“In order to check some of these places out,” Dog said,

“we’re going to have to put Piranha right into them. And I mean right into them.”

“You’re authorized to put Piranha as close as you have to.

It’s understood that the probe may go into territorial waters.

That’s why we want Piranha. As long as the controlling aircraft stays in international airspace.”

“That’s easy, if nothing goes wrong. What happens if the probe gets hung up in the mud?”

In theory, the probes were expendable; the idea was to use them in a situation like this, where exposing men could be dangerous and politically inconvenient. But at the moment, they were also very expensive—each one cost roughly a million dollars. And there were only four.

“They’ve passed all the trials with flying colors,” said Jed.

“And we used them in the Pacific. They’re funded in the next fiscal year for regular procurement.”

“You’ve been in Washington too long, Jed. That’s not an answer.”

56

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Um, sorry. It would depend on the circumstances. The, uh, political situation is pretty sensitive right now.”

“So’s the technology.”

“Not my call, Colonel.”

“What if I find the pirates while I’m searching for the submarine?” Dog asked. “Do I tell this Navy operation?”

“Not unless it’s threatening them.”

“Shouldn’t we be working with them?”

“Mr. Freeman—and the President—intended this to be separate,” said Jed. “They’re pretty busy doing what they’re doing. They’ve been informed of the sub, and that we’ll be looking for it, but that’s the extent of it at the moment,” he added. “Um, I didn’t think you and the Navy exactly got along.”

That was an understatement. The last time Dog had worked with the Navy, he’d nearly decked an admiral.

“I get along with everybody,” he replied. “Should I make contact with the Navy people or what?”

“If it becomes ‘operationally necessary,’ you can contact them. That’s in the Whiplash directive. So, you know, it’s kind of your call there. I think Mr. Freeman and the President thought you’d want to keep your distance. I should mention that the Navy doesn’t put much stock in the reports of the submarine getting that far. Not at all, actually. They’re pretty much against wasting any resources to find it. That’s the word they use— waste.”

“We can definitely get a mission package with Piranha prepared within twelve hours,” Dog said. “But we need a base in the area to work out of.”

“What about Diego Garcia?”

Located in the Indian Ocean south of India, the island atoll in the Chagos Archipelago had a long runway and secure if primitive facilities. It was the perfect staging area for an operation—except for the fact that it was a few thousand miles from the Gulf of Aden.

“It’s a heck of a hike,” Dog told Jed. “It’d be bad enough to make a bombing run up to the gulf from there. You’re talking SATAN’S TAIL

57

about patrols that have to last several hours to be effective, eight or twelve ideally. You put a four- to six-hour flight each way on top of that and you’re going to have exhausted flight crews pretty quick. How about somewhere in Saudi Arabia?”

“The Saudis are pretty touchy about American military people on their soil these days,” said Jed. “I don’t know.”

“During the Gulf War, we used an airport at Khamis Mushait for some Stealth fighters,” said Dog. “It’s close to the Gulf of Aden. We can scoot down to the Red Sea and get over the Gulf of Aden without crossing Yemen territory.”

“I can check,” said Jed. “I’ll have to get back to you.

There’s like a thirteen hour difference between here and there. It’s past eight in the evening here in D.C., five in the afternoon where you are, and, um, like past four a.m. there.”

Jed glanced at his watch, working out the differences. “Tomorrow. Four a.m. tomorrow.”

“I can figure it out.”

“If it took twelve hours to get Piranha ready, could you like, be there when? Tomorrow?”

“I have to talk to some of my people first,” said the colonel.

“I would guess we could arrive sometime tomorrow night our time at the very earliest. I don’t know what sort of shape we’d be in to launch a mission. I’ll have to get this all mapped out.”

“OK, Colonel. Anything else?”

“How about tripling my budget and sending me a thousand more people?”

“Afraid I don’t have that kind of pull,” said Jed.

“Neither do I,” said Dog. “Dreamland out.”

Las Vegas

1715

DANNY FREAH WAITED AS THE SERVER REARRANGED THEIR

forks. To call the restaurant fancy was to underestimate it by half; the entrées cost twice what Danny had paid for his watch.

58

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“You’re sure no drink?” said Rosenstein as the server set down a single malt scotch.

“Nothing for me. Thanks.”

“Good. Very good,” said Rosenstein, taking a sip. “I noticed you’re an NOE.”

“What’s that?”

“Not Otherwise Enrolled,” said Rosenstein. “Your party registration. You’re not enrolled in a political party.”

“I haven’t been involved in politics.”

“Unlike your wife.”

“Jemma’s always been pretty political.”

“Nonpolitical is hot. The thing is, in that district, I’m pretty sure you could get both Democratic and Republican nominations. Conservative party as well. Not Liberal, but you’re not going to want that anyway, right?”

“I don’t know that I want anything.”

“Still playing hard to get, Captain?”

“I’m not playing anything.”

Rosenstein took a long sip of his scotch, savoring it. “I’m not here to sell you on running for office. I’ll just lay out the time schedule for you. But …” He paused, obviously for effect. “War hero, young, black, well-spoken—Congress can use someone like you.”

“You had me until you said well-spoken,” said Danny.

“You’ve never heard me speak.”

“We can work on that. Game plan: Form a committee January 2. Make the rounds until early February. Parties meet.

Get the endorsements in March. Circulate petitions. This is New York, so there will be primaries. That’s not going to be the problem, as long as we’ve taken care of business in January and February. It’ll be in your favor, actually; help get your name around. The primaries are the real action in the city anyway. Money’s the only hiccup, and I think we can handle that without a problem. We usually break the donor lists down three ways to start. In your case we’ll add two more—veterans and military contractors, and black professionals. Obviously, you’ll do pretty well with those groups, SATAN’S TAIL

59

and we want them to see you as their candidate right off.

They don’t translate into many votes in your district, but they’ll ante up.”

“Ante up?”

“I’m sorry, it’s Vegas, you know? Look, I do this for a living, so sometimes I get to sounding pretty cynical. Don’t be put off. You won’t have to worry about any of that. That’s why we get a good financial chair. It’s his problem. Or hers.

You’ll bring a different perspective to Congress, Captain.

And I’m not blowing smoke in your ear. You can make a difference in Washington. Congress will be just a start. Mark my words.”

Danny had hoped that meeting Rosenstein would end his ambivalence about running for political office, one way or the other. But right now he only felt more confused. He’d expected the political operative to be cynical, so he wasn’t shocked that he spoke about people in terms of how much money they might be able to contribute. And by now so many people had told him that he ought to run that he was almost used to being called a “hero,” even if from his point of view he was only a hardworking guy who did his job.

What confused him was his duty. Day by day in the military, in his experience, it was usually obvious: You followed orders, you accomplished your mission, you looked out for your people.