“Damn, we blew the engine,” said the sailor at the wheel.

“Damn.”

NO MATTER WHAT HABIB TRIED, HE COULDN’T GET THE SCREEN

from the external source back on the display. Ali looked up and recognized the shadow as it leapt above the bow: It was one of the tiny aircraft that had buzzed them the other day in the gulf.

Satan’s Tail had survived the attack somehow. He went to the side of the bridge, looking into the darkness.

If God willed it, he would prefer, greatly prefer, battling the American.

But only if God willed it.

“Can you get the screen back?” he asked Habib.

“I can’t seem to.”

“The missiles should have a direct mode,” Ali told him.

“A fail-safe.”

“It would require the radar, if it works at all.”

“They must already know we’re here. Turn it on.”

ZEN BANKED BACK TOWARD THE SHARK BOAT. THERE WERE

people at the bow. As he approached, red lights began to flicker.

Automatic rifle fire, he realized after he passed.

“I’d say they’re definitely hostile,” Zen told the others.

“Even for the Navy.”

“I CAN SEE THE TARGET, BUT THE COMPUTER WON’T ALLOW ME

to lock,” said Habib, continuing to work on the problem.

“This line shows where it will lock,” said Ali, guessing by comparing it to what he remembered—not from the Italian missile systems, but from some of the battle simulations.

“This shows where the target will detect us. Clever.”

“Five more miles, then, before we can launch.”

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389

“Yes. Fire when you are able,” said Ali.

“The station controls other weapons,” added Habib, switching the panel into something entirely different.

“There’s an air defense module.”

“Use it.”

DANNY SLAMMED HIS HEAD AGAINST THE DASHBOARD OF THE

speedboat. The Shark Boat was already pulling away.

“Werewolf inbound,” said one of the Marines in the boat.

Da

“Werewolf, I have a problem here,” said Da

“What’s up?”

“I— Is your navigation gear back?”

“Negative, but I can see you with the infrared.”

“I want you to pick me up and drop me on the rear deck of the Shark Boat.”

Je

“Jen?”

“I don’t know if I can, Whiplash.”

“Sure you can. Hover overhead and I’ll grab the skid.

Hurry, we’re only a couple hundred yards away.”

“Da

“Come a little to your left,” he said, moving out toward the stern.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” EYES ASKED JENNIFER, LOOKING

over her shoulder.

“We’re taking back the Shark Boat,” she said, punching the code to override the safety protocol so the Werewolf would get close enough to Da

“I don’t remember giving that order. Storm has to approve all action.”

Je

Eyes took a deep breath, then turned away.

*

*

*

390

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

DANNY HADN’T COUNTED ON THE WASH FROM THE WERE-wolf’s propellers. The gust pushed him down and to the side of the boat. He swung his hands madly, finally grabbing one of the skids. He thought it was too late, felt himself sailing to his right and braced himself for an unwelcome bath. But then he realized he’d managed to grab the skid of the helo.

“I hope this works,” he said to himself.

“I hope so too,” said Dancer, hearing him over the communications cha

THE SHARK BOAT HAD A 25MM CANNON ON ITS FORWARD

deck, a devastating weapon against the two small boats, and Zen zeroed his sights into it as he made his run head-on to the bow. The gun began to fire as Zen came in, filling the air in front of him with titanium. Zen bore down, moving just fast enough to avoid the slugs. His stream of bullets blew out the gun housing just as the system began to catch up to the Flighthawk.

He took a quick shot at the sloped bridge of the Shark Boat as he passed, then started to bank, aiming to sweep around and rake the deck. But as he did, the Flighthawk yelped—the Shark Boat had launched surface-to-air missiles.

Zen dished flares and hung on, too low and slow to outrun the SAMs. He pushed the Flighthawk hard right; one of the missiles sailed past the aircraft.

Another exploded beneath his right wing.

AS THE DECK SLOWLY INCHED IN HIS DIRECTION, THE PAIN IN

Da

“Hang on,” he said. “Hang on.”

“I am,” said Dancer.

He hadn’t been talking to her—or anyone—but her voice encouraged him, and there was the Shark Boat, right below him.

“Jen, I need to get down.”

“I can’t get too much lower.”

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391

He let go. The first thing he felt was relief in his shoulder.

Then he hit the deck hard enough to rattle his teeth.

ALI LOOKED AT THE SCREEN.

“Another mile,” he told Habib. “God will bring us victory.”

THE FLIGHTHAWK SPUN IN MIDAIR, GOING THROUGH TWO IN-verts before Zen could regain control.

Besides the other damage, the explosion had jammed the control surfaces of the wing, making it difficult to control.

The weapons system was offline, as the aircraft was limited to its infrared camera.