Terminal Run

Krivak waved off the hot-tempered engineer. “Send the demand for the sitrep. But do not wait an hour to tell me about the reply this time.”

Pedro Meringe grinned and vanished. Krivak tried to sleep, but the room suddenly seemed stuffy and hot. He got up to join Pedro at his console. After two hours, Padro nudged Krivak.

“Snare’s reply is back, Mr. Krivak. She’s here, about two hundred nautical miles northwest of the Azores Islands.”

“Pedro,” Krivak said, grabbing a computer and clicking into a world atlas, “send the Snare an order to transit to the Azores, to Pico Island. Have her transit to this position here, due west of Pico by thirty miles. Tell her to hold there until local nightfall.”

In the chaos of the next hour Krivak, Wang, Pedro, and Amorn made their arrangements and hurried to the Serocaba airport, dashing into the jet and rolling to the runway.