Revolution

“Damn straight you can fly.” Samson shut the folder abruptly. “Get this over to my office, get it signed off by the chief of staff. I’m looking for big things out of you, Captain.”

Tears were brimming in Brea

“Carry on,” he told her, and spun away.

Bucharest, Romania

27 January 1998

0900

STONER WOKE TO THE SMELL OF COFFEE. HE JERKED OUT

of bed, grabbed his watch. He’d slept for nearly ten hours. He hadn’t been out that long in ages.

He pulled on his clothes and went to the kitchen. Sorina Viorica was there, cooking something in a frying pan. She’d taken a shower or a bath while he was sleeping; the scent of her soap filled the room.

She’d done something else, as well—dyed her hair jet black.

“Hello there,” she said.

“You did your hair.”

“Black, yes. The color of an outcast.”

He went to her, not knowing what to expect, either of himself or her. She folded her body to his willingly; his complied without hesitation.

“We have a lot to do,” he said.

“Yes, but first we should eat,” she said. “I bought some eggs.”

REVOLUTION

219

Iasi Airfield, Romania

1305

“HEY, COLONEL, ANOTHER MESSAGE INCOMING,” YELLED

Sergeant Lee “Nurse” Liu, who was handling the communications desk at the back end of the Dreamland Command trailer.

Dog sighed and turned back around. He’d been hoping to take a nap before the night’s sortie, but one thing or another had interrupted him since returning from the Romanian command meeting.

“It’s a private phone call, Colonel,” said Liu, rising.

“Phone call? From the States?”

“No, sir. Sat phone. Encrypted too.”

Dog sat down at the terminal and put on a headset while Liu slipped discreetly to the front of the trailer.

“This is Bastian.”

“Colonel Bastian, this is Mark Stoner. Do you remember me?”

“Sure I do, Mark. How are you?”

It wasn’t likely he’d forget. The CIA officer had helped save Brea

“I’m fine, Colonel. As it happens, I’m working on a job in your neck of the woods. I can’t go into detail at the moment, but I’d like to speak to you personally as soon as possible.

This afternoon.”

“Why don’t you come here? I’m in Iasi.”

“I’d like to stay out of the city if I could. I have a place picked out that’s not that far from you. Could you be there around three-thirty?”

“I can try.”

“It might be best to wear civilian clothes, if you could,”

said Stoner. “And have a civilian car. You shouldn’t tell the Romanians where you’re going.”

220

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Near Dolcina, northeast Romania

1420

STONER KNEW COLONEL BASTIAN WELL ENOUGH TO TRUST

him, but that didn’t mean the Romanians didn’t have him under surveillance. So he was careful about choosing their meeting place.

With as little help from Sorina as possible, he selected a village that was small enough to watch but not so small that doing so would attract attention. Dolcina was about twenty minutes northwest of Bacau, and it had two outstanding assets: first, there was no police department or army detachment in town, and second, there was only one road in and out.

An hour before the colonel was due to arrive, Stoner double-checked the tavern he’d selected for the meeting. There was still only one regular at the bar, an old woman who sat in the corner and mumbled to herself while sipping Pernod, probably from the same glass he’d seen two hours before. Walking around the building, he found a garbage can and used it to boost himself onto the roof, where he surveyed the local street and the dozen or so buildings nearby. If anyone was watching him, they were well hidden.

He stayed on the roof until Colonel Bastian arrived. Then he waited another ten minutes before calling the bar from his sat phone.

“I wish to speak to a man named Tecumseh, if he is there,”

said Stoner in the Romanian Sorina Viorica had carefully re-hearsed with him.

“Tecumseh?”

“Yes.”

The bartender asked him something in Romanian that Stoner didn’t understand; all he could do was repeat what he’d said before.

There was silence. Then just as he thought he’d have to climb down and go inside himself, Dog came on the phone.

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221

“This is Tecumseh.”

“Sorry for the intrigue, Colonel. I need you to drive down the street, out of the village. Continue for exactly two kilometers, then pull off the road.”

Stoner killed the co

No one seemed to be following him. Still, Stoner waited another few minutes before climbing down. When he did, he trotted in the opposite direction, going back toward the highway to the abandoned gas station where he’d left his motorcycle.

Sorina Viorica had already left.

Not exactly the way they had pla

He had to hit the electric starter twice before the bike would turn over. Once it was humming, however, the single-piston engine sounded as smooth as a V-8. He revved the bike onto the roadway, circled once again to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then headed toward the rendezvous.

DOG WATCHED THE ODOMETER CAREFULLY. AS SOON AS

it reached two kilometers, he pulled the car onto the shoulder, leaving it idling as he looked around. There were empty farm fields to his left and right. No one was in sight.

Undoing his seat belt, he took his service Beretta pistol out of his belt, checked it, then put it down between the seat and the transmission hump next to him. It was months since he’d used it, and then it had been on an indoor range.

He wasn’t a particularly good shot and hoped he didn’t need it.

A cloud of dust appeared in the field to his left. Dog thought about getting out of the car, then decided against it.

The dust swirled, then settled to reveal a motorcycle. Dog rolled down his window, watching as the bike came toward him. Its driver wore a helmet with a dark face shield.

222

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Dog slumped down, using the dashboard for cover, waiting as the motorcycle came closer. He put his hand on the gun.

The bike suddenly accelerated, passing by in a blur. He watched in his side mirror as it veered off the road behind him, then began circling back from his right. He rolled down his window and waited as it drew near. His hand was still on the pistol, now in his lap.

The motorcycle coasted next to him and stopped. The rider leaned down.

“Who are you?” demanded the driver.

Dog was surprised. The voice, muffled by the helmet, was foreign and belonged to a woman.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he said.

“For who?”

“A friend. Mark Stoner.”

Another bike appeared in his rearview mirror. This one came straight down the road. The woman who’d stopped glanced back but stayed on her motorcycle as the second bike drew near the driver’s side of the car.

He’d had Liu check the voice pattern of the call earlier, so Dog was sure he’d been talking to Stoner. But now his paranoia grew, and his imagination spun out of control.

He could slip the car into gear and accelerate, get the hell out of there.

Shoot the motorcyclist on his right first.

The second bike stopped on his left.

“Colonel, I’m sorry for the precaution,” said its rider, leaning close to the window. He pulled up his face shield, revealing himself. It was Stoner.

“It’s all right, Mark. What’s going on?”

“Just a second.”