“Don’t blame you:’ he said, his voice almost wistful.
Chapter 25
Dog realized that things between him and Jennifer had been derailed for reasons unknown — at least to him. Rather than spending a lot of time analyzing why, he decided to go on the offensive. Big time.
He made sure all of his work was squared away early Friday afternoon, skipping both breakfast and lunch to get his various duties finished. Chief Master Sergeant Terrence “Ax” Gibbs, who functioned as a combination right-hand man and ward healer in the stripped-down Dreamland hierarchy, ran interference for him. He also facilitated the first strike in the operation, helping Dog arrange for a dozen roses to be delivered to Jennifer’s lab first thing in the morning.
The roses sat in a makeshift vase — a sawed-down Coke bottle — on one of the tables near the entrance to the computer lab. As Dog came into the lab, Ray Rubeo had just gotten down on his knees next to Jennifer, seemingly praying over something on the computer.
“You never struck me as the religious type,” said Dog.
“Colonel. Hmmph,” said Rubeo, giving Dog his usual scowl.
“Problem?”
“Just the usual avalanche,” said Rubeo. “We need more personnel, Colonel. I need coders. Real coders.”
Rubeo made a similar plea at least once a week, and usually Dog would cut him off after a few words. But today the colonel let the scientist go on, using the opportunity to watch Jennifer working over the nearby computer. She pounded the directional keys, repeating numbers to herself as she stared at the screen.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
“So when do we get more personnel?” asked Rubeo finally. “We may be able to get some extra heads as part of the Megafortress program,” Dog told him.
“The Megafortress? Why?”
“Because we’re selling three to Brunei.”
“Piffle,” said the scientist.
“Piffle? In what way?” Dog continued to watch Jennifer, who was absorbed in the screen.
“Piffle in that they’re about as useful to Brunei as a toaster is on the Australian outback,” said Rubeo. “And we shouldn’t even be wasting our resources on the EB-52. The unmanned bomber and satellite stations are much more important — they’re the future, Colonel.”
“Ray, sometimes you’re just too much to take,” said Dog. He looked over at Jennifer, still staring at the screen. “But I love you anyway.”
“More piffle,” said the scientist, muttering to himself as he left the room.
Finally alone, Dog put his hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said.
“Mmmmm. “
He ran his fingers along the back of her neck, tickling the light down that grew there. “Come on. You’re taking the rest of the day off. And the weekend.”
“I am?”
“Yes you are. I cleared it with the base commander.”
“Ax?”
“Very funny.”
“And what am I doing with this time off?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said.
“I really have to work.”
“No, as your commanding officer, I order you to take the weekend off.”
“I think that’s a violation of military law.”
“I think you’re right,” said Dog, gently coaxing her to her feet so he could kiss her.
“Do I have to pack?”
“Your suitcase is already in the car.”
Jennifer leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, letting the sound of the tires on the pavement soak through her body. The steady hum hypnotized her the way a rocking chair did. Dog was trying, really trying. Roses, a weekend away — she had to admit he was really trying.
Did she still love him?
That was a difficult question, one she couldn’t answer right now.
Maybe Monday.
The car began to slow. Jennifer opened her eyes just as Dog turned off the highway onto a narrow, dusty back road. She had no idea where they were; she wasn’t even sure if it was still in Nevada.
A plane engine roared nearby and a shadow passed over the car. Dog turned left and a trio of small airplane hangars, each not much larger than a garage, appeared across a chained entrance.
“You have a plane here?” she asked.
“Borrowing it from a friend,” said Dog.
“Really? You can fly a light plane?”
He started to laugh and she felt embarrassed, realizing how silly the question was.
“It does take more adjustment than you’d think,” Dog told her. “Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone but you.”
He put the car in gear, driving past the small chain separating the road from the airport lane. He got back out and rechained it — there was something charming in the informality of it all, even if it wasn’t exactly the most secure facility in the world. The small airstrip was all about informality — Dog rolled down the window before driving any further and stuck his head out.
“Have to make sure no one’s trying to land,” he told her.
It wasn’t a joke: just after they crossed the apron to the hangars, a small Cherokee came in, passing within twenty or thirty yards of the car. A short, balding man wearing a grease-stained flannel shirt appeared from the side of the hangar as Dog parked the car.
“Hey, Colonel!” he yelled. “Been waitin’ all day for you”
“Traffic was tough,” said Dog, winking at Jennifer.
“And hello to you,” said the man, bending low to Jennifer. Dog introduced the man as William T. Goat.
“Billy. Get it?” said Goat, who owned the tiny airfield as well as the services connected to it. Goat had been in the air force, working as a maintainer, or aircraft technician. The air operation, land and all, had been in his family for four generations.
“Great-grandfather was a barnstormer,” said Goat, showing them to their plane. “Supposed to have flown under the Brooklyn Bridge upside down”
Goat went over some details of the aircraft quickly with Dog. Jennifer climbed in; within a few minutes Dog had joined her in the cabin, worked through a checklist on a laminated card, and started up the engine.
“You know, I’ve never been in a plane this small,” said Jennifer as they taxied out to the head of the runway — a grand total of forty yards away.
“Nothing to it,” said Dog. “All you do is sit and relax.”
The engine’s growl turned into a loud whine, and the plane bolted forward.
“I think—” she started, but before she could finish the sentence the plane lurched upward. Jennifer felt her lungs bump into her stomach.
“Oh boy,” she said when she finally got her breath back. “Oh boy.”
Chapter 26
The target sat at the lower left-hand corner of the screen. Dazhou Ti stared at the green and black shadows, waiting for the indicator at the center to show they were in range of the missile.
Dazhou had once marveled at the Barracuda’s technology, not simply the propulsion system but the gear that allowed his small crew to run the boat: the global positioning locator, the different screens for passive infrared detection, and the radar receiver, which showed if others were looking for them. The faceted sides of the vessel made it as difficult to see on radar as its low-slung profile and black paint made it hard to spot with the naked eye. The passive detectors and burst radar targeting system allowed them to operate nearly invisibly, minimizing the electronic signals that indicated a conventional warship’s presence as surely as a searchlight on an otherwise darkened deck. But now, barely six weeks since his first trial voyage, Dazhou took it all for granted.