"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 G.o.d's name was the son of a b.i.t.c.h? 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 pa.s.sage."

"Should I add the regular troops to the search?"

"No!" He raised his phone and hit the Receive b.u.t.ton. "Locusta."

"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 a.s.sa.s.sin team, or even the regular army, an officer who was a little too clever for his own good.

Or maybe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 a.s.signed 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 alt.i.tude 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 appet.i.te 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 alt.i.tude and botching the landing. Unlike a radar altimeter, which gave an alt.i.tude 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.