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revolutionize warfare。 Just as Admiral Henry had known it would。
After another twenty minutes； during which the Intruder flew back and forth in straight lines tangent to the five…mile circle so that Fritsche could chart the Athena's protection envelope； Jake told Rita and Toad to go on back to China Lake； where Dr。 Dodgers would tweak the puter。 Then Rita and Toad would bring the plane back here for another session。 Jake would have preferred to stage the plane from NAS Fallen； just a few miles west； but Admiral Dunedin had vetoed that on the grounds that base security there would be inadequate。
〃Helmut； you better drive over to the range office and call Dodgers on the scrambler and tell him how it went。 Then call Admiral Dunedin in Washington。〃
〃Sure。〃 Fritsche trotted over to the gray navy sedan parked near the van and left in a cloud of dust。 Harold Dodgers killed the generator； which backfired once and fell silent。 Now the Intruder's engines were plainly audible； the moan echoing from the rocky ridges and outcrops。
〃CAG；〃 said a male voice on the radio。 〃Are we sweet or what？〃
〃You're sweet； Misty。 See you this afternoon back here。〃
Jake watched the white dot shrink to nothing in the blue sky as Rita climbed away to the south。 When even the engine noise was gone and all he could hear was the wind whispering across the sand； he walked over to the shade by the side of the van and sat down。
Any way you looked at it； Athena was mind…boggling。 A religious crackpot working in a shop that looks as if it should be full of broken…down cars es up with an invention that will instantly obsolesce all conventional radar technology。 But perhaps it wasn't as wild as it appeared。 After all； without the benefit of budgets； bureaucrats； and MBA supervisors worried about short…term profitability； Thomas Edison had single…handedly electrified the world and along the way fathered the recording and motion…picture industry。 With the same advantages Samuel Dodgers had made junk of all existing Quinary radar systems and the tactics and strategy built around those systems。 And if you're keeping score； he also just blew the B…2 program out of the sky。 Why buy stealth bombers for 516 million each when you can make an existing plane invisible with a 250；000 device and some superglue？
A lot of people were going to be seriously unhappy when they heard。 Powerful people； the kind that had both their senators' unlisted Washington numbers on their Rolodex。
Jake Grafton picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through his fingers； Tyler Henry； Ludlow； Royce Caplinger…they were sitting on a bomb。 No doubt they'll let Jake Grafton go it alone for a while； stand out there by himself in front of the crowd as the duty expert。 After he had run the bloomers up the flagpole and they had precisely measured the direction and velocity of the wind； then and only then would they decide what to do。
They must have been ecstatic when they realized that Jake Grafton was just the man they needed： a genuine； decorated live hero whom they could stand with shoulder to shoulder or disavow as a crazed maverick； whichever way the cookie crumbled。 They would throw him to the sharks without a second thought if they concluded that course looked best。 Too bad； but he always was an officer who couldn't take orders； not a team player。 And after that El Hakim thing； a bad concussion； psychiatrists； he was never right in the head。 Too bad。
These powerful people whose boats would start leaking when the Athena secret came out； what would they do？ Fight。 How？ What would be their weapons？
The dirt escaping his fingers made a sculpted pile。 The wind swirled away a portion of each handful。 The slower the dirt trickled from his fingers； the more of it the wind claimed。
The most probable argument； Jake decided； was that Athena would destabilize the existing East…West military balance。 This argument had finesse。 Athena was too cheap to argue the dollars。 So argue the consequences。 Argue that Athena pushes Russia closer to a first strike。 Argue nuclear war and radioactive ashes and the Four Horsemen。 If you can't dazzle them with logic or baffle them with bullshit； then scare the bejesus out of them。
Jake stood and stirred the pile of dust with his toe。 The wind carried it away grain by grain。
