"THEY FIRED ON YOU?" SAID SAMSON. HE COULD FEEL HIS anger rising as he paced in front of the large screen at the front of the Dreamland Command Center.

"They launched missiles in our direction. I took evasive action. They blew up the missiles maybe twenty seconds after launch, over the Black Sea. I a.s.sume their plan all along was to spook us."

"These Russian b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," said Samson. "We ought to shoot them out of the sky."

The general glanced at the screen. The video caught Dog's head jerking right as he glanced in the direction of his copilot. Samson felt a twinge of jealousy-he wanted to be in the air himself.

Let those Russian b.a.s.t.a.r.ds try to spook him. Just let them try.

"I'm sorry, General," said Dog, turning his face back toward the camera in front of his station. "I missed what you said."

"Nothing. You have something else?"

"Negative. Very quiet on the ground so far."

"And you did nothing to provoke the Russians?"

"All we did was take our station. At no time did any of our ships go over the border."

"You better be giving me the whole story here, Bastian. If I get my head handed to me on this, yours isn't going to be worth a nickel."

Dog didn't say anything.

"I'll get back to you," said Samson.

"General, if there's a mission in Moldova, I'd like permission-"

"What part of what I just said don't you understand?"

"It's all crystal clear," said Dog.

The screen blanked.

That was the problem with Bastian, thought Samson. Even when he was in the right, you had to be suspicious of him. He was a cowboy, always looking for a chance to blow something up.

Still, when he was right, he was right.

"Get me the White House," the general told the communications specialist. "Tell them it's important."

White House

1550.

JUST IN TIME FOR HIS COUNTRY'S EVENING NEWS PROGRAMS, the German chancellor had responded to the latest round of Russian price increases by threatening to cut off gas shipments through its pipelines to France unless the French paid Germany a special transshipping fee. The French had responded angrily, and now all of Europe seemed at each other's throats. The Italians, who had seen unemployment rise to nearly twenty percent of the workforce in the past two months, were even talking about leaving NATO and the European Common Market.

The National Security Council had called an emergency meeting to discuss the latest developments. Freeman had Jed come along to make it easier for him to keep up-to-date. The meeting was winding down when Sandra Collins, one of the NSC duty officers, appeared at the door and waved her hands frantically to get his attention. Jed waited for the Undersecretary of State to finish what he was saying-though he used a lot of words, his opinion basically was that the Italian threat was an empty bluff-then excused himself and went to the door.

"General Samson at Dreamland," whispered Collins. "He says it's urgent."

Jed went across the hall to the secure communications center, nodding at the duty officer as he went to one of the stations. He sat down at the desk, typed in his pa.s.sword, then put his eyes into the retina scanner. A few seconds later, General Samson's face appeared in his screen.

"General, what can I do for you?" asked Jed.

Samson frowned. Jed knew from their past communications that Samson expected to be talking to Philip Freeman every time he called. But the National Security Advisor had given specific orders that all Dreamland communications, including those that came through Admiral Balboa at the Pentagon, were to go through Jed, and while Samson surely had been told, he hadn't really gotten the message.

And probably never would.

"Jed, the Russians fired on one of our aircraft," said Samson.

"The Russians?"

"Those MiGs that were shadowing Bastian. And he did nothing to provoke it. Now I want permission to shoot those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds down, and I want it now."

"Um, General-"

"My people have to be able to defend themselves. Even Bastian. The orders have to be changed to allow them to do that."

"The President was pretty specific about them staying out of any sort of situation-"

"Then you get him on the phone so I can talk to him," said Samson.

"I'll do what I can, General. But, listen, the situation over there is pretty volatile. It may seem like it's just a dispute over gas prices, but-"

"Don't tell me how volatile it is. My people are on the front line here. I need to protect them."

"Yes, sir. Understood."

THE NSC MEETING HAD ALREADY BROKEN UP AND JED'S boss was gone. By the time he caught up with him, Freeman was at lunch up at the Capitol, dining in the Members Dining Room as the guest of Larry Segriff, who, besides representing Wisconsin as its senior representative, was head of the Foreign Relations Committee.

