“Colonel Bastian was recovered,” said Jennifer.

Liu nodded. They already knew that Merce Alou and Kick had been killed. The helo kicked up above, and the building shook as it took off.

“Ships are probably nothing,” said Liu.

“Probably,” said Jennifer.

“I’m going back to my lookout post. We’ll take turns eating at 1800”

“Sounds good to me,” said Garcia.

Just as Liu walked out, the LADS system emitted a loud beep. Jennifer looked down at the screen, where a warning flashed:

LAUNCH DETECTED.

“They’ve fired a missile at us!” she yelled, jumping up from her chair.

The large Russian aircraft looked like an angel astride the ramp, its wings giant arms that extended over the turf and dirt. Its silver skin gleamed in the low sun, and as he stared at it Sahurah felt himself drawn to the craft, as if beckoned by Allah himself. The throb in his head vanished; the cacophony of the others around him, his assistants and lieutenants with their reports and demands and updates — all faded as he looked at the plane. Truly, God had sent it. Two brothers who were mechanics had come forward from the city to volunteer their knowledge of the aircraft. They had found the fuel tanks nearly filled — the hand of the Lord, obviously. It was the only explanation.

Yayasan and the other pilot would fly the plane. The second man had experience with large jets, including the 737 sitting on the civilian side of the airport. That experience, Yayasan said, would serve him well with the large Russian plane, whose multiple engines and big body made it complicated to fly.

It seemed to Sahurah as he stared at the plane that he could fly it himself. God had sent it for him — to carry him to heaven.

“Commander, the Badger is ready,” said the pilot. “Do we have your permission to take off?”

“I am going with you,” Sahurah told him.

“To survey the city?”

“I am going with you”

“Yes, of course, Commander. Come and let us fly while we have plenty of light.”

Jennifer grabbed her laptop as she ran from the small room, following Garcia and trailed by Liu. As they reached the door, the system beeped with another warning — a second missile had been launched at the platform.

The Otomat ship-to-ship missiles fired at the platform carried a 210 kilogram warhead, just under five hundred pounds. Developed by the French and Italians, the missile traveled close to the speed of sound; that gave them roughly two minutes to get off the platform and as far away as possible.

Jennifer turned to climb up to the roof.

“No,” yelled Liu. “He’s going to take on the ships. Come on. We’ll use the boats. This way”

The sergeant pulled her down to the lower deck, and then prodded her toward the ladder. Garcia had reached it already, and with Bison had revved the motor on one of their two Zodiacs. Jennifer jumped into the other, scrambling toward the engine; Liu unlashed it and pushed it away from the dock so fiercely that he fell into the water as the boat bobbed off. By the time he got back aboard Jennifer had the motor working; she revved it and went forward so fast she nearly struck the small dock, veering off at the last second.

“Down, down!” yelled Liu at her as they flew across the waves. Jennifer started to duck but couldn’t see to steer; afraid of running into something she put her head up, steadying herself with one hand against the boat’s neoprene gunwale.

The missiles skimmed over the water on their final approach on the platform. The first soared almost directly over her head. Jennifer spun around in time to see the missile pass between the platform’s piers without hitting anything. The sky burst gray and white behind the steel gridwork; a moment later the sound cracked and the small boat seemed to lift forward with it. Just then Jennifer saw the second missile strike the upper deck, spewing black shards and circles into the air as it exploded. The sound this time pushed her down sideways, all the way to the bottom of the boat.

When Jennifer finally looked back, she saw the deck area on the northern side was blackened and battered. The superstructure leaned sharply to that side. She steered around in a circle, taking the boat toward the other Zodiac, where Bison and Garcia were scanning the horizon with a set of binoculars.

“There’s one of the ships on the horizon,” said Bison, pointing toward it. “The smaller one.”

“Our best bet is to get as far down the south coast as possible,” said Liu.

“I should have taken the LADS control unit with me,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t switch control over to Dreamland either.”

“There wasn’t time,” said Liu.

She looked back at the building. “It has to be destroyed.”

“Not worth the risk,” said Liu.

“If we don’t switch it over, Dreamland can’t take control,” said Jennifer. “The sultan’s army will stop getting information once the units are destroyed.”

“You can’t rig something up with your laptop there?” asked Bison.

“No, not without the hookup unit and the satellite antennas. I should have turned it over to Dreamland.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Liu.

“I can climb up there. It’s easy.”

“It’s not a question of difficulty,” said Liu. “It’s a question of safety.”

“We have to destroy that unit,” she told him.

“We could get some of our weapons, too,” said Bison. “All we have right now are pistols.”

“Ships are a good distance off,” said Garcia. “I think they know they hit it. Helicopter’ll keep them busy for a while.”

Liu nodded, then looked back to Jennifer.

“If the ships come close, or if the platform is too dangerous, we can leave,” she told him. “But we have to try.”

“All right. Let’s take a quick look,” said Liu, frowning as he turned the boat toward the shattered platform.

McKenna checked her instruments as the MiG-19 climbed. Not quite used to the old-style panel, she found herself staring at each of the round dial faces, making sure the information on rpms and pressures and the like registered in her brain. Four 250-pound bombs were strapped to the plane’s hardpoints, but the MiG seemed barely to know they were there, speeding through the air without a complaint.

“Brunei MiG to Brunei Army One,” McKenna said, trying to contact the ground controller in the column heading toward the capital. “How are you reading me?”

There was no answer. She tried again a few minutes later with the same result, and then twice more before getting a response.

“Brunei Army One reads you, MiG. What a glorious day to liberate our country.”

“Kick ass,” she replied.

The controller, an army major who had taken a course in working with aircraft from the U.S. air force, gave her a good brief on their present situation, then asked for intelligence on the capital.

“Give you a verbal snapshot in zero-five,” she said, double-checking her position on the paper map. “Hang on.”

As soon as Mack heard the pistol shot, he went to the side of the doorway, flattening himself against the wall. The woman who had spoken to him earlier handed off her child to another mother, then got up and went to the other side, reaching it just as the two men came in.