Revolution

The first time Chartelle had said that to him, Mack called him back on the intercom. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

“I’ll be in before you can put down the phone,” he told her, jumping up from his desk and double-timing his way down the hall.

Chartelle gave him a big smile as he walked in. Mack smiled back. She wasn’t much to look at, but she had been with the general for several years and knew how to read his moods. Mack knew it was essential to have a good spy in the bullpen—the office outside the general’s—and while REVOLUTION

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he hadn’t completely won her over yet, he figured he would soon.

“There you are, Smith,” said Samson after he knocked and was buzzed inside. “Every day down here it’s something else.”

“Yes, sir. That’s the way it is here,” replied Mack.

“Not under my command, it’s not.”

“No sir, of course. You’re really on your way to turning it around.”

Samson frowned. Mack felt his stomach go a little sour.

The vaunted Mack Smith charm never seemed to work with the old man.

“The B-1 laser program,” said the general, as if the mere mention explained what he had on his mind.

“Yes, sir. Good plane.”

“It has its plusses and minuses, Smith,” said Samson. “You were a fighter jock. I flew them. Don’t forget.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mack. The general’s use of the past tense when referring to his profession irked him, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he could mention.

“What the hell happened to the test schedule of these planes?” demanded Samson. “They’re two months behind.

Two months.”

Two months wasn’t much in the scheme of things, especially on a complicated project like the laser B-1. And in fact, depending on how you looked at the program, it was actually ahead of schedule; most of the delays had to do with the ground-attack module, which was being improved from a baseline simply because the engineers had realized late in the day that they could do so without adding additional cost. The rest of the delay was mainly due to the shortage of pilots—the plane had to be flown for a certain number of hours before its different systems were officially certified.

Mack tried explaining all of this, but Samson was hardly in a receptive mood.

132

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“The laser is the problem, isn’t it, Mack?”

“The laser segment is ahead of schedule, sir. As I was saying, the plane is actually ready—”

“Because if it is, we should just shelve it. Some of this new age crap—it just adds u

“Well yes sir, but I think you’ll find that the laser segment is, um, moving along nicely.”

“Then what the hell is the holdup?”

“There’s a problem with pilots,” he said. “A shortage.”

“Fix it, Mack.”

Finding qualified pilots—and they had to be military pilots, preferably Air Force, with the requisite security clearances, to say nothing of their abilities—wasn’t exactly easy. But he knew of one pilot, albeit a fighter jock, who was available.

Himself.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind taking the stick now and again myself,” said Mack. “In the interim. This way—”

“Major, if my chief of staff has enough time to get into the seat of a test aircraft, then I’m not giving him enough work to do.”

“Yes, sir, that’s what I was thinking.”

Mack was back in his office a half hour later when he was surprised by a knock on the door.

“It’s open.”

“Hey Mack, how goes things for the new chief of staff?”

said Brea

“Bree! How are you?” He got up, intending to give her a light peck on the cheek in greeting. Then he remembered General Samson’s order against “unmilitary shows of affec-

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tion” and stopped cold. Thrusting his hand out awkwardly, he asked how she was.

“I feel great,” said Brea

“Sure. Sit. Sit.”

Mack had once had the hots for Brea

Her body made it easy to overlook those shortcomings, however. Her face—it was like looking at a model.

“How do you like being chief of staff?” Brea

“It’s great. I have my thumb on the pulse of the base,” he said. “I’ve solved several problems already. We’re turning this place around, the general and I.”

A frown flickered across Brea

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m here to volunteer.”

“Uh—”

“You need pilots. I’ve flown Boomer a couple of times.”

“You were heading the unma

“So? You still need a pilot. And UMB isn’t scheduled for more test flights for another three months. If that,” Brea

She’d heard correctly. General Samson’s priorities for the base and its projects emphasized ma

like the airborne lasers that had yet to prove themselves.

“Maybe it’ll get cut, maybe not,” said Mack. “Ultimately, it may not be up to the general.”

“He has a lot of say.”

“True.”

“So, when do I fly?” asked Brea

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“Um—”

“Tomorrow’s not too soon for me.”

“Wait a second, Bree. Yeah, I need pilots, but—”

“What’s the but?”

“You’re supposed to be in the hospital, aren’t you?”

“No. I was released the other day.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re ready to fly.”

“Look. I’m fine.” Brea

“I’m tempted. I’m really tempted,” said Mack. “But you came in here with a limp.”

“Did I?”

“And what about that concussion or coma or whatever you had?”

“Doctors didn’t find anything wrong.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you need to say yes?”

“Medical clearance, for one thing.”

“Done.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see the medical report.”

“I haven’t bothered to schedule it yet. I will.”

“Fine. No problem,” said Mack. “A clean bill of health, and then you’re back in the cockpit.”

“Not a problem.”

“A doctor has to say you can fly.”

“Of course.”

“A flight surgeon, not a veterinarian.”

“Hard-de-har-har.”

“McMichaels,” said Mack, naming the toughest doctor on the base. McMichaels had once threatened to ground him for a sore bicep.

“I like Mickey.”

“Good then. It’s a deal.”

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Bucharest, Romania

2005

STONER SLID HIS WATCH CAP LOWER ON HIS HEAD, COVERING

his ears and about half of his forehead. Then he turned the corner and walked to the apartment building where he’d left Sorina Viorica. He had his head down but was watching out of the corners of both eyes, making sure he wasn’t being followed or watched.

The building’s front door was ajar. Stoner pushed in, wearing an easy nonchalance to camouflage his wariness. He double-pumped up the stairs to the second floor, then went directly to the apartment door and knocked.

No answer.

Stoner surveyed the hall and nearby stairs, making sure he was alone, then turned back and knocked again.

He’d left the key under the mat, but there was no sense checking for it—she would either open the door for him or he would leave.