Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 04 - Piranha(and Jim DeFelice)(2003) (62 page)

 
          
“Thanks.”

 
          
“Colonel,
if I could just have a brief word? If you don’t mind, Bree.”

 
          
“Just
give him back when you’re done,” she said.

 
          
Dog
followed Danny outside and down the hall, around a corner.

 
          
“Thanks,
Danny. You and your men did an incredible job.”

 
          
“Colonel,
there’s just no good way to say this,” started Danny. His lower lip was
trembling. “I want to resign my commission. I want to leave the Air Force.”

 
          
“What?”

 
          
“It’s
a lot of things.”

 
          
“Danny,
you can’t leave now. Losing Sergeant Talcom, and the others—I know it was an
incredible blow …”

 
          
“I’m
not quitting because of that.” His voice wasn’t entirely convincing.

 
          
“I
know it was—is—difficult,” said Dog. “For all of us, but you especially.”

 
          
Danny
nodded. “It is. But I have an opportunity. It has nothing to do with Powder.”

 
          
“What
kind of opportunity?”

 
          
“An
election. Some people in New York want me to run for Congress. They think I can
get the nomination. My wife’s pretty involved.”

 
          
“Congress?
Really? Jesus—great,” said Dog sincerely. “Great. That is great.”

 
          
“You
think so?”

 
          
“You’d
be a hell of a Congressman—if you can deal with the bullshit.”

 
          
Danny
smiled. Still, it was a nervous smile.

 
          
“What’s
your timetable?” asked Dog.

 
          
“I’m
not sure yet. I-I just decided this. Couple of months, I guess. The election
isn’t until next year, but I’d need time to get around and meet people, raise
money.”

 
          
The
colonel nodded. “There is something I need you to do, or at least get a start
on.”

 
          
“What’s
that?”

 
          
Dog
hesitated. “The disc you picked up from Captain
Dolk
—it’s
a record of all the radar contacts.”

 
          
“Uh-huh?”

 
          
“There
was a Flighthawk profile on the disk that we can’t explain.”

 
          
“I’m
not following, Colonel.”

 
          
“Well,
the scientists are still analyzing it.”

 
          
Dog
heard footsteps coming down the hall. He took Danny down another corridor,
turning and finding an even more secluded corridor.

 
          
“It
looks like, or it may be, that someone was flying another Flighthawk. Not one
of ours,” Dog told Danny.

 
          
“A
Flighthawk?”

 
          
“Either
a clone or something very, very similar. Some of the scientists think it’s just
a reflection or a problem in the equipment; it’s at long range and the disc
itself isn’t in the best shape, but Dr. Rubeo is convinced. That’s pretty
convincing in and of itself. Given Dreamland’s history,” added Dog, “this will
require thorough investigation.”

 
          
“If
someone else has a Flighthawk,” said Danny, “they stole the technology from
us.”

 
          
“Not
necessarily,” said Dog. “Several countries have unmanned vehicle programs in
the works. But we have to rile that out. Absolutely.”

 
          
“Agreed.”

 
          
“Don’t
let this stand in your way,” Dog told him. “If there was a security breach, it
would’ve been earlier than your assignment here. It’s no reflection on you. It
wouldn’t have been on your watch. You should run for Congress. Do it.”

 
          
Danny
nodded, then turned away. Dog watched him until he disappeared around the
corner.

 
          
He’d
make a damn fine Congressman. He’d have Dog’s vote, no hesitation.

 
          
Maybe
he shouldn’t have told him at all. Let him start the paperwork, at least.

 
          
Dog
was preoccupied second-guessing himself and missed Breanna’s door. As he turned
back, he heard her laugh, then heard another woman’s voice as he entered.

 
          
A
vaguely familiar, vaguely enticing voice.

 
          
“How
are you, Tecumseh?” said his ex-wife, standing at their daughter’s bedside.

 
          
“I’m
fine, Karen,” he said, letting the door close behind him.

 
          
“So
what do you think of the news?” she added. She fingered her stethoscope—she was
a doctor on staff, and had arranged for Breanna to be admitted here.

 
          
“What
news?”

 
          
“I
just got an offer as chief of the medical staff at St. Simon’s out in Las
Vegas. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” She curled her hand around
his. “Maybe we can get Bree and her husband working on a new addition. What do
you say?”

 
          
Dog
shot a glance at Breanna. He thought he might actually have spotted fear in her
eyes for the first time.

 
          
“Isn’t
that a great idea?” said Karen.

 
          
“Peachy,”
said Dog, glancing toward his daughter and trying to smile.

