"It may be."

"Get a plane in the air."

"The Johnson just took off."

DOG TOLD SAMSON ABOUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED ON THE mission as they walked to the Command trailer. Samson, who didn't know Stoner, did not seem particularly bothered by the loss of the helicopter.

He also wasn't impressed by the downing of the MiGs, which Dog a.s.sured him had taken place inside Romanian territory.

"As long as you obeyed orders and didn't go over the border," he muttered, trotting up the trailer steps ahead of Dog.

Sergeant Liu had just gotten off the phone with the Romanian Second Army Corps headquarters. The sergeant confirmed that there was "some action taking place," but told them there was no need for Dreamland units at the present time.

"The h.e.l.l with that," said Samson. "We should have more than the Johnson up. Get the B-1s ready. And your plane, Bastian."

Dog nodded. "The Bennett should be ready in an hour. I sent someone to wake up the crew."

"Make it thirty minutes."

Dog couldn't help but smile.

"What?" snapped Samson.

"If I said five minutes, you'd say one."

Samson frowned-but then the corners of his mouth twisted up.

"You expect anything less?" the general asked.

"Jed Barclay on the line," said Liu.

Out of habit, Dog took a step toward the communications area, then stopped. Talking to Washington was Samson's job now.

Bacau, Romaniaibr

2335.

"WHAT THE h.e.l.l DO YOU MEAN, YOU CAN'T FIND THE PRESIDENT" thundered General Locusta over the phone line. "Where is he?"

Major Ozera did not answer.

"Voda's house is not that big," continued the general. "Where the h.e.l.l is he?"

"There was considerable damage from the mortars," said the major. "We think he was in the bas.e.m.e.nt somewhere. Some of the timbers have fallen and there was-"

"Find the body. Find the body," repeated Locusta. "What about the bodyguards?"

"They're all accounted for. We think."

"You think?"

Even though Locusta was alone in his office, using his private satellite phone rather than his regular line, he knew he had to restrain himself. As thick as the walls were, there was always the chance that he might be overheard if he raised his voice. And besides, a temper tantrum would not help him in the least.

If Voda had escaped, things would be very complicated indeed. But Locusta was in too far now. He'd already given orders mobilizing his units, had instructed his network to begin spreading rumors that the president was dead, and had called his ally in the capital, telling him to call his men out as well.

"Make sure your men are in charge," he told Ozera. "You conduct the search personally."

"Yes, of course. The regular troops have only just gotten here."

"Keep them in the dark. Order them to shoot at anything that moves."

"Yes, General."

"Keep me updated," Locusta said. He hung up the phone. It rang immediately. "Locusta."

"Bucharest," said a male voice. "Done."

The line clicked dead. Locusta hung up again, feeling much more confident. The defense minister had been a.s.sa.s.sinated. An irritant had been removed.

This was a time for action, not doubt. Locusta rose from his desk, grabbed his satellite phone and strode from the office.

"I am going to the president's house," he told his staff in the conference room. "I will personally take charge of the situation there. Nothing to the media," he added, turning to his public relations officer. "Nothing, official or unofficial, without my express approval."

The man's face paled. Locusta guessed that he had already started feeding tidbits to favored reporters.

The general savored that look of fear as he walked to his car.

Dreamland Command trailer,

Iasi, Romania

2345.

DOG FROZE THE INFRARED VIDEO FEED FROM THE JOHNSON'S Flighthawk showing the back of the president's house.

"Serious munitions. .h.i.t that house," he said, pointing at the screen. "Maybe mortar sh.e.l.ls, maybe RPG rounds. At least a half dozen."

"The guerrillas could have either," said Samson.

"True." Dog hit the Play b.u.t.ton, letting the image proceed.

"Are you seeing this, Mr. Barclay?" asked Samson.

"We see it," said Jed Barclay, speaking from the White House Situation Room. "Please continue the feed. We want to see the area."

More Romanian troops were arriving at a command post set up on the road below the house. From the looks of things, the Romanians believed some of the guerrillas had escaped and they were trying to seal off the area.

"That's what we have, Jed," said Dog. "Anything else new on your end?"