It was late afternoon； on the third flight of the day； and Rita was flying straight legs north and south； each leg one mile farther west of the radar site。 Toad was bored。 He was using the navigation system to ensure she stayed precisely where Captain Grafton wanted her to be。 That was the hard part。 After he had turned on the Athena system there was nothing to do but monitor its 〃operating〃 light。 He did keep an eye on the Athena temp light； so if it came on he could turn off the system in a smart； military manner。 For this the U。S。 Navy was using its best Naval Flight Officer； a professional aerial warrior。 Peace is hell。
Off to the west； down on the desert； was a long shadow cast by the two…story black windowless building that constituted the only structure in the town known as Deegon's Well。 That building was a whorehouse。 Presumably it also contained the office of the mayor and the rest of the municipal employees。 From this distance it appeared to be just a tiny box on the desert。 He knew it was painted black and had two stories and no windows because he had once inspected it from the parking lot in front。 Just a tourist； of course。
He keyed his ICS mike to call Rita's attention to this famous landmark； but thought better of it。
Rita was checking the fuel remaining in the various tanks。 He pressed his head against the radar hood and examined the cursor position。
He heard a whump； a loud； loose whump； and instantaneously the air pressure and noise level rose dramatically。 Something struck him。 He jerked his head back from the hood and looked around wildly。
The wind howled； shrieked； screamed； even through his helmet。 Rita was back against her seat； slumped down； covered with gore； her right hand groping wildly for her face。
A bird！ They had hit a bird。
He keyed the ICS without conscious thought and said her name。 He couldn't hear the sound of his own voice。
The plane was rolling off on one wing； the nose dipping。 He used his left hand to grab the stick between Rita's knees and center it。
Slow down。 They had to slow down； had to lessen the velocity of the wind funneling through that smashed…out left quarter panel。 The bird must have e through there and crashed against Rita as she bent over the fuel management panel on the left console。
He pulled back on the stick to bring the nose up into a climb and concentrated on keeping the wings level。 Higher。 Higher。 Twenty degrees nose…up。 Airspeed dropping： 250 indicated； 240； 230…he should drop the gear and flaps； get this flying pig slowed way down…210 knots。
The gear handle was on the left side of the instrument panel； right under the hole where the plexiglas quarter panel used to be； right under that river of air that was pressurizing the cockpit。
He tried to reach it。 Just beyond his fingertips。 Harness release unlocked。 No go。 Juggling the stick with his left hand； he used his right to release the two Koch fittings on the top of his torso harness。 If the seat fired now he wouldn't have a parachute。 He reached again。 Nope。 He was going to have to unfasten the Koch fittings that held his bottom to the ejection seat With fingers that were all thumbs he released the two catches； then attacked the bayonet fittings on his oxygen mask。 Might as well get it off too。 He jerked loose the cord that went to the earphones in his helmet。
Damn…he was stalling。 He could feel the buffet and the nose pitched forward。 He let it go down and got some airspeed； then eased it back。
He was having difficulty holding the wings level。 Power at about 86 percent on both engines。 That was okay。 But the smell…Jesus God！
The overpowering odor made his eyes water。 He tried to breathe only through his mouth。
No longer restrained by the inertia reel in the ejection seat； he grasped the stick with his right hand and stretched across with his left to the gear handle and slapped it down。
Now for the flaps。 He was lying across the center console； trying to keep his head out of the wind blast as be felt for the flap lever beside the throttle quadrant。 Leave the throttles alone。 Get the flaps down to thirty degrees。 Fumbling； he pulled the lever aft。
Toad was overcorrecting with the stick as he fought to keep the wings level； first too much one way； then too much the other。 Goddamn； those peckerhead pilots do this without even thinking about it。
There！ Gear down and locked。 Flaps and slats out； stabilator shifted。 Hallelujah。
He glanced up at Rita。 She had shit and blood and gore all over her face and shoulders。 Feathers。 They were everywhere！
Her helmet…it was twisted sideways。 Using glances； he tried to wipe off the worst of the crap with his left hand as he concentrated on holding the plane straight and level： 140 knots now； 8；300 feet on the altimeter。 Conditions in the cockpit were a lot better。
Were there any mountains this high around here？ He couldn't remember； and he couldn't see over