Raven Strike

It had been some time since Todd had been in the house, but it was easy to find the way to the master bedroom—up the steps in the main hall, a slight turn to get to the front of the house, then a short walk across a very plush red carpet.

Red is such an ugly color for a carpet, the President thought as she walked to the bedroom door.

“Mr. Edmund—are you decent?”

“Uh—uh, Madam President,” stuttered Edmund from behind the door.

The President pointed to the door and nodded at one of her Secret Service escorts. He reached out and opened the door, filling the frame and entering quickly. Todd waited for a second agent to enter—out of discretion rather than fear that Edmund was waiting inside with a bomb.

Though he would surely wish he had been when she was through with him.

“I was just getting dressed,” said Edmund, who had pulled on a pair of trousers but was still wearing his pajama top. “What’s going on?”

“I want to know about the Raven project,” she told him. She went to the upholstered chair at the side of the room, pushed it around so it angled toward him, and sat. “Everything. Assassination, drone, and most of all, software.”

“I—”

“And when you are done, we’ll discuss your letter of resignation,” she added. “Coffee?”

Chapter 34

Duka

The aide offered to take Melissa to the house near the railroad tracks where she’d seen the armed strangers. Melissa glanced at Bloom. Bloom nodded.

“Let’s go,” said Melissa.

The aide’s name was Glat. She spoke only a little English, but they didn’t need many words to communicate. She led Melissa down the hill toward the main part of the town, then veered to the left, across the main road. They passed a small collection of cone-topped huts built so close to each other they looked like mushrooms, then hiked up a road lined by more prosperous houses, cement structures all recently built.

Yesterday, there had been a variety of sounds in the city, everything from the high-pitched whine of boda-boda motorcycle taxis to the shouts of children playing. Now it was dead silent.

Her guide slowed abruptly. Melissa put her arm on the woman’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” she said. “If you’re scared, we can go back.”

The woman kept going, though her pace was barely faster than a small child’s. The road turned to the right and left the buildings behind. The railroad tracks were about fifty yards ahead.

Melissa had a pistol under her shirt, but she had no illusions of taking on more than one or two gunmen. Still, she kept walking, determined to at least figure out where the house was—to redeem herself, and her mission.

To impress Colonel Freah, too, though she didn’t dwell on that as they neared the house.

Intending to keep his appointment with the Russian despite the fighting, Li Han hid the computer and the UAV’s brain in the tu

Upstairs, his young escorts seemed even edgier than normal. Shooting the tall one—whose body was buried somewhere outside—had made them fear him, but not to the degree that Li Han couldn’t worry about getting shot in the back himself. He watched them warily, even as he stepped outside.

He spotted the insect then, a large mosquito perched in the crevice of the rocks just in front of the door. His instinct was to swat at it with his hand, but as he pulled back to swing, he realized there was something odd about it. Not only did it seem slightly too big, but it was abnormally placid.

Was it a listening device?

Li Han walked past it. He’d sca

He turned and walked back into the building as if he’d forgotten something. He went downstairs to his tools, got out the detection device, then held his breath as he turned it on, preparing himself for the worst.

Nothing.

But of course there was nothing here. He swept it around slowly, like a priest offering a blessing.

Still nothing.

He walked through the house slowly, moving around the walls. He paused at the front door, reaching up and down the frame, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary to be that physically close. Still not getting anything, he moved outside and went to the mosquito.

Nothing. Nothing.

But it was clear to him now that the bug wasn’t a real insect. Maybe it only turned on when it heard human voices.

Li Han knelt behind it. He held the detector next to it, then spoke softly in Chinese. There was no indication that the bug was transmitting. He spoke louder; still nothing.

It must be dead. Perhaps it would be worth something to the Russian. Li Han stuffed it into his pocket.

Melissa grabbed Glat’s arm as she saw the shadow near the house thirty yards away.

It was a gun, swinging against the arm of the man as he walked toward a car.

Quickly, she pulled her guide to the side of the nearby building. The woman started to say something; paranoid, Melissa threw her hand over Glat’s mouth and hushed her.

“Ssssh,” she said, pointed to the ground, then nudged the young woman into a crouch. “Stay. Stay,” she repeated. “Do you understand? Stay?”

Glat nodded that she understood.

Easing to the side of the building, Melissa dropped to her knees, then spread out along the ground, peering out around the bottom of the building. A truck had pulled to the front of a building. Two men were in the front seat. She couldn’t see anything else. It was too dark to make out their faces.

The truck started and began moving in their direction. Melissa rose to get a better view. As the vehicle passed, she caught a glimpse of the man on the passenger side in the front.

Asian.

Mao Man.

Li Han.

Chapter 35

Western Ethiopia

Fresh from his nap, Turk went down to check on the Tigershark.

“Pimped it out for you, Captain,” said Flash, who was pulling guard duty. “We were going to paint it pink, but we ran out of primer.”

“Pity.”

Turk reached up and put his palm on a panel just below the opening to the cockpit. The aircraft buzzed, then the forward area began to separate like a clamshell. The Tigershark did not have a canopy per se—all visuals were provided by a matrix of sensors embedded in the skin. This allowed for a much sleeker—and lower—cockpit area that was tucked into the body just in front of the wings.

“Looks a little like a sardine can,” said Flash.

“An aerodynamic sardine can,” said Turk, reaching into the cockpit and taking out the smart helmet. He put it on, made a link with the aircraft’s flight systems, then had the computer begin a preflight instrument check.

Someone knocked on the back of his helmet. Turk pulled it off. It was Boston.

“Sorry to knock on your hat, Captain.” Boston gri

“Sure. Where is he?”

“Back in the Sudan. Use this.” Boston held up a sat phone. “I’ll get him for you.”

Turk put the helmet back on the seat of the Tigershark. The aircraft would perform its own self-check. Boston, meanwhile, made the co

“Colonel, you’re looking for me?” asked Turk, taking the phone.

“Satellite is still a few hours away,” said Da