Strike Zone by Dale Brown Page B

propulsion, and communications—which until the discovery of the clone had appeared to be Dreamland monopolies.
    â€œI’ve dealt with the Chinese,” said Zen. “They’re pretty damn competent. I wouldn’t underestimate them.”
    â€œI’m not underestimating them. I just don’t think they did this. Consider their aircraft technology. Their most advanced aircraft is the Shenyang F-8IIM. It’s basically a very large MiG-21. If they were able to construct lightweight carbon fiber wings, for example, they’d be building something closer to the F-22.”
    â€œSo who? The Russians?”
    â€œThey’re much more capable than anyone gives them credit for,” said Stoner. “I wouldn’t rule out the Indians either. You saw their sub-launched cruise missile. That was a pretty serious weapon.”
    â€œThe technology here is more advanced,” said Zen.
    â€œIn some ways, certainly.” Stoner folded his arms. “What about the Japanese?”
    â€œThe Japanese?”
    â€œForget the technology a minute,” said Stoner.“Look at the way the craft was used. It wasn’t taking part in the battle. It was watching what was going on. It was a spy plane. It stayed far away from the action.”
    â€œThat doesn’t rule China out,” said Zen.
    â€œSure it does. If the Chinese had this weapon, wouldn’t they have been using it to scout the Indian forces?”
    â€œMaybe they did and we didn’t see it. The Flighthawks are very difficult to pick up on radar,” said Zen.
    â€œYou think this thing flew over the Navy task force without being detected?”
    Zen shrugged. He didn’t, but he didn’t feel like admitting it to Stoner.
    â€œMy guess is it’s a third-party player,” said Stoner. “Japan, Russia—someone interested, but not directly involved.”
    â€œMy money’s still on China,” said Zen. “I don’t trust them.”
    â€œAnd they don’t trust us,” said Stoner. “But that’s good.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œMakes them predictable.”
    F OR AN EGGHEAD nerd, Rubeo set a good clip, and Stoner had trouble catching up with him as he cleared through the underground maze back toward his laboratories.
    â€œDoc, can I talk to you?”
    â€œYou seem to be making an effort to do so,” said Rubeo, not pausing.
    â€œWho really could develop this?”
    Rubeo stopped at a locked door and put in his card. The door clicked and buzzed, but didn’t open.
    â€œYour ID,” said Rubeo. “In the slot.”
    Stoner complied. The door opened. Rubeo stepped through and resumed his pace.
    â€œWe can. The Japanese maybe. The Chinese. Not the Russians.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    The scientist stopped outside one of the lab doors. Despite his high clearance, Stoner was not allowed into the room, which contained the terminals used for work on the Flighthawk control computers, as well as a myriad of other projects. Rubeo frowned at him, then touched his earring. He seemed to be trying to figure out exactly what to tell him. Stoner wasn’t sure whether he was trying to translate complicated scientific data into layman’s terms—or if he just didn’t trust him.
    â€œPlenty of countries have unmanned vehicles, don’t they?” prompted Stoner.
    â€œForget the mechanical aspects,” said Rubeo. He glanced down the hallway, making sure they were alone. “It’s the computers that are important. Yes, anyone can build a UMV—we could go to Radio Shack and buy a radio-controlled model that’s about ninety percent as advanced as Predator.”
    â€œNinety percent?”
    â€œWell, eighty-five.” Rubeo smirked. “Building the aircraft is not the difficult part. The problem is to transfer data quickly enough to control the plane in aggressive flight. This craft seems to have done that. And if