“That should not be relevant to you.”
Hassam smiled, then reached inside his light jacket. “You have perishable dates,” said Hassam confidently. “With all necessary papers and taxes paid.”
“Good work.”
“For our air force, nothing is too good. I have taken the precaution of purchasing several crates of fruit, in case there are any complications. I can have them loaded aboard the aircraft in a few—”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Sattari.
“Sometimes, the inspectors do come aboard.”
“It won’t be necessary,” repeated Sattari.
The man’s crestfallen face made it clear he was being too strident. He’d given Hassam to believe he was transporting banned missiles and other aircraft parts, a matter sufficiently important and clandestine that Hassam would probably not probe too deeply.
“The items we have are packed very delicately,” said Sattari, explaining while not explaining. “And the fewer in contact with them, the better. We can put a few crates here if 372
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
necessary,” he added, pointing to the rear of the flight cabin.
“But—should I expect trouble?”
“No,” said Hassam, a bit uncertainly. “Usually there are no inspections at all. Not once fees are paid. Which has been done.”
“The money transferred properly?”
“Yes, General. Of course.”
“Can we get some food?” asked Sattari.
“There is a place in the terminal.”
“Come, then,” said Sattari.
“Your copilot?”
“He and the others will stay with the plane.”
“You have others in the plane?”
“Not important,” said Sattari, unsure whether his bluff had been detected or not. “I’ll bring back a few things.”
Diego Garcia
1900
REVIEWING ALL OF THE RECORDED SENSOR AND OTHER
data from the flight would take several days, but the tapes made it clear that the Cheli crew believed they were looking at an enemy aircraft about to shoot down the plane they were protecting. The plane’s transponder had not been working, or had been turned off for some reason.
Dog got up from the copilot’s station and walked slowly through the Cheli’s flight deck.
“No one comes aboard this aircraft without my explicit permission,” he told the sergeant standing near the ladder to the lower deck. “You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You noted that all the systems were intact when I left?”
“Uh, yes, sir. OK.”
“It’s OK, Sergeant, they were. You saw them playing, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
RETRIBUTION
373
It was a long, long walk to the borrowed Navy Hummer, and a short, short ride to the base commander’s office. General Samson had concluded whatever meet and greet operation he’d been conducting and was striding out to his SUV
when Dog arrived.
“General, I need to talk to you,” said Dog, leaning out his window.
“Not now, Bastian. I’m meeting the commander for dinner.”
“You’re going to want to talk to me first, General.”
“What about?”
“We’d best go someplace a little more private.”
THE FIRST THING SAMSON THOUGHT WAS, NOW I’VE GOT
him. Bastian wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of this.
The next thing he thought was, What if they blame me somehow?
The incident with the family in the desert was bad, very bad, but the video vindicated the men, and it could be argued that the Dreamland people were on a mission of mercy.
Whether they should have undertaken it or not was beside the point.
But this was very different.
“You’re sure it was a civilian plane?” Samson asked Bastian.
“Dreamland Command says there’s no doubt. It’s a small airline that flies in northern India. This wasn’t a scheduled flight,” added Dog. “It apparently was some sort of relief plane or charter flying workers north to do electrical repairs.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t they have had a working transponder?”
“I don’t know. We’ve encountered plenty of planes that haven’t. Usually, though, it’s because they’re up to something they shouldn’t be. This might just have been a malfunction.”
“Why the hell wasn’t it visually identified before they fired?” Samson asked. “That’s standard procedure.”
“There wouldn’t have been time to visually check before the Osprey was in danger.”
“That’s their excuse?”
374
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“That’s my assessment. They haven’t offered an excuse.”
“That’s not going to be good enough, Bastian.”
Dog didn’t reply. Samson rubbed his forehead.
There must be some way out of this, he thought. Forget the damage to his career—this was going to make the Air Force look bad. Very, very bad.
“What’s the status of the plane?” snapped Samson.
“I have it under guard.”
“All right. Dismissed.”
“That’s it?”
“Of course that’s not it. But at the moment, Bastian, I don’t want to see your face. And let me make one thing perfectly clear: You have no command. Do you understand? You are not in charge here. You cannot give an order relating to Dreamland, not even for coffee,” he said. “Got me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Catch the first flight you can back to Dreamland. I’ll deal with you there.”
“Remember what I said about standing up for your people,” said Dog.
“When I want advice from you, I’ll ask for it.”
Aboard the Abner Read
1900
THE ABNER READ’S SICKBAY HAD SOME OF THE MOST MODern medical equipment in the world, crammed into a space that would have made a broom feel crowded. Zen and Breanna occupied exactly fifty percent of the beds.
Zen had cuts all over his body. Acting on the advice of a doctor aboard the Lincoln, the Abner Read’s medical officer had started him on a course of intravenous antibiotics to combat any infection. Otherwise, his main problem was dehydration.
Breanna’s case was more difficult to diagnose. Besides her broken bones, there appeared to be some light internal bleeding in her chest cavity. After consulting with a doctor on the RETRIBUTION
375
Lincoln, the Abner Read’s medical officer decided to have her moved to the aircraft carrier, where the larger facilities would make it easier to monitor her condition and operate if necessary.
Breanna was awake when the helicopter arrived. Zen, exhausted, was snoring loudly.
“Don’t wake him,” Breanna whispered to the doctors when they came in to examine her. “He needs to sleep.”
“A good prescription,” said the doctor.
“I’ll see you later, babe,” Breanna told her sleeping husband as her cot was gently lifted. “Pleasant dreams.”
“I HEAR SAMSON’S A REAL PRICK,” SAID JONES AS THEY
waited in the dark.
“I don’t think it matters whether he’s nice to us or not,”
said Liu. “The facts are the facts.”
“I wish I could be as calm as you,” said Blow. He rubbed his hands together; the night had turned chilly. “Look at these arrangements—we gotta fly halfway around the world, land in Germany, catch a plane to D.C., then over to who knows where before we go home.”
“ ’Cause he’s keeping us away from the Navy,” said Jones.
“That might be a good sign.”
“It’s not going to be bad,” said Liu calmly.
“Man, I can still see that baby.” Jones pounded his eyes with his fist. “I can’t stand it.”
“It’ll be OK,” said Liu. He touched the other man’s back.
“The baby’s in heaven.”
No one said anything else until Blow pointed out the Osprey in the sky, its searchlight shining through the darkness.
“That’s ours,” said the sergeant. “Coming for us.”
HE WAS IN THE AIR, TUMBLING AND FALLING. BREANNA WAS