Raven Strike

“Have you worked with something like this?”

“Mr. Reid, you will recall that my curriculum vitae includes heading the scientific team at Dreamland. We had many, many projects under development there. More specific, I ca

“Can I speak to you in confidence?” Reid asked.

“You have my confidence.”

“What I mean, Doctor, is can I ask you some questions without them leaving the room?”

“It would depend on the questions.”

That wasn’t good enough, Reid thought. Yet he needed a candid opinion. And he wanted to discuss the issue with someone like Rubeo—with anyone, really.

But what if Rubeo felt obliged to talk to someone at the Pentagon or in the administration about it? What if he saw it as a moral issue that had to be aired?

Reid wanted to be the one to make that decision. Assuming it had to be made.

But he needed to know. Perhaps he could back into the answer without arousing Rubeo’s suspicion.

“If another government had this weapon—” Reid started.

“I doubt anyone has this ability,” said Rubeo flatly. “We would see it in other weapons.”

“So no one is this advanced?”

“The Israeli drones can’t do a third of what the early versions of the Flighthawk could handle,” said Rubeo. “And I would use that as a measuring stick.”

“What about us?” said Reid. “Could we do it?”

Rubeo took another sip of his water, then set it down and leaned forward on the table.

“Have we done it?” asked the scientist.

“I don’t know,” admitted Reid. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“I see.”

“I’m concerned about the implications,” explained Reid.

“As well you should be.”

“Can safety precautions be built into it? The paper says that they would be ineffectual.”

“Potentially ineffectual,” said Rubeo. “I can’t make a judgment without knowing much more about the specifics of what we’re talking about.”

Fair enough, thought Reid.

“There would be physical limitations, depending on the hardware. And different contingencies. I’m sorry to be vague—the portability issue is not trivial, but it can be overcome. Conceivably.”

“If it were up to you, would you allow such a weapon to be used?” asked Reid.

Now Rubeo’s lips curled up in the faintest suggestion of a smile—a rare occurrence.

“I don’t make those sorts of decisions,” he answered. “In my experience, it is a very rare weapon that, once created, is not used.”

Chapter 12

Duka

Da

“Where the hell is the plane?” yelled Thomas “Red” Roberts, who’d been tasked to secure the UAV. “All I see is the pickup truck.”

Da

Da

It was a solid tone.

He went over and peered over the back of the truck. There was a small jumble of what looked like debris near the cab. He picked it up—it was a hunk of plastic with some circuitry attached. Undoubtedly the tracking transmitter.

Damn.

“Movement in Building Two,” said MY-PID.

“Two, three people moving to the front,” added Turk, who was watching the feed.

“Osprey up,” said Da

“Already on it, Cap,” said Marcus. He was another of the new recruits, a former Ranger, also trained as a helicopter pilot. Da

There was a burst of gunfire from the front of the building.

“Boston?”

“They ducked back inside,” said Boston. “Didn’t look like they had weapons.”

The Osprey’s heavy rotors pounded the ground as it approached. Red went to the passenger side door of the pickup truck.

“Wait!” yelled Da

His warning was too late—the truck exploded as Red pulled open the door.

Chapter 13

Walter Reed Army Hospital

Washington, D.C.

The past was gone, erased and buried from his memory, shocked out of him, drugged away. The past was gone and the future was blank; only the present remained, only the present was real.

Mark Stoner shifted in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

What was the present, though? Working out? Getting better?

Better from what?

It was all a jumble, a knot of torn thoughts.

Zen. Who was Zen?

A friend. Someone he knew.

But why was he in a wheelchair? And what was a friend, exactly?

Someone he saw a lot.

What was he supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to do?

Stoner leaned to the side. Dr. Esrang had given him a radio. He turned it on and began flipping through the stations.

“. . . Two out, and here comes Granderson. He flied out his last at bat. The former Yankee is batting just .230 this year . . .”

The words were strangely familiar. Stoner tried to puzzle out what they meant.

Baseball.

He knew that. The game.

He knew everything about it, didn’t he? He could picture what was happening in his head. He saw the batter swing and miss.

A memory floated up from deep within his consciousness. He was at a game with his grandfather.

His grandfather!

There was a past.

Baseball.

Stoner folded his arms across his chest and listened as the game progressed.

Chapter 14

Duka

The explosion blew Red back into Da

“Cap, you OK?”

“Yeah,” managed Da

“Nothing in here,” said Flash. “You want to evac?”

“Right. Let’s get out of here. Take the prisoner with us. Both of them—get the guy Sugar knocked out.”

“On it.”

They left through the hole at the side. Boston and Sugar joined them as they crossed over the railroad tracks, ru