Eagle Station

Coolly, Leonov looked across the table at the Chinese president. “No matter what may have sparked the Americans’ current quest for absolute military supremacy, neither of our two great nations can allow them to succeed.”

“Indeed not.” Li Jun’s fingers drummed lightly on the table. “But if the Americans have an overwhelming advantage in conventional weaponry, what other avenues lie open to us?” His mouth tightened. “A coordinated, preemptive nuclear strike… using both our strategic arsenals—”

“Would be unthinkable,” Leonov countered bluntly. He gestured toward the display screens, where the waters of the South China Sea glimmered with reflected sunlight. “No matter how much damage we inflicted on America’s already-weakened ICBM and bomber forces, its ballistic missile submarines would survive, lurking deep beneath the earth’s oceans — ready to strike back with devastating force.” He shook his head. “Neither of us would profit from ruling over a handful of savages roaming across a radioactive wasteland.”

The other man frowned. “Then what do you suggest?”

“That we combine our technological and military resources — and our most advanced research programs — to open a new battlefield, a new arena of conflict,” Leonov said. “One where the Americans will have fewer advantages.”

“And where is this new arena of yours?” Li demanded.

“In space.”

One of the Chinese president’s eyebrows rose. “In space? Are you serious?” he asked skeptically.

Leonov nodded. “Space technology is an area where our two nations are much closer to parity with the United States. And in some areas, I believe we are ahead. The fact that the Americans were forced to capture my country’s new plasma weapon and fusion power system merely to match our own achievements proves this.”

Li looked thoughtful at that. Russia’s breakthroughs in directed-energy weapons and fusion power were undeniably impressive. And the implied promise to share those amazing advances with an ally certainly made the proposal more tempting.

“But even if that was not so, it would be a terrible mistake for us to surrender the exploitation and control of space to the Americans,” Leonov continued forcefully. “It would be a blunder which history would not forgive. After all, whoever controls outer space will inevitably dominate the world… both economically and militarily.”

Slowly, Li nodded. The Russian defense minister’s belief was shared by China’s communist theoreticians, military strategists, and scientists. Watching him, Leonov knew he’d made his point. After a few more moments of silence, Li looked up. “I concur, Marshal Leonov. Such an alliance would undoubtedly be in the best interests of the People’s Republic.”

“Thank you, Comrade President,” Leonov said sincerely.

“But for the moment, I consider it essential that the details of any new military and scientific pact between our two countries remain a closely guarded secret.”

“Absolutely,” Leonov agreed. He smiled coldly. “After all, what the Americans do not know, will hurt them.”

Six

McLanahan Industrial Airport, Battle Mountain, Nevada

A Week Later

It was midmorning when the solid black executive jet came in low over the rugged slopes of Antler Peak and down across the Copper Basin. Even this late in the spring, snow still clung to the higher elevations. Twin turbofan engines rumbling, the jet crossed south of the city of Battle Mountain and then made a sharp turn back to the northwest.

Inside the Gulfstream G600’s luxurious passenger cabin, the pilot’s crisp voice came crystal clear over the speakers. “McLanahan Tower, Scion Six-Zero-Zero, six thousand descending, fifteen miles southeast, full stop.”

“Scion Six-Zero-Zero, McLanahan Tower, winds light and variable, runway three-zero, cleared to land,” the control tower replied immediately.

Immediately, the jet slid lower. Hydraulics whined and thumped softly under as its underwing landing gear and nosewheel came down and locked in position.

Nadia Rozek glanced across the aisle at Brad McLanahan. The tall, blond-haired young man sat straight up, intently peering out through the Gulfstream’s large oval windows at the harsh Nevada landscape. Despite the aircraft’s astonishingly comfortable furnishings, he looked on edge.

She understood that. Like a great many skilled pilots, Brad was definitely not happy being flown by someone else. She doubted he’d slept much during their ten-hour flight home from Japan. His attitude wasn’t really a lack of trust in other professionals. It was just that he preferred being the master of his own fate whenever possible.

Nadia smiled privately. He was definitely not one of nature’s placid passengers, content to drift on life’s currents wherever they carried him. Then again, she admitted to herself, neither was she. They were well matched in that respect, despite their differences of nationality and upbringing.