Key Players
Americans
Breanna Stockard, director, Department of Defense Office of Special Technology; Whiplash Director, DoD
Jonathan Reid, special assistant to CIA deputy director and Whiplash Director, DoD
Colonel Danny Freah, U.S. Air Force, commander, Whiplash
Captain Turk Mako, U.S. Air Force, pilot, assigned to Office of Special Technology/Whiplash
Lieutenant Li Pike, U.S. Air Force, pilot, Turk’s girlfriend
Ray Rubeo, President and CEO, Applied Intelligence (key consultant and contractor to the Office of Special Technology)
President Christine Todd
Senator Jeff “Zen” Stockard, member of the Senate Intelligence and Armed Services committees (Breanna’s husband)
Shahin Gorud, CIA paramilitary operative in Iran
Captain Thomas Granderson, commander of Delta Force special task group operating in Iran
Jeff “Grease” Ransom, Delta Force sergeant, assigned as Turk’s personal bodyguard
Iranians
First Air General Ari Shirazi, head of the Iranian Air Force
Captain Parsa Vahid, Iranian air force pilot
Lieutenant Nima Kayvan, Vahid’s squadron mate
Colonel Zal Vafa Khorasani, Pasdaran political officer
Contents
Key Players
Man Bomb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Adventurer
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Missionary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Superman
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Orphan
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Refugee
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Survivor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
Also in Dreamland Series
Also by Dale Brown
Copyright
About the Publisher
MAN BOMB
1
Dreamland
THEY CALLED THE AIRCRAFT “OLD GIRL,” AND NOT without good reason.
Turk Mako was used to flying planes that had come off the assembly line before he was born. This one had been retired two years before he was welcomed into the world.
It was an F-4 Phantom, a tough old bird conceived during the early Cold War era, when planes had more steel than plastic and a pilot’s muscles mattered nearly as much as his tactics in a high-g fur ball. So it wasn’t surprising that the retirement didn’t quite take. Within weeks of being tarped, Old Girl was rescued from the boneyard to run some data-gathering experiments at Nellis Air Force Base. She soon found her way to Dreamland, the top-secret development area still off limits in the desert and mountains north of Nellis.
In the years since, the F-4 had helped develop a wide range of systems, from simple missile-launch detectors to completely autonomous (meaning, no humans anywhere in the decision tree) flight computers. The sheer size of her airframe was an important asset, as was her stability in flight and dependability—the last as much a tribute to tender maintenance and constant small improvements in the systems as the original design. But in truth she was important these days as much for her second seat as anything else—Old Girl could easily accommodate engineers and scientists eager to see the results of their work.
She could also ferry VIPs eager to glimpse Dreamland’s latest high-tech toys in action. Which was the case today.
Captain Mako—universally called Turk—checked his altitude, precisely five thousand feet above ground level. He made sure of his location and heading, then gave a quick call to his backseater over the plane’s interphone.
“Admiral, how are you doing back there, sir?”
“Fine, son,” answered Vice Admiral Blackheart, his voice implying the exact opposite. “When the hell is this damn show starting?”
Turk ground his back teeth together, a habit some two hours old. Blackheart had been disagreeable from the moment they met for the preflight briefing. Turk strained to be polite, but he was a test pilot, not a stinking tour bus driver, and though he knew better than to sound off, he couldn’t help but wish for deliverance—he, too, wanted the exercise over ASAP.
“Well?” demanded Blackheart.
“Soon as the controller clears in the B-1R, sir. I believe they’re actually running exactly on schedule.”
“I don’t have all day. See if you can get them moving.”
“Yes, sir.” Turk had never met a man whose personality was better suited to his name. But he had to be polite. Blackheart wasn’t just a vice admiral—he happened to be in charge of Navy technology procurement. He was therefore a potential client of the Office of Special Technology, Turk’s military “employer.” Special Technology was a hybrid Department of Defense unit originally chartered to operate like a private company, winning contracts from the different service branches to supply them with new technology. Which meant Blackheart was potentially a critical client, and he had to suck up to him.
Or at least not offend him. Which, he had been warned repeatedly, was ridiculously easy to do.
Turk clicked his talk button, transmitting to the controller. “Tech Observer to Range Control One. Requesting approximate ETA of exercise.”
“Perpetrator is at the southern end of the range and preparing to initiate exercise,” said the controller, who was sitting in a bunker several miles to the south. He repeated some contact frequencies and general conditions, running down flight information Turk already had. By the time he finished, the B-1Q was in visual range, making a low-altitude run from the south at high speed. Turk nudged Old Girl’s stick, banking slightly to give his passenger a better view. The B-1Q was flying at two hundred feet above the flat sand of the glasslike desert range. Old Girl was about a half mile from its flight path, and would keep that distance for the duration of the demonstration.