 
          
Medical Facility, Barbers Point NAS, Hawaii

 
          
August
31, 1997, 1836 local

 
          
“Major
Stockard?”

 
          
Zen
spun his wheelchair around so quickly that he nearly knocked over the doctor.

 
          
“I’m
Stockard.”

 
          
“Hi,
I’m Dr. Johnson. You wanted to see Mr. Stoner?”

 
          
“I’ve
been waiting nearly two hours now.”

 
          
“Relax,
Major,” said the Navy doctor. “He’s just regaining consciousness. We have him
on painkillers, but he really just needs rest. He has some deep bruises, the
concussion, and he’s very dehydrated, but he should be walking around
tomorrow.”

 
          
As
the Doctor said the word walking, he glanced at Zen’s wheelchair and turned
red, embarrassed. Zen was so used to that sort of reaction—and so intent on
seeing Stoner—that he hardly noticed, instead pushing down the hall toward the
room. He pivoted precisely as he reached the doorway and pushed in, leaning
over to lift the kick-stop on the door and shut it behind him.

 
          
“Hello,”
said Stoner from the bed.

 
          
“She’s
mine, Stoner,” he told him. “Don’t fuck with me. You got that?”

 
          
“What?”

 
          
“I
saw you kiss Breanna in the raft. I was watching through the UMB feed. I’m the
one who got the Osprey there.”

 
          
“Zen?”
Stoner blinked his eyes.

 
          
“I’ll
fight for her. I will.”

 
          
“I
don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” said Stoner.

 
          
Zen
wheeled backward a half stroke. His anger balanced on the edge of a knife
blade. He knew what he had seen.

 
          
“Is
Bree all right?” Stoner asked.

 
          
“Yeah.”

 
          
“Where
is she?”

 
          
“They
moved her over to Bright Memorial. Her mother’s a doctor there. She’ll be fine.
She was sleeping when I left.”

 
          
Stoner
nodded. “My head feels like shit.”

 
          
Zen
stared at him. If Stoner was looking for sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it
from him.

 
          
“Seriously,
man, there’s nothing between me and Breanna. I mean, she saved my life. And
maybe I saved her. We tied ourselves together so we’d stay in the raft. Ferris—we
lost him.”

 
          
Zen
took a deep breath, letting his body lean forward slightly in the wheelchair.
Why was it Stoner who had lived? Why couldn’t it have been Ferris? Or Fentress?
The poor kid, he was just getting the hang of the Flighthawks, just learning his
damn job.

 
          
Why
had anyone had to die? So the Indians and Chinese wouldn’t blow themselves and
half the world to kingdom come?

 
          
Yes,
thought Zen. That’s what it came down to. Their deaths meant millions of
innocent people would live. It was their job, and their duty. The men would
have said so themselves.

 
          
And
yet, it didn’t seem fair at all. If Bree had been one of the ones to die, he’d
have been inconsolable.

 
          
“You
got the helicopter there?” Stoner asked. “The one that picked us up?”

 
          
“It
was an Osprey,” said Zen.

 
          
“Thanks.
We owe you a big one. You saved us.”

 
          
Zen
stared at him. He had seen what’d he’d seen. But what was it—their bodies tied
together, their cheeks close?

 
          
Maybe
they hadn’t kissed. He trusted Bree more than that, didn’t he?

 
          
“You’re
welcomed,” Zen said.

 
          
By
the time Zen made his way back to Breanna’s hospital room, the others had left
and she was sleeping again. He pulled his wheelchair up alongside her bed and
leaned back, thinking at first that he would watch her TV, but then deciding
that might wake her. He watched her sleep for a while, thinking she’d of a
similar vigil he’d kept some months back, after she’d managed to crash-land an
EB-52 that had lost its tail.

 
          
Nothing
harder than waiting in a hospital room, he’d thought then, but now he knew
there were many harder things indeed. He thought of what she must have felt
those long months after his accident, the one that had cost him his legs—the
one that had cost her much of her hope for their lives. She’d stuck with him through
that, even when he didn’t want her to, even when he didn’t know if he could
stick with it himself.

 
          
How
could he doubt her love after that?

 
          
It
was his own security he should fear, his doubts about himself, not her. He
shouldn’t doubt her at all. She was the one person in the world who’d had
faith, who didn’t treat him like a gimp, whose face didn’t turn red when she
caught sight of his wheelchair.

 
          
Ashamed,
Zen reached his hand over and stroked her fingers.

 
          
“Hello,”
she mumbled, opening her left eye and then her right.

 
          
“Hey.
About time you woke up. You been sleeping the whole day.”