Piranha

by Dale Brown

  The actual sound was more like: “Yuwwa see muf fee dippling dowt mek fack.”

  “What language are you speaking, Jeff?”

  “Novocain.”

  “See you in six months.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The Nevada Desert

  1600

  Mark Stoner shifted his eyes from the highway to the bluffs in the distance and then back, scanning every possible place an ambush might be launched from. It was the sort of thing he couldn’t turn off; ten years as a covert CIA officer on top of six years as a SEAL rewired your brain.

  Not that he or Jed Barclay, the man driving the car, were in any danger of being ambushed. Coming from Washington in a scheduled flight offered expediency, but led Stoner to insist on a number of precautions, most of which caused Barclay to roll his eyes: dummy reservations, Agency-supplied false documents, even an elaborate cover story designed to be overheard—all routine precautions for Stoner. The fact they were traveling to a top-secret, ultrasecure facility changed nothing.

  Stoner had never dealt with Whiplash before, and knew only vaguely about Dreamland. He tended to be agnostic about organizations and people until he saw them under fire; so he had formed no opinion on Whiplash, or even on Jed, though his youth and overabundance of nervous energy tended to grate.

  Stoner noticed a small pile of rocks ahead, off on the right, seemingly haphazardly piled there.

  “Security cam,” he said.

  “Yeah. They’re all along the road,” said Jed. “We’re being watched via satellite too.”

  Stoner cracked the window slightly, listening to the rush of air passing over the car. The road changed abruptly, taking a sharp turn down into a suddenly exposed ravine. Barclay had to slow to barely ten miles an hour as he made his way through a series of switchbacks. Undoubtedly that was the idea, and Stoner noticed the random rock piles were now much closer together.

  They must have remote weapons as well as sensors here, thought Stoner.

  These guys knew what they were doing, at least in terms of guarding their perimeter. There’d be holes, though. There always were.

  The dirt road at the base of the slope extended for roughly a quarter mile, then suddenly trailed off. Jed drove about two hundred yards further, then stopped the car. They looked to be in the middle of nowhere. “Wrong turn?” asked Stoner.

  “No. You wanted to do it the hard way. I told you, if we didn’t go through Edwards—”

  “Easier to keep it compartmented.”

  “If we don’t go through Edwards or get a direct flight, this is the way we have to do it.” Barclay hit his radio scan, pushing the FM frequency to exactly 100.00. all they could hear was static.

  A small cloud of dust appeared directly ahead. The ground began to shake. As Stoner stared, the cloud separated into two Ospreys, roto-tipped aircraft capable of hovering like helicopters. These were unlike any Ospreys Stoner had ever seen, however; beneath their chins were swivel-mounted chain guns similar to those used in Apache gunships, and there were triple-rack missile launchers on their wings and the side of their fuselages.

  Stoner started to unlock the door.

  “Uh, no, not until they say it’s okay.” Jed reached across and grabbed him. “They’ll blow us up if you get out.”

  Stoner let go of the door handle. One of the Ospreys whipped past, its big shadow covering thee car. The other slowed to a hover about twenty yards away. The reflection of the sun made if hard to see, but from where Stoner was sitting there didn’t seem to be a pilot.

  “Blue Taurus, license plate X-ray Tetra Vector, exit your vehicle and stand by for identification,” said a sharp, clear voice on the radio.

  “That would be us,” said Jed, unlocking the door. Stoner watched and then copied his actions, taking a few steps away and holding out his hands. He looked upward as the hovering Osprey moved forward slowly, its gun rotating, there was a camera pod behind the weapon.

  The Osprey leapt upward. Stoner waited as the wash from the second aircraft pushed his pants and shit to the side.

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Jed, who was already trotting forward. The first Osprey landed about fifty yards ahead; the second, meanwhile, had plopped down behind them, depositing two fully armed Air Force special tactics team members to inspect and investigate the vehicle.

  The door to the Osprey sprang open as Jed and Stoner approached. “Welcome, Mr. Barclay.”

