Eagle Station

The radio crackled again. “Yang to McCampbell. This is your final warning. Your ships are now inside a special defense test zone. You are in imminent danger. Unless you obey my previous directive without further delay, the People’s Liberation Army Navy cannot guarantee the safety of your vessels. Yang, out.”

“Well… that’s interesting,” Dvorsky muttered, more to herself than to any of her officers or crew. It looked as if all those highly classified briefings she’d received before McCampbell departed her home port in Japan were about to come into play. She swung back toward the boatswain’s mate at the 1MC system. “Patch me through to our passengers on the helicopter pad. I think they’re about to earn their keep.”

Scion Special Action Unit

That Same Time

Blue-tinged overhead lights glowed softly inside the converted shipping container tied down on the destroyer’s aft section. Like the subdued lighting used in warship combat information centers, this made it easier for its occupants to read the array of computer-driven multifunction displays and other electronic hardware crammed into virtually every square foot of space.

“Your analysis matches ours, Captain,” Brad McLanahan said into his headset mike. “We’ll stand by.”

The tall, broad-shouldered young man tapped an icon on one of his large displays, temporarily muting his connection to McCampbell’s bridge. He swiveled slightly in his seat so that he could see his two companions. “Standing by is one thing,” he said with a quick, edgy grin. “But I sure wish I didn’t feel so much like a sitting duck in this crate.”

“Too bloody right,” Peter Charles “Constable” Vasey murmured from his station. Like the others, the Englishman was an experienced aviator, ex — Fleet Air Arm in his case. Working for Scion, a private military and defense intelligence company, had accustomed them all to flying high-tech aircraft and single-stage-to-orbit spaceplanes that could get into, and just as important, out of trouble at supersonic and hypersonic speeds. Compared to that, heading into possible action aboard even this sleek, thirty-knot-plus destroyer felt like they were strapped into a lumbering bus.

Perched between the two bigger men, dark-haired Nadia Rozek only shrugged. In one action after another against the Russians with Scion’s Iron Wolf Squadron, the former Polish Special Forces officer had proved herself tough-minded, focused, and fearless. “This is why they pay us so well, correct?”

Brad raised an eyebrow. “We’re getting paid?”

“Well, I am, at least,” she said, thumping him gently in the ribs. The diamond engagement ring on her left hand glittered briefly in the dim blue light. “Did you forget to sign your contract again?”

Vasey laughed. “Come now, you two. You can’t fight in here. This is a war room, remember? Save that for later, when you’re married and it’s all aboveboard and legal.”

Abruptly, the sophisticated electronic detection system mounted in their container broke in. “Warning, warning. Multiple I-band and S-band surface and air search and tracking radars detected. Bearing zero-zero-two and one-seven-five degrees. Sources evaluated as land-based Type 366 naval-grade radars, JY-9 mobile radars, and unknown-type associated with Bombay Reef Ocean-E anchored surveillance platform. Signal strength indicates positive identification and probable target lock-on.”

“Well, that ups the ante,” Brad said quietly. He swung back to his displays and unmuted his connection to McCampbell’s bridge. “Special Action Unit, here, Captain. Our Chinese friends are lighting up everything they’ve got.”

“So I hear from my CIC team,” Commander Dvorsky replied curtly. “Recommendations?”

“That we carry on as planned. I’m contacting RANGE BOSS now.”

“Very well,” the ship’s captain said. “Keep me in the loop.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brad punched another icon, this one activating a secure satellite video link to a location nearly seventy-five hundred nautical miles and twelve hours’ time difference away. A window opened immediately, showing a man with a square, firm jaw and a heavily lined face. Automatically, he straightened up in his seat. “Sir.”

“Y’all ready to proceed, Major McLanahan?” the other man asked quietly. “Because from the data we’re getting on this end, I’d say this thing is just about ready to kick off.”