by Dale Brown
"By helicopter?"
"No, sir. We're afraid it would be shot down. What's going to happen is this: One of my men will rendezvous with you on the ground. He'll be wearing a special device that you can think of as a jet pack. He'll fly you and your family one by one to safety."
A jet pack?
"If it will work—" started Voda. He didn't get a chance to finish the thought.
"It will work, sir. But we need your help. We'd like you to go to a point where it will be easy to find you. There's a bald spot near the crest of the hill, on the far side of the hill, that is, from your house."
"I can't go there. The soldiers are there."
"All right. We have alternatives."
He heard Dog take a hard breath.
"A little farther down the hill there's a creek," said Dog. "It's either completely dry or just about; it's hard to tell from the satellite photo I've seen. But it's wide, and it takes a sharp turn down the hill and there's an open space in the woods. Can you go there?"
"I–I don't know where it is."
"If you were at the bald spot, it's exactly 232 meters below it, and fifteen meters to the north, which would be on your right if you were looking downhill. Does that help?"
"Yes," said Voda. He could find it simply by going down the hill. The creak bed should be obvious; when they hit it, he would turn right.
"I need you to stay on the line," added Dog. "I know you're worried about being found or running out your battery. But it will help us immensely. We may need you to guide us. I don't want to have to call you back."
Mircea and Julian were huddled against him. He could feel them shaking. If this didn't work, they would freeze to death.
"All right, I'll try," said Voda, struggling to his feet. "We're on our way."
Aboard EB-52 Bennett,
above northeastern Romania
0130
Even though he knew it was coming, the jolt from the seat as it shot upward took Zen's breath away. The shock was so hard that for a second he thought he'd hit the side of the hatch going out. Zen hurtled up into a black void, the sky rushing into his head like the water from a bathtub surging into a drain. The seat fell away, the restraints cut by knives as he shot up, but he didn't notice; to him, the only thing he could feel was the roar in his body, as if he had become a rocket.
A grayish grid ghosted on the visor of helmet. The MESSKIT's activation light began to blink.
All right, Zen thought, let's get this done.
He spread his arms, trying to frog his body. The screen altimeter lit; he was at 32,053 feet, a little higher than he'd expected.
Up until now, Zen had always tried to make his practice jumps last — he wanted to glide slowly to earth. Tonight, his goal was to get down as quickly as possible. So he instructed the MESSKIT to deploy at 10,000 feet, figuring it would be easier to fall to that altitude quickly than to fly to it.
The device didn't like the instructions. It flashed the words beyond safety protocols on the screen.
"Override," he told it.
But the computer wouldn't. Annie Klondike hadn't wanted to take chances with his life, and so had programmed various safety protocols into the unit that would initiate deployment based not only on velocity, but on time elapsed and altitude drop. Zen was forced to open his wings at 21,500 feet.
He compensated by leaning forward and pushing his arms back, turning the exoskeleton as close to a jet as possible. His descent increased to 25 feet per second before the safety measures kicked in, once more preventing him from dropping any faster.
"This is Zen. Johnson, you hearing me?"
"We have you, Zen," replied Lieutenant Englehardt in the Johnson. "You ready to talk to President Voda?"
"Yeah, roger that."
"Be advised he's hard to understand. And probably vice versa. Speak as slowly and distinctly as you can." "Yeah, roger that."
"What am I hearing?" said a foreign voice, distant and faint.
"This is Zen Stockard, Mr. President. I'm going to help you. How far are you from the stream location?" "I am still looking."
"I'm about twelve minutes away," Zen told him. "Do you think you can find it by then?" "I will try."
"Stay on the line, all right?" "Yes, yes."
Presidential villa,
near Stulpicani, Romania
0130
"No,General.There are no bodies in that part of the house," repeated Major Ozera. "Or in any part of the house. The president must have escaped the attack. He has to be on the property somewhere."
General Locusta pounded his fist against the hood of the car. Where in God's name was the son of a bitch? He couldn't do anything until he found him.
Ozera trembled.
"Where is the search party?" demanded Locusta, trying to calm his voice.
"They've moved up the close side of the hill and are now working their way up to the summit. The dogs are having trouble with the wind," Ozera added. "And they got a late start. The cold helps preserve the scent, but there are limits."
More likely the problem was with the handlers, Locusta thought. He retrieved the area topographical map. They'd gone too far. Voda must be hidden somewhere on the hill.
The general's sat phone began to ring. He ignored it.
"Pull the teams back to this side of the ridge," Locusta told the major. "Have them concentrate on the area around that old pump building or whatever it is. There's probably another secret passage."
"Should I add the regular troops to the search?"
"No!" He raised his phone and hit the Receive button. "Lo-custa."
"General Locusta, I trust you are having an interesting night."
It was the Russian attache, Svoransky. "Why have you sent planes to attack my troops?" Locusta boomed.
"Relax, General. They were trying to attack the Americans, not your troops." "Liar."
Locusta took control of himself. No one, not even Ozera, knew he had dealt with the Russians; he had to be careful about what he said.