  “Hey,” said Jed.

  “There’s nobody flying this thing,” said Stoner as he climbed inside.

  “This is Dreamland,” said Jed. “What did you expect?”

  Prince Hotel, Las Vegas

  1800

  The silkiness of his wife’s body worked like a drug, loosening knots Danny didn’t know he had. He ran his hand slowly over her belly and breast, gently skimming along the surface. The tips of his fingers tingled, as if electricity were flowing from her. He pulled her hip toward him, rolling on top to make love again. His mouth dove into hers. Jemma’s tongue slid along the bottom of his lips; something tight in his neck let loose and he fell inside her, his whole body plunging into a warm cave. He rolled through it, luxuriating in the liberating heat.

  How long it lasted, Danny couldn’t say. At some point, he felt as if he were floating at the top of an ocean; shortly afterward, he washed up on a beach, still basking in the warmth of the summer sun.

  “Good,” said Jemma.

  “Good,” said Danny.

  “We could do this more often.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  Jemma reached over to the floor, where they’d set the room service tray with its decanter of tea. Danny slide his arm under the pillow, wallowing in the decadence of the large bed. Living halfway across the country from his wife sucked—but it sure did make things sweeter when they saw each other.

  “I talked to Jim Stephens the other day,” said Jemma, slipping back in bed with her tea, an herbal blend that smelled like orange and cinnamon. Its perfume added to his intoxication.

  “Uh-huh,” said Danny, not really paying attention.

  “There’s a primary coming up this fall. A perfect shot. Happens to be the district where I’m staying—and it’s an open seat.”

  “You should run,” he said, starting to drift toward sleep.

  “Not me,” she said. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” she took a sip of her tea. “You did talk to Jim Stephens, right? I know you did, because he told me he had an excellent conversation with you. And he’s very, very high on you.”

  Stephens—election. Jemma’s master plan make him the next President of the United States.

  “I can’t run for office while I’m in the Air Force,” said Danny, still drifting.

  “Oh, Jimmy can fix that. Don’t worry.”

  Danny reached his hand over to his wife’s breast. His fingers slid gently across her nipple, brushing it erect.

  “Changing the subject?” she asked.

  “Fact-finding mission,” he said.

  “Oh? And what fact are you looking for?”

  “Whether you’re still horny or not.”

  “Again?” She said.

  She reached over and put her tea on the side table. As she turned back, Danny’s cell phone began to buzz.

  Danny sighed, and immediately slide upright.

  “Daniel.”

  “They wouldn’t call unless it was important.”

  “Everything’s important,” She reached her hand down to stroke his leg.

  “Mmmmph.” Danny pulled the phone over from the stand on his side of the bed.

  “Freah,” he said after clicking the talk button.

  “Captain, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Whiplash order,” said Lieutenant McNally. “Colonel needs you ASAP.”

  “I’m on my way.” Danny clicked the phone off and rolled out of bed.

  “Oh, no,” sai
d Jemma.

  “I’ll call as soon as I can,” said Danny, grabbing his pants.

  “At least put underwear on,” she called after him.

  Danny, embarrassed—he had in fact forgotten—let go of his pants and dropped to the floor to retrieve his underwear.

  “How do you manage without me?” said his wife, laughing and shaking her head.

  Dreamland

  2000

  “The political situation in both India and China is complicated, as you’d imagine,” continued Jed Barclay.

  “Just a summary, Jed,” said Dog, trying to keep the NSC deputy on line. Barclay was a genius and a strong advocate for Whiplash and Dreamland, but his dissertations on international politics tended to sprawl.

  “Yes, sir. Basically, the extremists in India are trying to improve their position in the upcoming elections. They calculate that China is a weak and easy mark due to the conflict with us and Taiwan—well, you’re all familiar with the so-called Fatal Terrain event.”

  The dozen top officers gathered in the secure briefing room nodded. Though the details were still highly classified, most knew how Brad Elliott had chosen to give his life to help prevent an apocalyptic war—their interpretation, not the media’s.

