"I would not want anyone to overhear you speaking like this," said Locusta, finally losing his patience.

"There is no problem on my side. Is there on yours?"

Locusta needed Karis-it would be extremely difficult if not impossible to move on the capital if his troops opposed him. He also trusted him; they had been friends for years, and his fellow general hated President Voda even more than he did. Still, Locusta found Karis's impatient arrogance hard to stomach. He'd always been headstrong, and while it would be unfair to call him impetuous, he showed less caution than Locusta felt he should.

"There are no problems," Locusta a.s.sured him. "But we must be careful."

"Yes. So?"

"I am almost ready," said Locusta.

"The Americans?"

"They can be dealt with."

"Good. We are ready. But you must move quickly."

The general hung up without adding that he was moving as quickly as he could.

Dreamland

0700.

DOG STEPPED BACK AS THE PRESIDENT SETTLED INTO THE big chair next to Zen and began manipulating the control stick. No kid with a computer game on Christmas morning had a broader smile than Martindale's as he took over control of the plane, pushing it into a climb straight overhead.

Dog asked himself if he truly deserved the Medal of Honor. Only a few dozen members of the Air Force had ever won one. Nearly all, he knew, had given their lives in combat.

He'd been prepared to do that as well-he'd come very close, within a few feet, but survived.

Death wasn't a criteria for the medal. But he somehow felt he was an imposter, a pretender who didn't deserve it.

The President rose from his chair, turning the aircraft back over to Zen to land. People began to applaud. Dog's thoughts continued to drift. Breanna was wheeled up. He smiled at her, then glanced at Zen, who was beaming himself. They were good kids.

Old enough to have kids themselves by now. Though for some reason he wasn't exactly looking forward to being called Grandpa.

"The country, the world, owe you a great deal," said the President, beginning his speech. "I can't tell you how proud, how very proud and honored I am to be here."

JED FELT THE VIBRATION OF HIS BLACKBERRY JUST AS the crowd began to applaud. He pulled it out and thumbed up the message. It was from Colonel Hash, the NSC's military liaison.

RMNIA UPDATE URGENT/ALERT FREEMAN ASAP.

Jed slipped the BlackBerry back into his pocket and immediately began sidling toward the side of the audience area. He tried to appear nonchalant, pasting a bored expression on his face before double-timing up the boarding ladder.

The communications officer aboard Air Force One nodded at him as he went into the small compartment and sat down at the machine reserved for NSC use. Jed punched in his pa.s.swords and waited a few seconds while the computer connected him with his secure account.

The CIA had forwarded a report from one of its officers in the field, Mark Stoner, and endorsed by the Romanian station chief. Stoner had made contact with a member of the Romanian "resistance movement." The source claimed that the attack on the pipeline the night before had not been authorized by the rebels' governing committee. She believed that it had been either instigated or made directly by Russian special forces units. She also blamed the Russians for the murders of three CIA officers in the country over the past several months.

CREDIBLE WITNESS. SHE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN PURSUED BY RUSSIAN SPECIAL FORCES IN MOLDOVA. REPORTS A SPLIT IN GUERRILLA LEADERSHIP. CLAIMS DWINDLING GUERRILLA NUMBERS, BOASTED BY RUSSIAN SPETSNAZ TROOPS. I AM IN THE PROCESS OF GATHERING FURTHER INFORMATION.

There was additional information from the amba.s.sador at Bucharest, indicating that the damage to the Romanian pipeline would be fixed within a few days. The Romanian government had tried to keep a lid on information about the attack, but someone claiming to be a spokesman for the guerrillas had posted photos on the Web earlier that day and contacted the Romanian and German media.

And the country's president, Alin Voda, had called the amba.s.sador on his personal line and requested American air a.s.sistance "to hunt the criminals before they make their next attack."

Jed backed out of his account and went to find his boss.

"I KNOW THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF RUMORS ABOUT A Medal of Honor for Colonel Bastian," said President Martindale, wrapping up his speech. "Let me just say this-they're true."

The audience, which had applauded politely a few times as Martindale spoke, erupted with a loud and unanimous hurrah. He stepped back and gestured to Dog, signaling that he should step forward to the mike.

"I really don't deserve this honor," said Dog, taking the microphone and addressing the others at the base. "You do. You all do. You've made my time here fantastic. Mr. President, there's no better command on the face of the earth."

"We have another update from Romania," whispered Philip Freeman, stepping up toward the President. "It may interest you."

"Let's discuss it on the plane."

"Yes, sir."

A few minutes later, aboard Air Force One, the President listened to Jed review the message from the CIA.

