CHAPTER 23

MAJOR SCALON SHIFTED HIS eyes from one corner of the large display screen in the communications room at Offutt Air Force Base to the image of the nation's highest-ranking civilian. The large screen was electronically divided to allow Scalon and Captain Tim Bryan to see the other members of the teleconference. Facing them were the larger-than-life images of Colonel MacGregor and Admiral Gary Gaughan.

"Telemetry shows atmospheric insertion in three, two, one." Scalon did his best to look and sound interested but unemotional. It was a hard thing to do. Angel-12 was his baby and it was about to plunge to earth in a fiery display, be gutted by Moyer's team, then destroyed. Life wasn't fair. Of course, he was safe and warm in STRATCOM. Moyer and his men had a much rougher go of things.

"How long before they can see it?" Huffington asked. The audio system made it sound as if he were in the room.

"Three minutes, sir. People in the UK, the Baltic states, and much of Asia will be able to see it but only for a moment. They'll call it a meteor."

"And it's on track to hit the bull's-eye?" Admiral Gaughan said.

"It should be close."

"Close. What do you mean close, Major?"

Tim answered. "Begging the admiral's pardon, but no one can predict with great accuracy where an object from space will fall. We have data from several hundred space junk reentries so the coordinates we gave, we gave with high confidence."

"I detect a 'but' coming." Gaughan leaned closer to the camera.

"But, factors such as object tumble and the physical shape can change things. We have good photos of the damage done by the Chinese attack satellite and have factored that portion in, but chaos theory—"

"Chaos theory, Captain?" The president looked suspicious.

"Yes, sir, it's the old story about a butterfly in Africa beating its wings and through a long chain of events, causing it to rain in New Jersey."

"Meaning?" the admiral said.

Scalon took over. "Meaning, Admiral, we've accounted for everything we can, but we can't account for everything. Still, I believe Angel-12 will land right where we say it will."

The phone on the table behind which the two Air Force officers stood beeped. Scalon snatched up the receiver. "Scalon." He listened. "Feed it in." Scalon turned to the tech sergeant operating the controls of the video conference. "Recon is sending us taped images. Put it on the screen, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir."

The bottom right quadrant of the screen lit up. A time code on the video revealed the image was less than five minutes old.

"What do you have?"

"One moment, Mr. President." Scalon quickly added, "If you don't mind, sir."

Scalon watched the blurry images of five men and a truck on the side of a large hill not far from a sinuous river. Something much too large to be a bird swept by. The satellite operator, perhaps alerted by the quick movement, pulled back on the zoom. Three powered parafoils came into view.

"Mr. President, our men have company."

"I GOT SMOKE," HAWKEYE said. "Looks like a jetliner of some kind trailing black smoke."

Moyer pushed off the ground and stood. "You hear that?"

Rich turned his head to the side. "I hear a distant roar. Sounds like . . . like . . . jets."

Moyer snapped his head around. Two dark objects were approaching from the northwest. He raised his glasses. "PAK FA T-50. Russian stealth."

"Not good." Rich raised his glasses, then keyed his mike. "Incoming aircraft. Take cover. Repeat, take cover." He put a hand on Moyer's shoulder. "We need to beat feet, Boss."

"I don't think they're here for us. They banked south. Isn't that where Hawkeye saw the airliner?"

"Roger that. I still think we should spread out and hit the ground."

Moyer removed the binoculars from his eyes and moved up the hill to an area of low-lying brush. He and Rich crawled beneath the cover. Moyer crawled forward to the edge of the foliage and took a visual bead on the jets. Rich inched to his side.

"Still got 'em?"

"Yeah, they're definitely chasing the airliner."

"You don't suppose the big plane and the Chinese guys are connected."

Moyer looked at Rich. "You mean that they somehow drove their toys out of the plane?"

"We've done stranger things."

Moyer had to agree. "So our Chinese friends haven't given up on our satellite."

"They did go through a lot of trouble and expense to knock it out of the sky and try to steal it. Who can blame them?"

"I can."

"Boss, Colt. Incoming target off our left, ten o'clock high."

Rich shook his head. "Man, for a backwoods area, there sure is a lot going on."

Moyer searched the area J. J. indicated. A white streak crossed the sky on a descending angle. He tried to follow the streak with his binoculars, but it was difficult to track. He did get enough of a view to know he was watching Angel-12 become a Fallen Angel.

It hit in the distance, sending a tremor through the ground. Moyer guessed the impact area to be a half-dozen klicks away. "Junior. Get on the horn and let the folks at home know we have earth-fall, then stand by. They should be able to give us an exact fix."

"Got it, Boss."

"Boss, Hawkeye. The airliner is continuing south. The T-50s have taken escort positions. The airliner continues to descend, but its rate of fall has decreased. All three aircraft are moving away from us. They're almost out of sight."

"I'm starting to like that kid, Boss."

Moyer rolled to his side and stared at his friend.

"What? I shouldn't like the new guy?"

"Shaq, I may be compromised. My brain is mush; my emotions are boiling over. You may have to take command."

Rich moved his head back and forth. "No way. You have always led this team. I know I questioned your decisions a few times, but you were always right."

"Shaq, I'm not kidding. If need be, you push me out of the way. The mission is too important. Don't let me screw things up. Don't let me slow things down."

"No matter how bad things get, you can go on instinct better than anyone can with every brain cell firing at once."

Tears rose in Moyer's eyes; something that had never happened on mission. "Shaq, I'm giving you an order."

Rich looked angry and heartbroken at the same time. "Yes, Boss."

Moyer nodded and wiped a tear from his face. In the last few minutes, he saw a disabled craft, Russian fighter jets, a Chinese Spec Ops team, and all he could think about was his daughter. Every action required additional focus. His emotions swung like a pendulum. One other thought percolated in his mind: I am no longer fit to serve.