Splintered Sky. Don Pendleton

is heading due south and skimming the dune tops, hoping to lose himself in ground clutter through Mexican airspace. Obviously, our boy will have a refueling point somewhere in his operational range, and the time it takes to reach that distance, the laser might be recalibrated and ready to take down those satellites.”

      “Do you have anything else?” McCarter asked.

      “We’re monitoring VOR and local airfield radar, but again, he’s flying nap of the earth,” Price stated.

      “He’ll keep his radar footprint faint until the satellites are knocked out,” McCarter grumbled.

      “Have you prepped for insertion?” Price asked. “Maybe you could figure out where the laser came from.”

      “The camouflage paint will cure on the rifles and gear during the flight,” McCarter replied. “There’s nothing on the ground in China indicating a laser with the kind of reach to knock out a satellite. The Skysniper was a huge piece of machinery, the size of a railroad car, and it needed a lot of power. I don’t see anything indicative of such a system.”

      “Maybe not on the ground in China,” Price said. “Though I wouldn’t put it past the Chinese to have a laser system.”

      “What about the plasma engine missiles? Striker destroyed their production facility, but perhaps enough technicians survived who remembered the basic layout. Those things had enough energy to reach escape velocity.”

      “We’re scanning for possible launch sites in Southeast Asia,” Price returned. “So far, nothing matches any signatures that we’re familiar with. The missiles were fast, but that kind of velocity produces sonic shock waves. Listening posts are directed across mainland China to see if there have been such devices still in service, but we’re talking a large land mass, with plenty of valleys to hide those tests.”

      “So it’s up to us to go up to our elbows, sifting through the entrails,” McCarter stated. “All while the Chinese government might be setting up a trap for us by making it look like they don’t know about this.”

      “Watch your back, David,” Price admonished.

      “I will, Barb,” McCarter returned.

      The transport plane had given the signal. They were going to take off on a route toward Thailand. Along the way, Phoenix Force would disembark, provided they weren’t blown out of the sky by Chinese interceptors or antiaircraft installations. Then there was the Phoenix Graveyard itself, full of armed guards and potential terrorists.

      All of this taking place on a deadline that, by every indication, would run out when the next shuttle from NASA was sent up to the International Space Station.

      In one way or another, the stars were going to be bloodied. Whether that blood would drip like venom across the Earth was up to the warriors of Stony Man Farm.

       Kennedy Space Center, Cape Canaveral, Florida

      C APTAIN J ORDAN B ROOME went over the preflight checklist, looking for the slightest discrepancies that could ground the shuttle flight. The loss of Colombia due to broken heat shielding was proof of the fact that every detail had to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb. Even before the other shuttle disasters, the NASA crews performed “belt and suspender” checks to back up maintenance technicians.

      His desk phone rang, and Broome picked up.

      “Jordie? We’ve got a problem with the upcoming flight,” Dr. Alexander Thet, the ground control coordinator for the upcoming mission, spoke hurriedly into the line. “Could you pop over to my office?”

      “You can’t tell me over the phone, Xander?” Broome asked.

      “Your office doesn’t have a secure link. Mine does,” Thet answered.

      “Secure link?”

      “That bad. And the man on the other end doesn’t want to run up a phone bill,” Thet told him. “Move it.”

      Broome hung up and rushed down the hall to Thet’s office. Thet was a small, pale man with a receding hairline and washed-out blond hair, so light it could almost be white. In comparison, there was a large, burly guy in a rumpled suit.

      “Jord, Hal Brognola. Hal, Captain Jordan Broome,” Thet said by way of introduction. He gestured to the video monitor with a small camera on the top. “I suppose I don’t have to introduce the President, do I?”

      Broome shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

      “Around midnight, there was an incident at a scientific testing facility in southern Arizona,” the President said.

      “The new hydrogen cell maneuvering thrusters?” Broome asked.

      “Exactly. We lost the shipment,” the President told him. “Mr. Brognola is going to be my liaison to you on this. We believe this might be more than just a sabotage attempt against technology.”

      “Why not handle this through Dr. Griffey?” Broome inquired.

      “I appointed Stewart to manage the scientific end of things. Hal, here, is one of my most trusted associates in regard to matters of national and international security,” the President said. “He is my right hand, and he can make any decision as if it were under my authority.”

      Broome nodded and offered a hand to Brognola. “It’ll be good working with you.”

      “I hope so,” Brognola answered. “But I rarely show up at pleasant circumstances.”

      “I’ll leave the important details to Hal,” the President told Broome and Thet. “I just wanted to make certain that there is no ambiguity as to how important Mr. Brognola’s input is going to be.”

      The pair nodded, and the screen went dark.

      “We have a feeling that there might be a problem on the International Space Station,” Brognola announced, getting right to the point. Broome frowned at the implications as he looked at aerial photography of a Chinese launch facility. Broome could tell what it was because of the effort to duplicate the NASA facilities, as well as the equipment. If there was one thing that the Red Chinese could do, it was to replicate “borrowed” technology, and it was in full evidence here.

      Brognola pointed to a training camp off to the side, and a scale-model layout of what could only be the ISS. “It’s not concrete evidence, but we’ve been running this particular mock-up against every other facility, and nothing but the ISS matches it. And because it’s a tire house, we can only assume that combat training exercises are being conducted inside.”

      “Can’t be firearms based,” Thet stated. “This isn’t like an airliner where one bullet only adds another vector for depressurization. We’d be talking a major atmosphere leak, as well as a weakening of the station integrity.”

      “What’s this that you have circled?” Broome asked.

      “Those are deposits of Iridium-192,” Brognola replied. “Whoever is responsible for the training camp setup—”

      “It’s not the Chinese?” Broome interrupted.

      “We’re digging. And while there might be elements of Red Chinese security involved, we don’t believe that they are acting alone,” Brognola stated. “Which is why I want to make a substitution on your shuttle crew.”

      Broome raised an eyebrow. “At the last minute?”

      “He’s a highly trained asset,” Brognola told him. He handed over a file, heavily edited. Broome picked it up, looking over the dossier for “Henry Miller.”

      “I’m going to have to take some time on this,” Broome replied. He glanced at Brognola. “He had been previously cleared for a shuttle mission?”

      “Two in fact. Only one incident was meant as a ruse. The shuttle never launched,” Brognola explained.

      “So he’s experienced. I do want to meet him. There’s