Freeman saw Jed walking toward him. "Am I late already?" he said, glancing at his watch. "I just got here."

"Actually, um, Sally made a mistake on the schedule." Jed smiled at Segriff, trying to seem genuine as he offered an excuse. "You were supposed to be in a meeting with the President on the gas situation in Europe. She thought lunch was tomorrow."

"I'm not going to keep you, Phil." Segriff started to wave him away. "Go ahead. We'll have lunch a different time."

"Thanks, Congressman. I'm really sorry. It's good to exchange ideas."

"Yes. I'll have my secretary set something up."

Jed followed Freeman out of the room. At least a dozen pairs of eyes followed them as they left.

"Good, Jed. I think he half believed you," said Freeman.

"I thought-"

"You did fine. What's up?"

"One of the Dreamland aircraft was fired on by the Russians," Jed told him.

"What?"

"It looks like it was meant to intimidate them. In any event, General Samson wants permission to fight back."

Freeman set his lips together in a deep frown as they got into the limo for the short ride back to the Executive Office Building.

Within an hour Jed was sitting next to his boss in the Cabinet Room next to the Oval Office, briefing President Martindale on what had happened.

Martindale ordinarily took even the worst news calmly, and it was generally hard to read his emotions.

Not today. He pounded the table, then ran his hand back through his white hair so violently that it flew into a wild tangle.

"What the h.e.l.l are the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Russians up to?" he thundered. "They want a war? They want a G.o.dd.a.m.ned war?"

The reaction caught both Jed and his boss off guard. They exchanged a glance.

"I don't know that they want a war, exactly," said Freeman. "I think they're pushing, to see how far they can go. How far we'll go."

Martindale's face flushed. He looked at them for a moment, and as Jed stared at his profile he realized how tired the President appeared, and how old he had become. The last few weeks had been a great triumph-but also an enormous strain. Whatever held his temperament together had been stretched to the breaking point.

"Yes, of course that's what they're doing. Pushing us. Pushing me."

Martindale began to relax, becoming more his old self.

"We do have a couple of options, Mr. President," said Freeman. "We could send the Dreamland people to support the operation in Moldova."

"No. That's what they want. That's what this is about-to try to provoke us." The President rose. "This isn't just about the price of the natural gas. Oh yes, that's part of it. Definitely part of it. But there's more. They want to break up NATO. Look at the quarreling that's going on. And what do you think will happen to our bid to expand NATO if we're seen taking sides like this?"

"We are taking sides," said Freeman. "We have to take sides."

"Yes, but with restraint. They want to make us look as aggressive as possible. They know we're riding high right now." Martindale shook his head. "Moldova is still off limits."

"OK," said Freeman.

"Um..."

Martindale turned to Jed. "What's that 'um' about, young man?"

"Sir, um, the Romanians have been asking for more support. They say two planes, even Megafortresses, aren't enough."

"What does Samson say?"

"Uh, I guess I don't know exactly."

"Find out what his plans are."

"Can the planes defend themselves?" insisted Freeman.

"They are to avoid provoking the Russians at all costs," said Martindale. "No offensive action. Period."

"But-"

"Colonel Bastian will know how to interpret that order. Make sure it's relayed to him."

Dreamland

1300.

ONCE MORE, SAMSON FOUND HIMSELF BRISTLING AS HE talked to Jed Barclay, angry that the President wouldn't speak to him directly.

"Um, just that the President wants to know if you have an adequate force in Romania," explained Jed.

"Tell him we have more planes getting ready to fly as we speak," Samson said. "They'll be taking off this evening."

"Very good."

"Can we hit the Russians?" asked Samson.

"Actually, the President does not want American aircraft in Moldovan airs.p.a.ce. He thinks the Russians are trying to provoke us."

Samson folded his arms.

"His orders were, this is a direct quote: 'They are to avoid provoking the Russians at all costs. No offensive action. Period.' He wanted that relayed to Colonel Bastian."

"Very well. Dreamland out."

Samson dropped the phone on its hook.

"Chartelle!" he said loud enough to be heard in the outer office. "Get Mack Smith in here. Now!"