"We're sorting through everything. The CIA station chief reported rumors that the president was dead. We'll be back on with you in a few minutes."

Dog leaned back from the console and glanced at Samson, who was standing against the part.i.tion of the communications area. The general's stubble and his combat fatigues were almost jarring; for the first time since they'd met, Samson didn't look like an actor playing the role.

"You think it's a coup?" Samson asked.

"If I had to bet, that's where I'd put my money," said Dog.

"So would I," said Samson.

Dog pulled off his headphones and rose. "Want some coffee?" he asked Samson.

"Yes," said the general.

There was almost always fresh coffee on the sideboard of the trailer's main room, but tonight was an exception. Dog started hunting through the cabinets, looking for the filters and coffee. He was just filling the pot with water when Samson emerged from the communications shack.

"I thought maybe you went into town for it," said the general.

From anyone else, the comment would have seemed a good-natured rib. Samson, however, looked serious.

"Coffee is not my specialty," said Dog.

"Relax, Bastian. That was a joke."

Dog held the pot up, squinting at the numbers to make sure he had the right level of water.

"I hope your eye exam isn't due soon," said Samson.

This time Dog laughed.

Samson, though, had apparently meant the comment in earnest, and gave him a puzzled stare. "Sometimes I don't know how to take you, Bastian," he said.

"Well, General, pretty much what you see is what you get." Dog poured the water into the machine. "If it is a coup, we have to stay out of it."

"I don't know that we have any choice." Samson came over as the coffee dripped through and took a cup down from the cupboard. Then he got one for Dog. "d.a.m.n cot wrenched my back."

"I think the beds in Diego Garcia permanently twisted one of my vertebrae," said Dog.

"Good coffee, Bastian," said Samson, taking a cup. "Now let's get those planes in the air."

White House

1345 (2345 Romania)

PRESIDENT MARTINDALE SWIVELED HIS CHAIR TO THE LEFT to get a better view of the video screen. The flat panel screen, some eighty-four inches diagonally, was a technical marvel, thin and yet capable of supplying a picture several times sharper than a cathode ray tube.

Martindale's main technology advisor predicted it would be standard fare in American homes within a decade, but for now, the secure conference room in the White House bas.e.m.e.nt had the only one in existence.

A feed from Romanian television played on the screen, reporting that the defense minister had been gunned down in Bucharest. The body of his a.s.sa.s.sin-the newscaster called him "a criminal," implying that he was a guerrilla-had been found nearby, apparently shot by the defense minister's bodyguards.

"It's a military coup," said Secretary of State Hartman as the broadcast continued. "There's no other explanation."

He and Martindale had come directly from the reception, and were both still wearing their tuxedos. They were alone in the room with Jed Barclay, who was briefing them on the situation. Defense Secretary Chastain and Admiral Balboa, representing the Joint Chiefs of Staff, were at the Pentagon, linked via a secure video conference line. National Security Advisor Freeman was across the hall in the Situation Room, trying to reach the Kremlin to get an explanation for the interference in Moldova.

"Are you sure the phone call the emba.s.sy received is legitimate?" said Chastain. "Anyone could have pretended to be Voda."

"It came on the amba.s.sador's personal line," said Hartman. "And I trust his judgment implicitly. One hundred percent."

"I didn't mean he was lying, just mistaken."

The embedded encryption mechanism made Chastain's voice sound slightly tinny.

"But Art's point is well taken," said Martindale. "We have to keep it in mind as we proceed."

The President rose and took a short stroll behind the large table at the center of the conference room, trying to focus his thoughts and work off his excess energy. His shoulder grazed the wall as he walked. At the beginning of his term, a set of photographs showing his predecessor at work had adorned the paneled walls. Martindale had had them removed, not because they were a distraction or even because of professional jealousy, but because the s.p.a.ce was so narrow behind the chair that he often b.u.mped into the photographs when taking walks like this.

"We have to help Voda," said Hartman. "We simply have to."

"Anything we do will be seen as interfering in Romania's internal politics," said Chastain. "And as a practical matter, there's probably nothing we can do."

"We can share the information that he's alive," said Hartman.