4:00 PM, August 27th, 2005

The aircraft on the screen was huge. It looked like a bird in flight – sleek, graceful, and incredibly deadly.

"The Tupolev model 160," the disembodied voice of Director Graham said, cutting through the darkened room. "NATO reporting name Blackjack. Designed in response to the canceled XB-70 Valkyrie project; built and deployed in response to the B-1 Lancer.

"When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, nineteen of these remained in the possession of the Ukraine. Eight were later sold back to Russia, one was stripped of avionics and put on display as a museum piece, and seven were destroyed.

"However, three remain intact, and are still usable, and very, very dangerous. Each of these aircraft can fly at twice the speed of sound and carry more than half again the payload of a B-52 Stratofortress.

"The reason we are here today is because the Ukraine is contemplating the sale of these three bombers to the People's Republic of China. Needless to say, this is an idea that the administration thinks is very, very bad."

The lights came up. Sarah Walker and Bryce Larkin both blinked at the brightness. Sarah very discreetly and very quickly extracted her hand from Bryce's.

Not quickly enough that Director Graham didn't notice. He chose not to say anything, though – the two worked very effectively together, and that being the case, he wasn't going to dictate what they did in their free time.

"The two of you will be sent to the Ukraine. We have arranged for you to meet privately with President Viktor Yuschenko, to negotiate for the bombers."

Bryce spoke up. "When you say negotiate for the bombers, do you mean that we're going to try to outbid the Chinese?"

"Yes and no," Graham replied uneasily. "The President has authorized us to offer the Ukraine up to five hundred million dollars per bomber."

Bryce raised his eyebrows and whistled.

"That's far less than the Chinese are offering," Graham continued, "and the President knows that. However, he has also authorized us to offer our influence in expediting the Ukraine's entrance into NATO in exchange for the bombers."

He shook his head. "There's just something unnatural about a former Soviet republic being part of NATO. Surely the two of you can appreciate that."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she looked over at Bryce, then back at Director Graham. "Sir, no disrespect, but when the Soviet Union collapsed, Agent Larkin was ten years old, and I was nine."

Graham groaned, but he smiled. "Agent Walker, are you calling me old?"

"No, sir, why would I EVER do such a thing?"

"Hah!" Graham replied. "Alright, the two of you get out of here. Go, get packed, get ready for your mission, get the pre-mission sex out of the way, and be back here by seven."

Sarah and Bryce's jaws both dropped upon hearing and registering Graham's seemingly off-hand comment. They both just stared at him.

He looked up, and saw their looks. "What? You think I'm stupid? Christ, the two of you might think you're hiding it, but you couldn't be any more obvious if you were wearing t-shirts that said 'I'm sleeping with my partner'!"

The two of them stumbled over each other trying to talk.

"Sir, we can explain –"

"It's not really like that –"

"It just sort of happened –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Graham interrupted, holding up his hands. "I don't care! The two of you could be screwing on the reception desk in the lobby for all I care, as long as you keep doing your jobs as efficiently as you have been the last few months! Fraternizing with fellow agents might be against regulations, but I AM the law around here, and as long as it doesn't interfere with your job, I could give a fat whoop-de-doo."

He walked out of the briefing room, leaving two speechless agents behind him. Finally, Sarah looked at Bryce – and smacked him in the back of the head.

"'It's not really like that'? What the hell does that mean?"

"I was just saying that it's not all about the sex," Bryce replied.

Sarah smiled, and then laughed. "Nice recovery, Bryce. Very smooth."

"Hey," he said, "I'm just saying, if it was all about the sex, I would've made that clear – probably been bragging about it. You don't think half they guys here wouldn't give up at least a month's pay to sleep with you?"

And that was enough to earn him another smack to the back of the head, as Sarah retorted, "I'm sure they ALL would, not just half of them."

Take-off from Langley Air Force Base was VERY rough. "Sorry about that, folks," the pilot said over the PA, after they finally cleared the turbulence – about an hour into the flight. "There's a hurricane blowing away down in the Caribbean, and it's wreaking havoc all along the coast."

"We're good," Bryce called – not that he expected the pilot could hear him. He looked across the aisle at Sarah.

She was staring straight ahead, a white knuckle grip on her armrests. "Sarah?" Bryce said, a look somewhere between amusement and concern appearing on his face. "Sarah, it's alright. We didn't crash."