  “Of course, the Islamic Alliance and the connection with China plays right into this, yada, yada, yada, because now hitting the Chinese is the same as hitting Muslims as far as most Hindus are concerned. Those who care anyway,” continued Barclay. “And we’ve—uh, I better skip some of the political wrangling.”

  He glanced at Dog, who nodded.

  “On the other side of the equation, the Chinese, domestically, needed something to show they’re in power, that they’re not slipping. Because now, right, they look weak. As we saw with the incident in Tibet …”

  “Which incident was that?” asked Rubeo.

  From anyone else, it would have been an innocent question—in fact, Dog himself wasn’t sure what Barclay was referring to, but Rubeo took a perverse pleasure in watching other squirm. An ever-so-subtle look of satisfaction flickered across the scientist’s face as Jed stuttered, the train of his thoughts bunching and crashing down a siding he hadn’t seen coming.

  “Don’t worry about Tibet, Pakistan, Taiwan, or any of that bullshit,” said Stoner. It was the first time the CIA official had spoken since he arrived. “The action’s out in the South China Sea. India and China are fighting a war out there, sinking each other’s merchant ships. They’ve been rattling sabers and now they’re using them. everything else is just bullshit.”

  “Please,” said Rubeo, in a way that implied many things other than courtesy or respect.

  “I think we can get a full rundown on Tibet later, along with any other geopolitical matters anyone has an interest in,” said Dog. “Let’s move to our assignment.”

  Anyone else would have interpreted this as a mild reprimand. Rubeo, however, saw it somehow as a vindication, and slipped back into his seat with a barely concealed gloat. Before Jed could continue, the door alarm buzzed; the doors slid back and Danny Freah appeared.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Freah.

  “We’re just getting to the good part, Danny,” said Dog. “We’re being asked to mount a surveillance mission in the South China Sea, observing a new weapon the Indians have.”

  “It’s not limited just to that,” said Jed. “Information on everything going in—that’s what Whiplash covers.”

  “The new technology is a prime concern,” said Stoner.

  “Um, everything’s of interest,” said Jed. “The order covers the entire situation; the Chinese as well as the Indians. This is a twenty-four/seven operation, completely covert and not coordinated with Pacific Command or any other command.”

  “Why not?” asked Major Merce Alou, who had taken over command of the Megafortress development project when Major Cheshire left to head the operational wing.

  “Security,” said Stoner.

  “Uh, well, uh, there are several concerns,” said Jed. “We’re absolutely not attempting to provoke anything, or increase tensions, which putting ships out there would do. Pacific Fleet’s resources are already concentrated in the Indian Ocean and around Taiwan. The threat of an invasion remains viable.”

  “That’s a bullshit estimate,” said Stoner.

  “I agree, but it’s not my call,” said Jed. “Also, the Director, um, the National Security Director, would prefer not tipping off the Indians that we know, uh, about Kali. Moving Naval assets would, at least arguably, tip them or the Russians off. Which would be the same thing.”

  “Kali?” asked Zen.

  “It’s halfway between a sub-launched Harpoon and a Tomahawk missile,” said Stoner. “It’s underwater-launched, like a torpedo. We think it can travel four or five miles underwater before it surfaces, which makes the launching sub that much harder to detect. It pops up, skims along the surface of the water, and hits its target. It seems to be able to correct toward its target close in; we believe it has an active radar phase, but we still need to gather data. That’s your mission.”

  “At least for now,” added Jed. “There’s a debate—”

  “Let’s deal with what we’re assigned to do, not maybes,” Colonel Bastian said. Jed had told him earlier the NSC had debated asking Whiplash to protect all shipping in the area—a tall order, and one possibly beyond their abilities. NSC had held off doing so—largely, according to Jed, because doing so would have stepped on the Navy’s toes.

  “Piranha,” said Rubeo. “It’s obvious choice.”

  “Not ready for a mission like this,” said Dog.

  “Piranha is what?” said Stoner.

  “Underwater surveillance probe and weapon,” Dog told him. “I don’t think you need to know the details.”

