"This is Bastian."

"Colonel Bastian, this is Mark Stoner. Do you remember me?"

"Sure I do, Mark. How are you?"

It wasn't likely he'd forget. The CIA officer had helped save Breanna after action in the Pacific more than a year before.

"I'm fine, Colonel. As it happens, I'm working on a job in your neck of the woods. I can't go into detail at the moment, but I'd like to speak to you personally as soon as possible. This afternoon."

"Why don't you come here? I'm in Iasi."

"I'd like to stay out of the city if I could. I have a place picked out that's not that far from you. Could you be there around three-thirty?"

"I can try."

"It might be best to wear civilian clothes, if you could," said Stoner. "And have a civilian car. You shouldn't tell the Romanians where you're going."

Near Dolcina, northeast Romania

1420.

STONER KNEW COLONEL BASTIAN WELL ENOUGH TO TRUST him, but that didn't mean the Romanians didn't have him under surveillance. So he was careful about choosing their meeting place.

With as little help from Sorina as possible, he selected a village that was small enough to watch but not so small that doing so would attract attention. Dolcina was about twenty minutes northwest of Bacau, and it had two outstanding a.s.sets: first, there was no police department or army detachment in town, and second, there was only one road in and out.

An hour before the colonel was due to arrive, Stoner double-checked the tavern he'd selected for the meeting. There was still only one regular at the bar, an old woman who sat in the corner and mumbled to herself while sipping Pernod, probably from the same gla.s.s he'd seen two hours before. Walking around the building, he found a garbage can and used it to boost himself onto the roof, where he surveyed the local street and the dozen or so buildings nearby. If anyone was watching him, they were well hidden.

He stayed on the roof until Colonel Bastian arrived. Then he waited another ten minutes before calling the bar from his sat phone.

"I wish to speak to a man named Tec.u.mseh, if he is there," said Stoner in the Romanian Sorina Viorica had carefully rehea.r.s.ed with him.

"Tec.u.mseh?"

"Yes."

The bartender asked him something in Romanian that Stoner didn't understand; all he could do was repeat what he'd said before.

There was silence. Then just as he thought he'd have to climb down and go inside himself, Dog came on the phone.

"This is Tec.u.mseh."

"Sorry for the intrigue, Colonel. I need you to drive down the street, out of the village. Continue for exactly two kilometers, then pull off the road."

Stoner killed the connection. Then he crawled to the front of the roof, watching as Dog left the bar and got into his car.

No one seemed to be following him. Still, Stoner waited another few minutes before climbing down. When he did, he trotted in the opposite direction, going back toward the highway to the abandoned gas station where he'd left his motorcycle.

Sorina Viorica had already left.

Not exactly the way they had planned it. He hoped she hadn't had second thoughts. Or worse, that he'd missed a setup.

He had to hit the electric starter twice before the bike would turn over. Once it was humming, however, the single-piston engine sounded as smooth as a V-8. He revved the bike onto the roadway, circled once again to make sure he wasn't being watched, then headed toward the rendezvous.

DOG WATCHED THE ODOMETER CAREFULLY. AS SOON AS it reached two kilometers, he pulled the car onto the shoulder, leaving it idling as he looked around. There were empty farm fields to his left and right. No one was in sight.

Undoing his seat belt, he took his service Beretta pistol out of his belt, checked it, then put it down between the seat and the transmission hump next to him. It was months since he'd used it, and then it had been on an indoor range. He wasn't a particularly good shot and hoped he didn't need it.

A cloud of dust appeared in the field to his left. Dog thought about getting out of the car, then decided against it.

The dust swirled, then settled to reveal a motorcycle. Dog rolled down his window, watching as the bike came toward him. Its driver wore a helmet with a dark face shield.

Dog slumped down, using the dashboard for cover, waiting as the motorcycle came closer. He put his hand on the gun.

The bike suddenly accelerated, pa.s.sing by in a blur. He watched in his side mirror as it veered off the road behind him, then began circling back from his right. He rolled down his window and waited as it drew near. His hand was still on the pistol, now in his lap.

The motorcycle coasted next to him and stopped. The rider leaned down.

"Who are you?" demanded the driver.

Dog was surprised. The voice, m.u.f.fled by the helmet, was foreign and belonged to a woman.

