End Game

“The jerk on my side has a camera,” said Stewart as the Chinese planes pulled up alongside the Levitow.

“Well, make sure you wave,” Zen told her.

STEWART TURNED HER HEAD BACK TO THE GLASS “DASHboard” in front of her, sca

The computer made this easy for her by color coding the readings—numbers in green meant things were fine, yellows were cautions, red was trouble. The computer was also set to provide verbal alerts.

As she sca

If the J-13s tried anything, what would she do?

The Flighthawks would take them out.

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If they didn’t?

The Chinese planes would drop back, angling to get behind the Megafortress and use their weapons. Go to weapons screen, activate Stinger air mines.

They’d turn off or roll out, looking to get a little distance to make a missile attack. Evasive action, ECMs, flares, chaff, then AMRAAM-pluses.

SAM missile alert?

ID threat first. Then countermeasures.

Staying calm was the important thing.

“How you doing over there, Jan?” asked Brea

“All indicators in the green. Tweedledee and Tweedle -

dum are right at our sides.”

Stewart felt a wave of anxiety rush over her. What had she missed? Was Brea

No. She really wasn’t like that. She was human.

“Nothing else in the air for fifty miles,” Stewart added, looking at the sitrep. “CAPs are still over their carriers.”

“Good. Feeling tense?”

Another trick question? The Iron Bitch probing weaknesses?

Or just an honest one?

“A little. And tired,” she admitted.

“I know the feeling. Boy, do I know the feeling,” said Brea

Somehow, the reply felt like a compliment.

Diego Garcia

1640 (1540, Karachi)

DANNY FREAH CAREFULLY ALIGNED HIS FINGERS ON THE

stitches of the football, gently rolling the pigskin against his wide palm.

“Down, ready, set,” he yelled, his voice sharp and loud.

He glanced to the right at his teammate—Boston, whose END GAME

273

right hand was still bandaged, lined up at split end—then at their opponents—Liu, who was playing defensive back, and Pretty Boy, who was rushing.

There had to be some way to get up to the target area quickly.

Deploy the Osprey from the Abner Read?

They’d done that before. That would lower the response time considerably; it’d be an hour at most.

“Hut, hut, hut.” Da

Boston shot down the field. Da

“Son of a bitch,” he growled, dodging Pretty Boy and heading toward Liu. Knowing from experience that the short and ski

“I had it,” griped Boston, coming over. “Damn bandages got in the way. I don’t even need the stinking things.”

Liu gri

He’d applied the fresh dressing just before the game, no doubt figuring out some way to make them extra slippery.

The problem with the Osprey was that the submarine might see it coming. Ditto with the Sharkboat that accompanied the Abner Read. If they had any sort of warning at all, they might blow the submarine up.

He had to strike quickly, make it seem as if it were a mal-

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function, immobilize them before they could react.

“Spot pass on the kickoff,” whispered Boston. “You receive, call pass while I run down the sideline. Just throw.

We’ll catch them off guard.”

“Spot pass?”

“Boston city rules,” said the sergeant. “Allowed on a kickoff if you call it. Grab the ball, don’t move, yell spot pass when they’re close and bomb it. Let’s do it and let them argue about it later.”

“Yeah,” said Freah. “A long bomb.”

He started trotting toward the Command trailer.

“Cap?”

“You guys play without me for a while. I gotta go talk to the colonel.”

Aboard the Wisconsin , over the northern Arabian Sea

1555

DOG SIPPED A COFFEE AT THE PILOT’S STATION AS JED BAR-clay continued to update him on the situation. He’d turned the plane over to Jazz and was enjoying the closest thing to a break he was going to have for the next eight hours or so. The Levitow had just left for Diego Garcia, where she’d get a fresh crew and a full load of fuel before returning to duty.

“Pakistan’s missile batteries are on their highest alert.

Same with India’s,” said Jed Barclay. “Nobody’s backed off or stood down.”

“I thought the UN was sending a mission.”

“They have. The President’s been talking to the different governments as well. The Indians say they’re willing to ne-gotiate, but both Pakistan and the Chinese blame them for the last round of attacks, both at Karachi and on the carrier.

The Russians are egging the Indians on.”

END GAME

275

“What about the Iranians?”

“Um, not following you there, Colonel.”

“I think they’re the ones behind this. The aircraft—”

“We need proof. Like, something tangible. The airplanes weren’t even flying toward Iran, and the CIA hasn’t found any co

“The submarine?”

“No information’s been developed that I’ve seen. Um, problem is, Colonel, a lot of people won’t believe Iran’s involved without real hard evidence and, um, the Secretary of State would never go out on a limb to charge them without something tangible, real tangible.”

“Yeah, all right. Thanks, Jed.”

Dog was just getting up to stow his coffee cup when the Dreamland cha

“I have a plan to take the second submarine,” Da

“Manpods? Those one-man coffins that barely fit on the EB-52’s wings?”