Full Blast

“Wait…wait…now.”

McCarter worked the controls and the An-26 went into a steep dive, dropping away from the MiG a second before the pilot opened fire. McCarter increased power, the turboprop sweeping down in a long curve that ended only yards above the choppy waters. He leveled out and held the aircraft on the same course.

“Pretty good,” Manning said over the speaker. “But what about next time?”

“Bloody hell, you’re never satisfied. Where is he, anyway?”

“Can’t see him at the moment. No, wait a minute. Coming in from your side.”

McCarter turned to look out the cockpit window and spotted the dark shape of the MiG leveling out and coming in for the kill. He thought quickly, well aware that evasive action against the jet was not going to keep them out of trouble much longer.

“Okay, chum, try this,” the Briton muttered as he hauled back on the stick, kicking on the rudder and bringing the plane around in a turn that set it on a direct course for the hurtling jet. He hammered the throttles wide open and trimmed the controls to get the best speed he could.

“Oh, shit,” he heard Manning breathe through the speaker.

The Canadian’s exclamation brought a chuckle to McCarter’s lips.

“Exactly what I thought,” he said.

The seconds flashed by. McCarter held his course, aiming straight for the MiG. He knew that the North Korean pilot might decide to fire anyway. Might even loose off a missile. But at the close range the MiG might easily run into the spinning debris and bring himself down.

“Make your play, sunshine,” McCarter said evenly.

The MiG suddenly broke, flashing off to the side, vanishing from McCarter’s field of vision.

“That,” Manning said, “was daring.”

“Bloody mad.”

“You are loco,” Encizo said.

“That’s what it says in my job description. Right next to where it says I’m a clever bugger and prone to being inspired.”

“Inspire something else then,” Manning suggested.

“How about conjuring up a pair of South Korean F-16s?”

They all watched two F-16s burn the air as they streaked in to confront the MiG, which held out for a time before breaking away and heading back toward North Korean territory. The F-16s fell in alongside the An-26 and one of the pilots broke in on McCarter’s com set.

“Please stay with us, gentlemen, and we will escort you in.”

“Thanks, mate,” McCarter acknowledged. “I was running out of ideas.”

The South Korean pilot laughed.

“From what I saw, you were doing fine. I wasn’t sure whether you really needed us.”

“Oh, we needed you, pal. Your timing was spot-on. And don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

“BEFORE YOU ASK, we don’t have a damn thing,” Aaron Kurtzman said.

“Phoenix has dropped off the map. If they’re in North Korean territory, we’re going to be hard-put getting any fix on them.”

“I’ll save my breath, then,” Hal Brognola said.

The big Fed crossed the Computer Room to stand in front of the main wall screen as if he were going to receive some kind of cerebral message that would answer his silent questions.

“All this damn technology and we can’t locate our own people.”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” Kurtzman growled.

Brognola turned to look at the man in the wheelchair. He knew Kurtzman had been at his station without a break since the China incident. He had refused to give in, relentlessly working at his keyboard and utilizing every sliver of his computer genius. This time it hadn’t worked. Kurtzman looked tired. It showed in his face, his movements and his responses. The man was only awake through sheer stubbornness.

“Okay, listen up,” Brognola announced to the entire room. “Being the big boss of this facility, as you are always telling me, gives me certain policy-making rights none of you can refuse to accept.” He waited as his words sank in. “At least you don’t disagree. So I’m making an executive decision here and now.

“You,” he said, pointing at Kurtzman, “are relieved of your position and won’t get it back until you’ve had at least twelve hours’ sleep. This is nonnegotiable and you aren’t allowed to protest. If you do, that coffeepot goes out the window and we get a new one.”

“That’s hitting below the belt,” Carmen Delahunt murmured as she glanced across at Barbara Price.

“I can do worse than that,” Brognola said, throwing a withering glance in Price’s direction, daring her to put up any kind of protest.

“Hate to think what that might be,” Akira Tokaido said.

Brognola lowered his eyes to the CD player Tokaido always carried with him.

“I’d keep quiet,” Huntington Wethers suggested.

“You still here?” Brognola snapped at Kurtzman.

Kurtzman held up his hands in surrender. “Just leaving.”

He spun his wheelchair and made for the door. No one spoke until he had gone.

“Okay, you know what to do,” Brognola said. “Do it. If Aaron shows his face before his twelve hours are up, call in Buck Greene and have him taken back to his room.”

“That wasn’t a joke, was it?” Wethers asked.

“No, I mean every word. Look, I understand how you might feel I’ve overreacted. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I’ve been watching Aaron, and the man is exhausted. If he wasn’t sitting in that chair, he’d fall down. If he works himself into the ground, he’s no good to me or the job.”

Brognola had attempted to make his decision one that had been based on his concern over Kurtzman’s work. He’d failed. The cyberteam looked beyond his tough words to Brognola’s genuine feelings for Kurtzman.

“We understand, Hal,” Delahunt said.

Without another word, the team turned back to their workstations.

Brognola and Price moved across the room.