Revolution

The one thing it didn’t show was where President Voda might be.

Which, as he read the situation, was the one thing above all else it ought to show.

“What the hell’s going on with that NSA chick?” Mack asked the techie to his right. “She get those cell towers figured out yet or what?”

“They’re working on it. It’s not like they monitor every transmission in the world, Major.”

Mack straightened. There ought to be an easier way to track Voda.

If the Megafortress types flying over Romania were the Elint birds—specially designed to pick up electronic transmissions—it’d be a no-brainer. They’d just tune to the cell phone’s frequencies and wham bam, thank you ma’am, they’d have him.

But with all the high-tech crap in the planes that were there, surely there was some way to find the S.O.B.

The problem probably wasn’t the technology—the problem was they didn’t have enough geeks working it.

Mack turned around and yelled to the communications specialist, who was sitting two rows back. “Hey, you know Ray Rubeo’s cell phone number?”

“Dr. Rubeo? He’s no longer—”

“Yeah, just dial the number, would you? Get him on the horn.”

Mack shook his head. He had to explain everything to these people.

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard B-1B/L Boomer,

over northeastern Romania

0053

“GENERAL, THERE’S AN URGENT TRANSMISSION COMING

through from Romanian air defense command,” said Brea

“About time they woke up,” said Samson, tapping the communications panel at the lower left of the dashboard. “This is Samson.”

“General Samson, stand by for General Locusta.”

“Locusta. He’s the army general, right?” Samson asked Brea

She didn’t get a chance to answer as Locusta came on the line.

“General Samson, I am sorry to say we have not had a chance to meet.”

Samson had a little trouble deciphering Locusta’s English.

“Yes, I’m glad to be working with you, too,” he told him, trying not to arouse his suspicions.

“We understand the Russians are attacking. We have our own interceptors on the way.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the radar, and my colonel is attempting to contact them. We’ll shoot the bastards down, don’t worry.”

“We are obliged. We appreciate the assistance,” said Locusta. “Now, we are conducting operations in the north, in the mountain areas east of Stulpicani. You’ll please keep your aircraft clear of that area.”

Samson decided to employ a trick he’d learned when he was young and ambitious—when in doubt, play dumb.

“This is in relation to the attack on the president’s estate?”

Samson asked.

“That’s right.”

“I have an aircraft in that region. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” said Samson. “We can provide a great deal of help. We’ll catch those bastards, too.”

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393

“Your assistance is appreciated but not needed,” answered Locusta. “This is a delicate political matter, General. I’m sure you understand.”

Sure, I understand, thought Samson—you want to take over the country and don’t want any interference from us.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Samson. “We can help.”

“Whether you understand or not, stay away from the area.

I would hate to have one of your planes shot down acciden-tally.”

The arrogant son of a bitch!

“Listen, General—” started Samson, before he realized Locusta had killed the co

Aboard EB-52 Be

over northeastern Romania

0054

WITH GUIDANCE FROM THE BENNETT, THE TWO ROMANIAN

MiGs were able to change course and set up their own intercept over Moldovan territory.

“Let them take the first shot,” Dog told Zen. “But don’t let the Russians get by.”

“Roger that,” said Zen.

He checked everyone’s position on his sitrep, then dialed into the Romanian flight’s communications cha

“S¸oim Unu, this is Dreamland Flighthawk leader. You read me?” said Zen. The word S¸oim was pronounced

“shoim.”

“Flighthawk leader, we are on your ear,” said the pilot.

“I’m your ear too,” said Zen, amused. “You know American English?”

“Ten-four to this.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“You want to take both planes yourselves? Or should we divvy them up?”

“We may first attack. Then, you sloppy seconds.”

“Where’d you learn English?”

“Brother goes to American college.”

His letters back home must be a real blast, thought Zen.

“All right,” he told the Romanians. “I’ll be to the northeast.

If they get past you, I’m on them. You won’t see the UM/Fs on your radar. They’re small and pretty stealthy.”

“What is this UM/F?”

“Flighthawks. They’re unma

“Oh yes, Flighthawk. We know this one very well.”

Had he been flying with American or NATO pilots, Zen would have suggested a game plan that would have the two groups of interceptors work more closely together. But he wasn’t sure how the Romanians were trained to fly their planes, let alone how well they could do it.

The Russian planes were in an offset trail, one nearly behind the other as they sped a few feet above the water toward land. The Romanians pivoted eastward and set up for a bracket intercept, spreading apart so they could attack the Russians from opposite sides.

At first Zen thought that the Russians’ radar must not be nearly as powerful as American intelligence made them out to be, for the planes stayed on course as the two Romanians approached. Then he realized that the two bogeys had simply decided they would rush past their opponents. Sure enough, they lit their afterburners as soon as the Romanians turned inward to attack.

S¸oim Unu had anticipated this. He bashed his throttle and shot toward the enemy plane.

“Shoot!” yelled Zen.

But the Romanian couldn’t get a lock. The two planes thundered forward, the Romanian slowly closing the distance. And then suddenly he was galloping forward—the Russian had pulled almost straight up, throwing his pursuer in front of him.

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