"I'm waiting for someone," he said.

"For who?"

"A friend. Mark Stoner."

Another bike appeared in his rearview mirror. This one came straight down the road. The woman who'd stopped glanced back but stayed on her motorcycle as the second bike drew near the driver's side of the car.

He'd had Liu check the voice pattern of the call earlier, so Dog was sure he'd been talking to Stoner. But now his paranoia grew, and his imagination spun out of control.

He could slip the car into gear and accelerate, get the h.e.l.l out of there.

Shoot the motorcyclist on his right first.

The second bike stopped on his left.

"Colonel, I'm sorry for the precaution," said its rider, leaning close to the window. He pulled up his face shield, revealing himself. It was Stoner.

"It's all right, Mark. What's going on?"

"Just a second."

Stoner slipped the bike forward, then parked on the other side. The woman had gotten off her bike, and she joined Stoner as he slipped into the backseat of the car.

"My friend has some information that will be very valuable," said Stoner after he shut the door. "But if she's seen meeting you, there are a number of people who could cause problems."

"OK," said Dog.

"The location of the guerrilla stronghold is over the border," said Stoner.

Dog knew this was valuable information, and immediately guessed why the woman didn't want to be seen-she must be a guerrilla herself.

"I don't know how I can help," he said.

In the mirror, Dog saw Stoner put his hand on the woman's thigh, stopping her from moving toward the door.

"You can pa.s.s the information on in a way that it can't be traced to her," Stoner said. "And, there is a condition."

"What's that?"

"Asylum in America."

"You'd know more about that than I would," said Dog. "I'm just a pilot."

"You are very famous," said the woman. "I recognize your face from the television. You are the head of Dreamland."

Dog nodded. This wasn't the time or place to explain the current chain of command.

"I can take care of the technicalities, once she's out of the country," Stoner said. "Getting her out of the country-that's where we'll need your help."

"Why?"

"Because if I were to go into an airport," said the woman, "I would most likely be recognized. If you don't trust Mark-"

"I trust him."

"Can you do it?" Stoner asked.

If the woman weren't in the back of the car, Dog would have explained his hesitation. Transporting a guerrilla well known enough to be on a watch list wasn't exactly part of his mission brief. He could just imagine what General Samson's reaction would be.

On the other hand, knowing the location of the guerrilla strongholds would be very valuable information.

"I can probably come up with something," he said finally. "a.s.suming she keeps her end of the bargain."

"There will be no problem with that," said Sorina.

"Why are you betraying your friends?" asked Dog.

He saw her face in the mirror. There was pain, and then a mask.

Was it all an act? Or had she debated that very same question?

"The Russians have taken over the movement. There are some devoted revolutionaries, but most of the operations now are being directed by Moscow. The things they are doing turn my stomach."

Dog glanced in Stoner's direction. The CIA man's expression made it clear that he didn't want him to keep asking questions. To the spy, reasons or motivations weren't important; results were.

But to Dog, the question was everything. People didn't give up their friends easily, even if the rest of the world thought it was the right thing to do.

"The Russians know that I am against them," Sorina went on. "They would kill me as gladly as the Romanian army or police."

"And in America you can have a fresh start?" said Dog.

"I don't want to go to America. Get me to Turkey."

"I don't know if I can get you to Turkey."

"Across the border, then, to any European country. I can move on from there."

"Where are the hideouts?" asked Dog.

"Not until I am safe," said Sorina Viorica. "When I am safe, then I will say. Only to Mark."

Iasi Airfield, Romania

1830.

DOG'S MESSAGE TO DANNY WAS VAGUE TO THE POINT OF being cryptic, though only if you knew the way Colonel Bastian normally did things. It had been pa.s.sed along by one of the aides at the small unit where Danny was working with the Romanian soldiers.

OFFICERS MEETING 1830, HERE. PLEASE BE PROMPT.

Danny's curiosity was piqued further when he saw Colonel Bastian waiting for him on the tarmac when the Osprey touched down.

"Hey, Colonel, what's up?"

"You eat dinner yet, Danny?"

"Didn't have a chance."

"One of the Romanian officers told me about a restaurant in the city. Let's go."

"You think that's a good idea?"