"I… am… aware… of that," she spat.

"Then calm down."

"I am TRYING!"

"And you're not doing a very good job at it," Bryce replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing up. He crossed the aisle to stand behind Sarah's seat. Reaching down, he began to gently massage her neck. He was shocked to find she was wound tighter than a guitar string.

Eventually, though, she began to relax, and started making appreciative noises in response to his manual ministrations. "Hmmm, you're pretty good at that, Bryce," she whispered.

"Thanks."

"I'm better, though."

He stopped. "You've been to school for it!"

"Hey," Sarah objected. "Nobody gave you permission to stop."

When the Learjet landed at Kiev-Zhuliany Airport, the two agents spilled out of the aircraft practically giggling, leaving two very embarrassed pilots behind them. It seemed that Captain Rick Mahoney, USAF, the Lear's pilot, had decided to use the lavatory right around the same time that a certain pair of CIA agents had decided it might be fun to join the Mile-High Club in the middle of the cabin.

A car from the American Embassy was there to pick them up. It took them from the airport not to the Verkhovna Rada, but to a small, non-descript house about four blocks away.

When Sarah and Bryce exited the car, they noticed a few strange things about the house – bulletproof glass in the windows, a number of antennae on the roof, and a Patriot surface-to-air missile emplacement in the back yard cleverly concealed as a tree house.

A very sour looking man stood at the front door. Wordlessly, he frisked each of the agents before they entered the house, collecting a virtual armory from them both before allowing them to enter. "You have very good taste in guns for woman," he grunted to Sarah in slow English, examining her old but still very usable Colt 1911 handgun.

"Spasiba," she replied, seeing the man's eyes light up upon hearing her speak in Russian.

"Puzhalsta," he replied, and then, switching back to English, said, "But is also not native language."

"I know," Sarah said in Russian, "but sadly, I don't speak the language of Ukrayina."

"It would do you well to learn," a mildly accented voice said in English from the other side of the screen door.

The guard opened the door, admitting both Bryce and Sarah. There, before them, stood a man with what had become one of the most famous faces in the world – the dioxin-scarred visage of Viktor Yuschenko, president of the Ukraine and survivor of a brutal assassination attempt thought to have been perpetrated by his opponent in the last election, Viktor Yanukovych.

"Sarah Walker," she said, introducing herself. "This is my assistant, Bryce Larkin."

Assistant!

"I am President Viktor Yuschenko," he replied. "It is a pleasure to meet you both.

"So," Yuschenko said, getting right to the point. "I understand that you would prefer that a few little birds created by the Tupolev design bureau not find their way to new nests in China."

"That is approximately the long and short of it, yes sir," Sarah replied.

"And what exactly does the United States offer me to ensure that these, what do you call them, 'Blackjacks' do not find themselves with a red and gold flag on them?"

"I am authorized to offer you five hundred million dollars, US, per plane," Sarah said.

Yuschenko gave her an amused look. "Five hundred million dollars per plane is a very large amount of money," he said. "But not so large as the eight hundred million Euros per plane that the People's Republic of China has offered us for them. Think about it, Ms. Walker. Consider how much more 2.4 billion Euros will do for this country than 1.5 billion dollars."

Sarah was unmoved. "Mr. President, consider how much more 1.5 billion dollars can do for your country, if along with those dollars comes the influence of the United States of America to expedite the entrance of Ukrayina into the North Atlantic Treaty Organization."

Yuschenko leaned back in his chair, his eyes widening slightly. "Well, that does make a great deal of difference, now doesn't it?"

He clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers. "If that is the case, and you are willing to give me your word, Ms. Walker, then the planes are yours to take."

"My word, Mr. President? Surely you need more than that. Assurances from our President."

Yuschenko sighed. "Ms. Walker, in the dealings I have had with the CIA – you are CIA, are you not?"

Sarah was astonished. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Ms. Walker, the American government would never send a member of the State Department for such a secretive, back channel negotiation as this. I have never encountered a military negotiator as highly skilled and intelligent as you, which means that you must be CIA."

Sarah shook her head. "Then you should know, sir, that I can neither confirm nor deny that fact."