"General, please. We should remain civil. We have much to gain from working together. I called to offer help."
"How?"
"I've heard rumors about the president. They say he is dead, but I suspect they are false." "You suspect?"
Did the Russian have a spy in his organization? Locusta glanced at Ozera. Who else could it be?
No. Svoransky had to be bluffing.
Locusta turned his back and took several steps away from the major. "What business is it of yours if he is dead?"
"None, if he truly is. But I believe he is not. I believe, in fact, he is trying to escape. And that you are looking for him."
The spy might be lower ranking — one of the men on the assassin team, or even the regular army, an officer who was a little too clever for his own good.
Or maybe the bastard Svoransky was simply guessing.
"We have a person at the national telephone company as well," added the Russian. "If you wish, he might be able to provide information about cell phone calls in your area."
"The president hasn't used his cell phone, or his satellite phone," said Locusta. He had taken the precaution of having the lines monitored. "Thanks very much."
"No, he hasn't. But one of his bodyguards has. The woman assigned to his son — she is in the area very close to where you are searching."
Aboard B-1B/L Boomer,
above northeastern Romania
0135
Breanna studied the radar plot that was forwarded from the Megafortresses, the overlapping inputs synthesized by the computer into a wide-ranging view. EB-52 Johnson was flying about two miles west of the Romanian president's house and slightly to the north. The Bennett was twenty-five miles south, descending to an altitude where oxygen masks would not be needed. Boomer was to the west, getting ready to cover the Osprey as it came north. Dreamland's second B-1, Big Bird, was near the northwestern border, on the watch for more Russians, though they seemed to have lost their appetite for confrontation.
The radar also showed Zen, circling down toward the hill. Breanna remembered how angry he'd been — and how he'd given in, kissing her, admitting he was no longer angry.
Don't let that be our last kiss, she prayed silently.
"You're awful quiet over there, Stockard," said Samson, with his usual bark.
"Just making sure where all the players are," Breanna said. "Dreamland Osprey is holding ten minutes from touchdown."
"Good."
Breanna looked out the windscreen. The night was rapidly giving way to day. Don't let that be our last kiss. Please.
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0135
The creek was so narrow that Voda missed it at first. It wasn't until his wife slipped behind him, tripping over the rocks and cursing, that he realized where they were. He pulled Julian with him as he went back up the hill.
"My ankle," said Mircea. "It feels like it's broken."
"Come on. Lean on me. We have to go in this direction."
Voda braced himself as his wife leaned against him. His knee felt as if it was being twisted, even though his leg was perfectly straight. He took a deep breath and began moving again.
Mircea started to weep.
"Come on, now," Voda told her. "Our rescuers are on the way."
"Mama, come," said Julian. The boy took her hand, but she only cried harder.
"We're almost out," Voda whispered. "We've got just a few meters — look there."
The creek dipped sharply to the left, past two white-barked trees, where he saw the clearing the Dreamland people had told him about.
"We're there," he said into the phone. "Where are you?"
"I'm right above you," said the voice. "Here I come."
There was a light sound in the air, the sort a spruce made when it sprang back after being weighed down by snow. Voda looked up toward the sky and saw a shadow dropping toward him. Had he not been speaking to the man, he would have sworn it was an angel.
Or a devil.
The figure descended toward the rocks, then abruptly fell to the earth, crumpling in a pile.
Voda froze. It was the last disappointment, the last dash of his hopes.
* * *
Zen cursed, angry at himself for misjudging his altitude and botching the landing. Unlike a radar altimeter, which gave an altitude reading above elevated terrain, the MESSKIT's altimeter told him only his absolute height above sea level. He'd thought he was a few feet higher than he turned out to be as he skimmed in for a landing.
He pushed himself up, repositioning the exoskeleton and squirming around until he was sitting.
"Well, where are you?" he said into his radio. "President Voda? Mr. President?" There was no answer. "Hey," said Zen, louder. "Are you there?" He pulled off his helmet.
"President Voda?" he said in a stage whisper. "President Voda?"
* * *
"Papa," said Julian. "Papa, someone is calling you."
Slowly, Voda regained his senses. He heard the voice himself and took a tentative step toward it.
"Here," he answered.
The figure on the ground turned around.
"Hey, come on," said Zen. "Let's go."
Voda let go of Julian and went to help his wife. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he practically carried her to the clearing.
"Why are you sitting?" he asked Zen.
"Because I can't walk. I'm Zen Stockard. You were talking to me on your phone."
"You're hurt?"
"It's OK, don't worry. It's been a long time since I've walked. This device on my back will take care of that. Who's coming with me first?"
"My wife," said Voda. "Her ankle is hurt."
"No, take Julian," she said.
"I'm not leaving you," said the boy.
"Hey listen, guys, somebody has to be first. What's your name, kid?"
Julian didn't answer until Voda tapped him on the back. "Ju-li-an Voda."
"You ever dream of flying in a spaceship?"
"N-No."
Zen laughed. "Well, you'll be able to tell all your friends that you did. Almost."
