“No targets?”

“Let’s not take sides at this point. Kevin—put Piranha into auto-return and sink the probe we just launched.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Chris fired one of the missiles, there was a slight shudder in the rear.

“Fire won’t go out,” the copilot told her. “I think the extinguisher system has been compromised.”

“Okay,” she said.

They absolutely had to go out, and they had to go out now.

“Dreamland Command, this is Quicksilver. Gat, you hear me?” she said over the Dreamland line.

There was no answer. It was possible the fire had already damaged the radio or antennas, but she trued again, then broadcast their position and that they were ditching.

“Bree, we’re running out of fuel,” said Chris. “And the temp is climbing. The fumes will explode.”

“Prepare to eject,” she told him. “Crew—prepare to eject.”

The leading edge of the storm front punched at the persiplex glass in front of her. Windswept hail whipped in her face.

“I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” said Chris.

The panic hit her then, panic and fear and adrenaline. Someone grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her up from her seat, dangling her in midair, twirling her around.

Jeff, honey, where the hell are you when I need you?

“Crew, listen to me,” Breanna said calmly. “We’re all going out together. Cinch your restraints. Put your legs and arms inside your body. Check in, everybody—Chris?”

“Ferris.”

“Dolk.”

“Collins.”

“Fentress.”

There was no answer from Stoner.

“Stoner?” she said.

Nothing.

“Stoner?”

Engine two—” Chris started to tell her the engine had just died, but it was unnecessary—the thump jerked her so hard she nearly let go of the stick.

“Manage our fuel,” she told him. “Fentress—where’s Stoner?”

“He’s here, he’s here—his radio’s out. He’s ready.”

“Crew, we’re going out on three. I have the master eject, authorization Breanna Rap Bastian Stockard One One Rap One,” she told the computer in her level voice.

The computer didn’t answer, as if it were hesitating , as if it didn’t want to lose its crew. Then it came back and repeated the authorization. All the seats would now be ejected when she pulled her handle; the Dreamland system would greatly increase the probability they could find each other after the chutes deployed.

“The weather’s hell out there,” she told her men. “Let the chutes deploy automatically. Just enjoy the ride.”

Given the intensity of the storm they were flying into, it was probably suicidal to go out now. She reached for the throttle slide, pushing for more speed, hoping to maybe get beyond the storm, or at least through the worst of it.

“Fire in the Gat compartment,” said Chris. “We’re going to blow.”

Breanna heard a rumble and then a pop from the rear of the plane. She reached down to the yellow handle at the side of her seat.

“Three-two-one,” she said quickly, and the universe turned into a tornado.

Chapter 7

In the hands of the gods

Philippines

August 28, 1997, 1847

The screen blanked.

“Get them back,” Zen told Bison.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” said the sergeant sitting at the com panel.

Zen pushed his chair back and then forward at an angle, as if realigning himself would make the picture from Quicksilver reappear.

“Get them back,” he said again, this time his voice softer.

“They’re off-line,” said Bison. “They were hit—they may be down.”

Zen pushed backward and wheeled to the door. One of the two navy people in the trailer said something, but Zen didn’t hear the words and wasn’t about to stop to ask him to repeat them. he had to reach awkwardly to open the door, pushing with his other hand on the wheel; he nearly fell out of his chair and down the ramp as he burst outside, downward momentum the only thing keeping him in the seat. He mastered it, got his balance, and continued to the oversized tent where Major Alou and the rest of the flight crew were just starting to brief for their mission. The fabric sides were rolled up.

“Merce—Quicksilver is down,” said Zen. “We need Iowa now.”

Without waiting for Major Alou to acknowledge, he wheeled back onto the path and headed for the aircraft.

It took nearly twenty minutes for the crew to get the Megafortress airborne. It was totally good time—the plane hadn’t been refueled, and the work on meshing the Piranha and Flighthawk systems was far from complete. Every second stretched to torturous infinity.