Thom stepped over to Patrick. “Yes, sir. Keep you in line, keep you in check, pick your brain when I need to but otherwise keep a tight hold on your leash. Hell, any man who names his son after the White House’s perennial mad-dog warmonger has got to be looking for trouble. Besides, I figure the one thing that will punish you better than hard labor in prison is a desk job. Yes, I like that idea a lot... but I’m not going to do it.”

He reached into a pocket... and pulled out silver major general’s stars.

“Take them, General,” Thom ordered. “There’s a new base in northern Nevada called Battle Mountain Air Force Base that’s almost ready to be activated. You’re going to command it.

“I’m going to fill that base with all of the aircraft and weapons you’ve been taking from Sky Masters Inc. for the past several years—every model of the Megafortress you’ve designed, built, and flown over the past fifteen years, and every new air weapon you’ve developed at Dreamland, including the new airborne laser,” Thom went on. He turned to the others in the room. “General Luger will be your deputy commander. Colonel Briggs and Sergeant Major Wohl will command a special-ops unit based at Battle Mountain—equipped with the Tin Man battle armor technology and trained to be the ground force that mops up after the Megafortresses attack.

“The Air Battle Force at Battle Mountain will be the tip of the spear. Every conflict around the world, every emergency, every potential war zone will have one of your Megafortresses deployed there first. I think it’s about time you stop freelancing and start fighting for your country again, don’t you—Major General McLanahan?”

Patrick looked into Thom’s face—then reached up and took the stars from his hand. Thom smiled and nodded. “Very good. Nice to have you back on America’s team— where you belong.” He and Patrick shook hands to seal the deal.

“Next problem,” President Thom said. “Where is Sergeant Major Wohl?”

Pavel Kazakov’s terms of his protective custody agreement allowed him two hours a week supervised release outside of his apartment, and he usually spent those hours playing golf. Akranes, in west Iceland, had two excellent courses, Thorisstadir and Leynir, and in two hours he was usually able to get in nine or more holes and lunch before being returned to his apartment.

His guards/caddies today were two hulking blond Icelanders assigned to him from the World Court. Golf carts were usually not allowed in Iceland, but a cart driver kept one nearby while the three men walked the course—the cart had the heavy firepower in it, enough weapons to hold off a helicopter assault, while the guards themselves wore bulletproof vests and carried submachine guns. Two platoons of commandos were stationed around the course, also heavily armed.