Meanwhile, a quick scan of the networks and news wire services showed that the energy market was already reacting to the news of the attack. Natural gas prices had shot up nearly thirty percent, and petroleum futures were trading ten dollars higher-which would have an impact on America as well as Europe.

"We have to deal with this forcefully," said Martindale. "If the Russians think they can get away without consequence, they'll continue to attack."

"That's only from one source," protested Secretary of State Hartmann. "And a prejudiced one."

"I don't see what a guerrilla would gain by blaming the Russians," said Chastain.

"We're not there-we don't know what the politics are."

"Regardless, we have to take a stand immediately," said Martindale. "If only to calm the energy markets. I'm not going to suck my thumb like Carter and the others during the oil embargo. We're protecting that gas line."

"Sending aircraft could backfire," said Hartmann. "If the Russians are truly involved, they may use it as an excuse to up their a.s.sistance."

"They don't need an excuse," said Chastain.

"We do have to be careful about the border situation," said Freeman. "Especially Moldova. They've asked to join NATO as well."

"They backed off that six months ago," noted Chastain. "The Russians have been courting them."

"If our forces got across the border, that will drive them into Russia's arms," said Freeman. "And even if we're willing to write them off, if other countries think we're backing Romania in a secret war against Moldova rather than the guerrillas, that will damage our hopes of getting them into NATO. Germany for one will object."

"Agreed," said the President. "But if we handle this correctly, we'll help our cause."

"Perhaps," admitted Hartmann.

"We'll send air support," said the President. "Moldova is absolutely off-limits, but if we send the right people, that won't be a problem."

It was obvious who the President had in mind.

"Jed, get General Samson up here," added Martindale. "And Dog. I want to talk to them personally."

GENERAL SAMSON STRODE PURPOSELY INTO THE PRESIDENT'S conference room aboard Air Force One. It wasn't nearly as big or as elaborate as he thought it would be-fabric-covered walls stood behind two oversized couches on either side of a low conference table. Still, it was the President's conference room.

Samson nodded at Martindale, who was on the phone, then at Secretary of Defense Arthur Chastain, National Security Advisor Philip Freeman-and Lieutenant Colonel Bastian.

Bastian?

What the h.e.l.l was he doing here?

"Philip, explain what's going on," said Martindale, covering the phone's mouthpiece. "I'll be right with you."

Samson listened as the National Security Advisor explained the situation in Romania.

"I'm sure Dreamland can supply planes to track ground movements," said Samson when he was finished. "And the Whiplash boys can give some close-air support lessons. I'll have a deployment plan ready no later than the end of the month."

"You're not quite understanding," said Freeman. "This has top priority."

Samson wasn't sure what Freeman was implying. Deploying to a place like Romania took a great deal of preparation. Two weeks worth of planning was nothing, especially given the present state of his staff. He was still filling positions.

But he sensed excuses weren't what Freeman or Chastain, much less the President himself, wanted.

"By the end of next week, certainly," he said. "I already have a few things in mind."

"General, we'd like you to be on the ground in a day or two," said Arthur Chastain.

"A day or two?"

"The Whiplash orders call for immediate deployment," said Freeman.

"Of course. Once we have a plan in place."

No one said anything. Samson felt about as comfortable as a skunk in church. Sweat began percolating under his collar.

He shot a sideways glance at Dog. Bastian must be loving this.

Why the h.e.l.l was he here, anyway?

The President finished his phone call. "Gentlemen, are we set?" he asked.

The others looked at Samson.

"I just wanted to make sure," started Samson. "The-expediency of the mission. You're asking for us...well sir, let me put it this way. We can of course deploy immediately. Tomorrow if you wish. But with a little more preparation, we-"

"Yes, tomorrow, of course," said Martindale. "Dog-Colonel Bastian-you'll be going?"

Dog cleared his throat. "That would be up to the general, sir. I'm at his disposal."

Clever, thought Samson, as Martindale turned his gaze back toward him.

But the a.s.signment might be just the thing to get Bastian out from under his hair while he continued reorganizing the base. Yes, it would work very nicely.

"If Colonel Bastian is available, it would be great to have him on the mission," said Samson. "I'll need an experienced deputy at the scene, so to speak. I can't think of anyone better to lead the mission there. a.s.suming that's all right with you, Mr. President."

"General, that's perfect." Martindale rose and extended his hand, in effect dismissing him. "I look forward to a long working relationship with you. Carry on."

III.

Killers of Children

Iasi Airfield,

northeastern Romania

24 January 1998

1600.