The Seventh Angel - Страница 75

In the years to follow, no one would ever be able to prove the details of the illegal transaction taking place on a lonely stretch of shipping lanes in the Western Pacific Ocean. Despite a mountain of suspicion, and an avalanche of circumstantial evidence, no investigative body would ever manage to formally verify the link between the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China and Zhukov. No court would ever bring official charges against the Chinese government or the People’s Liberation Army.

Unconcerned by the growing controversy in Russia, the United States, and Japan, the Motor Vessel Shunfeng and the Motor Vessel Jifeng made twelve and a half knots of steady headway against a brisk easterly wind. When they made landfall in their home port of Zhuhai, the masters and crews of both ships would all become very wealthy men, as well as national heroes of the People’s Republic of China. And they would all take pride in having elevated their great nation to its rightful place as the dominant military force of the new millennium.

The West would rattle and rail, but the sluggish mechanisms of the international courts would move far too slowly to have any real effect. By the time the self-important fools had finished wrangling with themselves, the deed would be done.

* * *

They came from the northwest: six Mitsubishi F-2A fighter jets, screaming through the darkness in three flights of two, afterburners trailing streaks of translucent blue flame less than 1,000 meters above the wave tops. Although no one aboard the Shunfeng or Jifeng would ever see them, each plane had the ‘rising-sun’ roundel of the Japan Air Self-Defense Force emblazoned on its wings and fuselage.

The attack was sanctioned by no court. It was recorded in no log book, and it was not formally authorized by any agency of any recognized government.

Officially, the attack never occurred at all. Unofficially, it happened quickly and without mercy.

Twelve jewel-like flashes announced the launch of a dozen Japanese ASM-2/Type 93 Air-to-Ship missiles. The dart-shaped weapons locked onto the heat signatures from the two unarmed merchant vessels and hurled themselves toward their respective targets.

The darkness was shattered by a dozen simultaneous explosions, as the Motor Vessels Shunfeng and Jifeng received Japan’s unofficial answer to China’s unofficial bid for nuclear supremacy. The fragments of the broken R-29R nuclear warheads tumbled to the bottom of the ocean, accompanied by the wreckage of two ships and the bodies of their crews.

The fighter planes circled the area until the demands of fuel consumption forced them to turn back toward the waters of their own country.

When the sun finally straggled above the horizon, the location was marked only by a scattered field of floating debris, and the rainbow smudge of an oil slick from the ruptured fuel tanks of the Shunfeng and Jifeng.

There were no survivors.

EPILOGUE

STONE COVE ESTATES

MARINA DEL RAY, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY; 21 JUNE

4:15 PM PDT

Whoever it was, would not stop knocking.

Ann Roark grabbed the remote for her stereo and wound up the volume another few clicks. Johan Sebastian Bach fairly flew out of the speakers, the buoyant violins filling the living room of her condo with the brightness and promise that were totally lacking from her life.

The knocking grew louder.

“Go away!” Ann said. She fingered the remote again, and Bach swelled to maximum volume.

The scars on her wrists were fading now, just thin white lines where the razor blades had cut their tracks through her skin. She wondered when she’d have the courage to try again. Maybe she’d get it right this time. And maybe that would finally end the dreams. Maybe she’d stop seeing the fireball in the sky over Pearl Harbor. Stop seeing the faces of the dead strangers she hadn’t been able to save.

The knocking on the door continued unabated.

She would wait them out, whoever it was. She wasn’t going to answer the door.

But the knocking continued, pausing only for brief intervals every now and then, as the unwanted visitor changed up and began knocking with the other hand.

The Bach CD ran out, and the stereo restarted it automatically. Ann wondered if the persistent asshole at the door would still be pounding away when the disc restarted the next time.

She sighed and stood up, trudging to the door as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. And, in a way, it was.

She left the security chain on, opening the door only as far as the short length of chain would allow. She glared at the dark-haired man outside her door. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

“What?” she said. “Can you not take a freaking hint? Are you too freaking dense to see that I don’t want visitors?”

