Nexus

46 CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Becker got the call from Pryce less than an hour after the meeting ended. The President had approved the plan, with the conditions she had specified.

"Don't screw it up," Pryce told him.

Becker hung up and called the Boca Raton with the news. They were in business.

In his room, Kade turned off all net connectivity on his slate, then slowly eased the chain over his neck and slid the fob into place.

The fob drew power from the slate. It came alive in his mind, opened itself to his Nexus, connected him to the slate. A Nexus interface card. The one they'd printed for Wats, no doubt.

And on the same fob, data storage. A script. The sort of script he'd expected.

He lay back, and began to copy the Nexus files from his mind to the fob. He made a few small changes along the way, just in case.

Satisfied, he pulled it from the slate, hung it around his neck once more, let the slate connect to the net again, and lay down to sleep until Shu arrived.

• • • •

Su-Yong Shu said goodbye to the final guests at the VIP reception. It was nearly 11pm. The conference was ended. The post-conference workshops were ended. The post-workshop final reception was ended. Finally she could attend to important matters.

The black Opal rolled into sight. Feng got out, pulled open the door, lifted the umbrella against the night rain. Time to go.

"Stand by for flight operations," came the voice from the bridge.

Nichols watched nervously.

"Flight deck opening," said the bridge. "Flight elevators 1 and 2 engaging."

On the foredeck of the Boca Raton, nearly a third of the length of the hull was retracting, radar and sonar absorbent panels receding into the ship's belly, then sliding slowly and smoothly to the side to reveal the full forty-meter length of the forward combat deck, now configured entirely for flight operations.

Slowly, two fully fueled, armed, and loaded XH-83 Banshee stealth assault helicopters rose up into view. Each carried a pilot and six heavily armed and augmented Navy SEALs. The helicopters' folded-in rotors began to unfold into flight configuration. On the deck, their engine whine would be audible now, as their systems warmed up.

Fueling hoses decoupled from each chopper with a puff of out-gassed steam. Weapons checks completed, green across the board. Engines, green. Stealth, green. Electronic warfare, green. Nav, green. Flight, green.

The rotors locked into their fully expanded configuration.

"Go for rotor spin up," the bridge voice said.

They began to spin, lazily at first, then faster, then faster still. Downdraft flattened the seas to either side of the ship.

"Three seconds to clamp release. Two… One…"

The deck clamps released the landing gear of the choppers. As one, they rose up and forward, into the night sky.

"Banshees away," the bridge said. "C&C, you have the ball."

"Roger that, Bridge," Jane Kim replied. "C&C has the ball. C&C out."

In the air, the Banshees began to retract their landing gear. With the landing gear pulled in, the choppers would be nearly invisible to radar. Their chameleonware underbellies would make them blend into the dark sky to ground observers. It was midnight. The two choppers would fly low and fast, five meters off the surface, make their target around 1am, and be back with Lane and Cataranes a little after 2 o'clock.

"End flight operations," came from the bridge. "Elevators 1 and 2 to bays. Stealth hull closure in three… two… one…"

The radar and sonar absorbent hull of the great ship began to close over the combat hull once more.

Shu reclined in the plush rear seat of the Opal, slate in hand, following up on conversations and business from the conference and post-conference workshops. Sometimes she wondered why she came to these things.

They were almost to Ananda's mountain sanctuary, starting the winding trip up the mountain road. She'd been here only once before. Ananda's monks were of great interest to her. The abilities of a properly trained human mind never ceased to amaze her, even now. What they could do if they combined the best of her knowledge and Ananda's training methods…

Feng was suddenly alert. Something had caught his interest. Something had buffeted the car slightly, like a burst of wind.

He tapped a button on the console, muted the Brahms he'd had playing for her.

"What is it?" she asked.

The Confucian Fist didn't answer. Instead he killed the petrol engine, let the car coast on batteries, hit a button to lower the windows.

He's listening for something, she thought. She knew better than to interrupt him at such a moment. She felt for the contents of his thoughts, subtly, so as not to distract him.

Feng tapped another key. The windshield became a display. Infrared, she read from him.

There. On the display. Two faint red spots. Fainter than a human body. But elevated, above the ground. Receding, away and up. And in Feng's superhuman hearing, the faintest hint of the whup-whup-whup of rotors.

"Helicopters," he said aloud. "Stealthed. Heading where we are."

Shu felt a chill.

"Could they be Thai?" She knew the answer as she voiced the question.

Feng shook his head. "No. Chinese, EU, or American."

How long? She read the answer in Feng's mind. Five minutes until the choppers reached the monastery on current course and speed. Ten if they slowed over the mountain to come in silently.

She opened to her higher self. The light and power of her massive intellect coursed through her. She absorbed all knowledge of American military helicopters. Chinese Ministry of National Defense databases opened to her, showed her the known and suspected positions of all American forces, their capabilities. So… an American ship might possibly be in the Gulf of Thailand?

"Step on it," she told Feng. "Get us there as quickly as you're able."

Shu pulled out her phone, hit the button to call Ananda. She hoped she was in time.

The turbocharged gas engine roared into life as Feng took them from electric cruise into hydrocarbon sprint.

The phone pulled Ananda from his meditation just a bit after 1am. It was Shu. Was she here, then?

He answered.

"You have two or more American military helicopters headed towards you. ETA five minutes."

The words shook him. They would come here?

They would.

Ananda breathed in with his mind, yelled out the thought of alarm: Hide the Americans. Prepare for unwanted guests.

He looked at his phone. Dared he make this call? Dared he not?

He dialed. A voice answered in Thai. Crisp. Professional. Military.

"This is Professor Somdet Phra Ananda," he said, putting all the dignity and authority of his name and position into his voice. "Get me the Minister of Defence."

A hundred and ninety kilometers away, alarms began to sound at Korat Air Force Base. Ready fighters ignited their engines, raced down the runway, canted their noses up to achieve flight. In moments, two Indian-built IA-9 Rudra NG fighters were in the air, racing south-west towards Saraburi. Thirty seconds later they went supersonic. Time to Saraburi: eight minutes.