There was a noise above them, someone falling down the hillside, cursing in Romanian.
Two hundred yards away? Zen wondered. No more than that.
"All right. No more fooling around," he said. "Mr. President, come on. You first." "No. My wife and son." "We all go," said Mircea.
"I can't hold all three," Zen told them. "Maybe two. Come here. On my lap."
Julian began to cry as Voda helped him on. Zen wrapped his arm around him.
"Mrs. Voda. Come on."
Mircea hobbled closer. "I don't understand," she said.
"When I press this button, the engines will activate, and we'll go up. These skeleton pieces along my arm will help hold your weight. I have only one clasp on the harness set here, so we'll secure you and hold your son between us."
The dogs were barking.
"They're coming," said Mircea. She turned away from Zen, but he grabbed her, pulling a belt around her and locking it onto the strap on his chest.
"This isn't going to take long. I want you to hold on tight," he told them. "Very tight. Mr. President, it's going to take me ten minutes to get there, and maybe ten back. Will you be OK?" "Yes."
"Stay on that line."
Zen snapped the helmet back into place. He attached some wires to the base, then held both hands out and started the jet pack. The sound was like a loud vacuum cleaner. As Voda watched, Zen began to rise. Mircea seemed stuck for a moment, but then she too rose, clinging to his arms. Julian was tight between them.
And then they were gone.
Presidential villa,
near Stulpicani, Romania
0142
"They've just heard some sort of noise!" shouted the major. "It's the far side of the hill. They're going down."
About time, thought Locusta. But he only nodded and took out his satellite phone. The Russian had driven a hard bargain.
"This is General Locusta," he told the air force officer who answered his call. "I need a no-fly zone across my entire army corps area. That includes all planes, military and civilian."
"The Americans too?"
"Everyone," he said. "Tell them we are at a delicate stage. Tell them we want them to return to their bases. I've spoken to their general, but he is a pigheaded idiot. Complain to the ambassador. Do whatever you must."
He killed the transmission without waiting for a response. The Americans undoubtedly would ignore this latest order, but they would pay heavily for it.
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0143
Zen felt the boy slipping as soon as he cleared the first set of trees. He couldn't grab him because of the wing assembly, and instead tried to push in his stomach toward him. But that started to pitch him forward.
"Hold on, hold on," he said, though he knew the kid couldn't hear. Mircea pushed tighter, gripping the boy, but even so, Zen felt Julian's weight slipping.
The road was on his left, two or three hundred yards away. Zen turned toward it, then realized he wasn't going to make it.
Where was the cutout from the gravel pit? To his right?
The kid clawed at him. There wasn't any time — Zen pushed right. The clearing appeared just a few yards away. He leaned forward, gliding to it, then backing off on the power. As he did, Julian slid between his mother and Zen, who cut his power abruptly. All three of them fell together, until at the last second, Zen jerked the engines back to life, preventing another hard landing.
"Let's try again," he yelled, adjusting the thrust from the engine so his feet were hovering just above the ground. "Mrs. Voda, loosen the strap at my arms and string your son through it."
Mircea didn't move.
"Come on now. I have to go back and pick up your husband. Go!"
She still didn't move. Zen started to undo the strap that held her to him, then saw Julian stumbling toward him.
"Come on, Julian," he said. "We have to move so
we can help your dad."
The strap, custom-designed to fit Zen's body, didn't have any play in it. The only other thing he could use was the belt that strapped his lower body to the MESSKIT. Loosening it meant he wouldn't have as much control over the device, but there was no way the kid was going to be able to hold on.
Zen slid his hand out from the wing assembly and helped Julian climb up between him and his mother, then undid the lower torso strap and threaded it around the boy's arms, pulling it so tight that it must have hurt, though Julian didn't react. Then Zen hooked it around his chest strap in a knot.
"Hang on," he said, and they started upward once more.
Dreamland Command
1543 (0143 Romania)
Mack paced in front of the big display screen.His stomach was rumbling and he had a headache. Every time he scratched the side of his head, more hairs fell out. And he swore he saw hives on the back on his hand.
This behind-the-scenes crap was hell on the nerves. Much better to be on the front line actually doing something instead of pacing back and forth and disintegrating miles from the action.
"Jennifer Gleason for you, Major Smith," said the communications officer.
"There we go." Mack punched in the line. "Got it?"
"I do. It wasn't as easy as Ray thought. First I had to code—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. What do we do?"
Near Stulpicani, Romania
0145
As soon as his wife and son rose into the sky, Voda remembered that he hadn't kissed them good-bye. He'd never been an overly sentimental man, but he cursed himself as he started down the slope. He might very well never see them again.
Voda followed the elbow of the creek, walking along the rocks for about twenty yards. He could hear the dogs now, barking loudly. He turned and started down. But his weakened knee betrayed him — he collapsed, falling through a spread of prickle bushes.
At least Julian was safe. He could accept death knowing that.
What a strange life he'd had. Mozart and politics.
The Sonata in A Minor, K. 310, began playing in his head, The pace of the music quickening, matching his pounding heart.