  “We can clean up the computer issues in a few days,” said Rubeo.

  “The mission has to start right away,” said Jed. “We were thinking Elint Megafortresses.”

  “I concur,” said Dog. “Merce?”

  “We’ll use Raven and Quicksilver,” said Alou, referring to the EB-52’s optimized for electronic intelligence-gathering. “We deploy a mini-KH for optical surveillance at the same time.”

  “Negative on the tactical satellites,” Dog told him. “We dong have any launch chassis.”

  “We do have satellite coverage of the area,” said Jed. “It’ll be available through the Dreamland network.”

  “If we’re looking for really close views of something while it’s traveling, we can take Flighthawks,” said Zen. “Straightforward.”

  “What do we do if these weapons are used?” asked Alou.

  “At the moment, just observe them,” said Jed.

  “Wait—they’re firing at civilian targets or military targets?” asked Zen. “I think I missed something here.”

  “What difference does it make?” asked Stoner.

  “It makes a shitload of difference,” said Zen.

  “There are military ships in the region that could be targets,” said Jed. “Until now, all of the ships that have been sunk were civilian.”

  “Damn.”

  “The vessel sunk by the Kali was a merchant freighter owned by the Chinese government smuggling weapons to Islamic extremists,” said Stoner. “The same ship delivered explosives used to blow up a government building in New Delhi six months ago. Still worried about civilians?”

  “Yeah. I am,” said Zen.

  “We’ll need a force briefing before we deploy.” Dog told Jed.

  “Do we operate out of Guam?” asked Major Alou, referring to the air base on the island. “Anderson?”

  “We’d prefer not to, due to the nature of the mission,” said Jed. “We’d prefer a sanitized site not connected to USPACCOM or any present operation.”

  “Deniable,” added Stoner.

  “I’ve already checked into possible sites for a secure forward base,” continued Jed. “We have a site in the Philippines away from, uh, away from the population centers
and sea lanes. It’s actually an old airstrip, pretty long. Just needs to be, um, tidied up a little. Remembering what you did in Turkey, I thought—”

  “You want us to blow up another mountain?” Danny asked with a laugh.

  “That won’t be necessary this time.”

  “I want to drive one of the bulldozers,” said Breanna.

  Half of the room laughed.

  The other half said, “Me too.”

  “I want to be in one of the Megafortresses,” said Breanna as the laughterdied.

  “You have a heavy schedule with the UMB,” Dog said, surprised that she had volunteered.

  “There’s only one flight test planned over the next seven or eight days,” said Bree.

  “This could easily last longer,” said Jed. “I’d be thinking in, uh, the time frame of two or three months, at least until tensions die down.”

  “That’s the case, you really need me. You won’t have enough trained Megafortress pilots unless you rotate in and out,” said Breanna, looking at Alou.

  “She’s right, Colonel. We could work around her schedule. Actually, if this lasts any length of time, we’ll have to work around a lot of schedules.”

  “All right. Map out plans for a deployment,” said Dog. “I want planes over the area twenty-four hours from now, and I want them landing at that Philippines base when their shift is done.”

  Chapter 3

  Ghosts in the Jungle

  Aboard Quicksilver, above the South China Sea

  August 23, 1997, 1100 local (August 22, 1997, 2000 Dreamland

  Until you actually did it, patrolling the ocean sounded like the sort of easygoing assignment a pilot and crew could do with their eyes closed. Especially a crew like the one aboard Quicksilver. Breanna Stockard had flown the Megafortress platform for so long, the plane and its complicated systems seemed to have grafted themselves onto her body, and vice versa. Chris Ferris, her copilot, had been with the program nearly as long, and had worked with Breanna through all of Whiplash’s important deployments. The newcomer on the crew, Torbin Dolk, had proved his worth in Iran, and even he seemed tied into the crew’s shared ESP. they took turns sleeping on the long flight to South Asia, and while they couldn’t quite be called bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, they were nonetheless ready when they finally began their surveillance track.