Retribution

2124

“THIS LOOKS LIKE THE REAL THING,” SAID RAGER. “THE

plane isn’t answering the ground controllers or the F-15s.”

Dog studied the display, getting his bearings. The Airbus—officially identified as Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201—had just crossed the California coast. The two Air Force F-15s were only a few minutes away; Hawk One, one of the robot Flighthawk aircraft controlled by Starship, was maybe two minutes behind them.

Dog switched into the Dreamland cha

“Ray’s down in the computer center, Colonel,” said Major Catsman. “I’ll switch you.”

“Wait. What I want are the warhead experts,” Dog told her. “What happens if we shoot this thing down? Is it going to explode?”

“They’re already trying to work up a simulation based on the other warhead,” said Catsman.

“We don’t need a simulation, we need an answer right now.

Get everyone on the line, wherever they are. We need to know.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Dog switched over to the regular frequencies and contacted Nellis Flight One. The F-15 pilot said he was about a minute from visual range.

“What exactly are your orders?” Dog asked.

“At the moment, find and identify the plane.”

“I don’t know how much of this they’ve told you, Captain, but here’s the deal: That plane is carrying a nuclear warhead, and it may be rigged to explode in any number of ways.”

Nellis Flight One didn’t respond.

“Do you copy, Nellis Flight One?”

“Copy. We copy you, Colonel. What the hell are we going to do?”

408

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Over California

2132

KERMAN WAITED UNTIL THE F-15S WERE VISIBLE OVER HIS

left wing before responding.

“This is Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, to any control unit. Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, to any control unit.

There has been a hijacking situation. We are now back in full control of the flight.”

“Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, this is Nellis Flight One.

Repeat your status.”

“We have overcome the hijackers,” said Kerman. He was so nervous he was almost out of breath as he spoke. But that would play in his favor. “Some injuries to crew. We have control. Two men are dead. Both are the hijackers. My navigator is critical. He may already be dead.”

“Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201, I want you to execute an immediate turn.”

The pilot repeated the instructions the controllers had given him earlier, telling him to go out to sea.

“I have damage to my instrument panel. I have two holes in the fuselage and am losing pressurization,” said Kerman.

“I need immediate clearance for an emergency landing. Repeat, I have a flight emergency landing. Repeat, I have a flight emergency and require assistance.”

He throttled back and dipped his wing slightly. There was a fine balance—he couldn’t overact, but he had to seem as if he was truly in distress.

“Pakistan Air Crating Flight 201. I need you to execute that turn.”

“Repeat directions.”

The American pilot once again gave him a heading that would have him turn south and then head out to sea.

“I am going to try,” said Kerman. “Stand by. My navigator is critical. We require ambulances on the runway. My own wounds are not serious.”

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409

He glanced at his watch. He still had nearly forty-five minutes before the weapon would explode.

But there was a bright glow in the distance, an arc of light brighter than anything he’d seen for hours and hours.

Las Vegas.

Aboard Dreamland Be

over the Pacific Ocean

2135

STARSHIP SLID HAWK ONE IN BEHIND THE F-15 EAGLES, lining the small robot up to get a good visual of the aircraft.

“They’re claiming they have wounded crewmen and damage to the plane,” radioed one of the F-15 pilots. “Asking for an immediate clearance to land.”

“Negative,” said Colonel Bastian over the circuit. “That plane does not land. Stand by while the Flighthawk gets a good look at the plane. Flighthawk leader?”

“Yeah, roger that, Colonel,” said Starship. “I’m on it now.”

“COULD BE AS SIMPLE AS TOUCHING TWO WIRES TOGETHER, Colonel,” said Rubeo, whose voice sounded distant. “But as I told you earlier, we’re not convinced the warhead will explode. The odds are at least fifty-fifty that the pertinent circuitry was fried by the T-Rays.”

“Ray, I doubt they would have come all this way if they didn’t think it would explode,” said Dog.

“Just because they think it will explode doesn’t mean it will,” said the scientist.

“How can we take him down safely?”

“Get him out to sea and shoot him down. There is no other guarantee. It’s possible that the warhead is set to explode if the airplane is destroyed, or if it drops below a certain altitude.

There is just no way of knowing.”

410

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Over Nevada, approaching Las Vegas

2138

THE FIGHTER JET PASSED SO CLOSE TO THE AIRBUS’S WINDscreen that Kerman thought the glass would implode from the jet’s thrust. But he held his control steady. He was going to win. All he had to do was stay in the air a few more minutes and he would be over Las Vegas.

This one’s going to hit us, he thought as another fighter pushed in.

The Airbus shuddered as the F-15 swept over the fuselage.

Kerman felt the plane slipping from his grip, responding to the violent air currents rather than his controls. He jabbed the pedals, desperate to keep it on its course. The Airbus dropped straight down about 2,000 feet, then abruptly jerked back, level, to just below its original altitude.

The two fighters had moved off. Before Kerman could exhale, a small missile whipped in front of the windscreen.

The missile twirled and danced before his eyes, rising upward and then curling back, as lithe as an ocean, before plunging a few feet from the Airbus’s nose.

As it turned, he realized it wasn’t a missile, but an aircraft.

A small one, far too small and sleek for a man.

It must be a Flighthawk. The Dreamland people. They knew he was coming for them.

“I will not fail,” Kerman said aloud, hunkering closer to the wheel.

Aboard Dreamland Be

2139

ENGLEHARDT HAD CLOSED THE GAP BETWEEN HIMSELF AND

the Airbus; as he descended through 30,000 feet, he saw the airliner a few miles ahead. The F-15s had backed away and RETRIBUTION

411

the Flighthawk—a small black dart—wheeled over the plane.

The Airbus continued on its path.

Englehardt sized up the distance between the Be

“Dreamland Be

“Negative, Dreamland,” said the Nellis F-15. “Stand by.

We are under orders to take this airplane down.”

“Negative, negative,” said Dog, practically shouting over the radio. “You can’t shoot it down.”

“Those are my orders, Colonel.”

“Sullivan, open the bomb bay doors,” said Englehardt over the interphone circuit.

“What?”

“Just open the damn the bomb bay doors.” Englehardt switched back to the radio. “Nellis One, stand off—this is our shot. We have the Airbus targeted.”

The Eagle pilot didn’t acknowledge.

“I’ll take you next if I have to,” snapped Englehardt. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Hey, slow down, cowboy,” said Nellis One.

“All right. Everyone, take a deep breath,” said Colonel Bastian. “We’re on the same side here. Remember who the enemy is. They may have the bomb rigged to go off when the aircraft descends. We’re working on a solution. So everyone calm down and let the scientists think.”