The dark haired man smiled, and suddenly Ann recognized him. It was Bowie. Captain Bowie, from the Towers. She’d never seen him in civilian clothes before. He looked different. Like a regular guy.

“I realize that you don’t want visitors,” he said. “But you know how captains are. We get spoiled. We’re accustomed to having things our own way.”

“So I remember,” Ann said.

Bowie looked through the gap of the partially-opened door, past Ann into her living room. “Brandenburg Concerto Number 3, right? One of my favorite Bach pieces, but I don’t usually listen to it quite this loud.”

Ann turned far enough to point the remote toward the stereo. She brought the volume down.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Bowie asked.

Ann made a face. “Do I have to?”

Bowie smiled again, and she saw again that he really was a decent looking guy, in a Boy Scout sort of way.

“It’s not an order, if that’s what you mean,” Bowie said. “And I don’t really need to come in. I actually came to take you out. Let’s go have a drink, okay?”

The request took Ann completely by surprise.

Bowie must have caught the expression on her face, because he waved a hand. “I’m not trying to pick you up,” he said. “I promise.”

He crossed his heart. “I’m happily engaged. But even if I weren’t attached, I wouldn’t shoot my career in the head, by hitting on a civilian contractor. This is completely innocent. Scout’s honor.”

Ann nearly snorted. The damned Eagle Scout thing again. “What about that girl in every port thing?” she asked. “No mistress on the side?”

Bowie’s smile widened into a grin. “I’ve got the sexiest mistress in the world,” he said. “She’s five hundred and twenty-nine feet long, and she’s made of steel.”

“I’ve seen her,” Ann said. “You can keep her.”

Bowie leaned against the doorframe. He was evidently going to make himself comfortable, whether Ann invited him in or not. “Come have a drink with me,” he said. “I want you to meet some people. Sort of friends of mine.”

He shrugged. “I just met them a few days ago, but I think we’re going to be friends. I hope so, anyway. They strike me as good people.”

Ann frowned. “I’m not really into meeting people,” she said. “That’s Sheldon’s department. I’m more of a hardware type of girl.”

“I understand that,” Bowie said. “But these people want to meet you. In fact, they’re pretty excited about it.”

“Why do they want to meet me?” Ann asked.

“They’re a couple,” Bowie said. “Charlie Sweigart, and Gabriella Marchand. They just got engaged. They want to meet you, so that they can thank you in person.”

Ann recoiled. “Thank me? For what?”

“For saving their lives,” Bowie said. “They were aboard the submersible Nereus. They would have died down there if it hadn’t been for you and Mouse.”

Ann tried to look past him. “Are they here?”

Bowie shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to spring them on you. I know you’re not a people person. And I know you’re having a rough time lately.”

Ann felt her cheeks go warm. “Did Sheldon tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Bowie said. “Sheldon and I chat sometimes. He tells me you’re having dreams.”

Ann didn’t like where this was going. “Everybody has dreams,” she said.

Bowie cocked his head a few degrees to one side. “Not these kinds of dreams. Sheldon says you’re having nightmares about Pearl Harbor. About the people we didn’t save.”

“Sheldon talks too much,” Ann said.

Bowie smiled again, but it was a different kind of smile. “Would it help any if I told you that I’m having nightmares too?”

His question surprised Ann. “You are?”

“Of course,” Bowie said. “Believe me, I’m no stranger to bad dreams. It goes with the territory.”

“What territory?” Ann asked.

“With saving part of the world,” Bowie said.

“Part of it? What does that mean?”

Bowie’s strange little smile disappeared. “In the comic books, Superman gets to save the entire world. But we’re just mortals, and this is not a comic book. We can only save part of the world. And even doing that much takes a hell of a lot of luck, and more sacrifice than I care to think about.”

“What about the parts you can’t save?” Ann asked. “What do you do about the people who die because you can’t do your job well enough to save them?”

Bowie slid his hands into his pockets. “I try to remind myself that every doctor, and every firefighter faces that exact same question. Nobody wins every time, Ann. We just do the best we can.”