"I understand, Ms. Walker," he replied. "Nonetheless, let me say that in all my dealings with the CIA, which were many during what we called the 'Orange Revolution', I found them to be not at all like they are portrayed in the movies – rather, they were honorable, committed men and women. As such, I feel that your word in this matter will suffice."

He leaned forward. "In addition to that, representatives of the People's Air Force are currently on their way to take possession of the three aircraft. They are expected to arrive here within four hours. As such, if the United States desires them, you must take them now. But just give the word, and I will call Vasylkiv Air Base and have them prepared for flight."

Sarah's mind started running at a thousand miles a minute. "We'll take the aircraft, Mr. President. However, I have only two pilots at my disposal. Is there any chance of delaying the Chinese in order to give me time to arrange for a third?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied. "The Parliament would politically castrate me if I were to do such a thing."

"Sir, they'll probably do so anyway if you're reneging on a deal with the People's Republic of China."

Yuschenko smiled. "But in return, I receive the support of the United States with regard to our entrance into NATO. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

Sarah nodded, and a flash of inspiration came to her. "Mr. President, if you'll excuse me for just a moment…"

"Absolutely, Ms. Walker."

Sarah stood up and stepped outside the front door. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number.

It rang twice, three times, four. "Casey."

"Major Casey, this is Sarah Walker."

"Verify that."

"One year, six months ago today, we rescued an undercover DEA agent from an Al Qaeda camp outside Karachi, Pakistan. What did you say just after the aircraft we were in departed the camp?"

"I thanked you and the DEA agent for flying Air Casey."

"Copy that," Sarah said, happy to get that out of the way. "Where are you, right now?"

"I'm in Cherkasy, in the Ukraine."

Sarah's heart jumped. "Unbelievable," she whispered.

"Agent Walker?"

"How quickly can you get to Kiev?"

Casey was quiet for a moment. "An hour, give or take," he replied. "What's going on?"

"Major Casey," Sarah responded excitedly, "how would you feel about stealing a Tu-160 Blackjack bomber out from under the nose of the People's Republic of China and flying it to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany?"

She heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the phone. "Jesus," he said. "Absolutely. I can be on my way right now. Just tell me where to go."

"Vasylkiv Air Base, outside of Kiev."

"I'll be there in an hour."

Sarah hung up, and dashed back inside the house. "Mr. President, I have a third pilot," she informed him. "He's in Cherkasy, and will be here within the hour."

Yuschenko smiled. "Excellent."

His face grew serious again. "Ms. Walker, can you and Mr. Larkin keep something in your confidence?"

"Absolutely," she replied.

"I did not wish to sell the bombers to China," he said solemnly. "I despise Communists and everything they stand for. But you must understand the situation here in Ukrayina, and how far 2.4 billion Euros would go."

She nodded. "I do understand."

Yuschenko smiled again. "Very good. I called Vasylkiv Air Base while you were on the phone; the aircraft will be prepped within the hour."

He stood, Bryce following suit, and taking Sarah's hand in his own, kissed it, and then shook Bryce's hand.

"If I am not mistaken, you are a very lucky man, Mr. Larkin," Yuschenko said, a twinkle in his eye.

"And you, Mr. President, are a very perceptive man," Bryce replied.

"The best of luck to both of you," Yuschenko laughed, bidding them farewell.

The car delivered Sarah and Bryce back to Kiev-Zhuliany Airport in record time. Sarah dashed up the airstair into the Learjet, startling the two pilots.

"How would the two of you like the opportunity to each fly a Tu-160 bomber out of the Ukraine from under the noses of the Chinese to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany?"

They both went from being startled to looking like little kids on Christmas in a heartbeat. The pilot quickly shut down everything, and he and the co-pilot were out of their seats immediately.

"What about the Lear?" the pilot asked, as they drove away.

"Embassy will take care of it," the driver replied from the front seat.

Two of the planes were almost ready to go by the time they reached Vasylkiv Air Base. The four government employees got out of the car to be greeted by a Ukrainian general.

"I am General Boris Rabatov," he introduced himself. "And yes, that is a Russian name, but Ukrayina is the country of my birth, and she is my home. I understand you are going to take these beautiful birds far, far away from the Communists?"

"That's the plan," Sarah replied, her excitement level building with each passing second. "These two USAF pilots will fly two of them. I have a third pilot on the way."

"Very good," General Rabatov replied. "I have volunteer crews from the Ukrainian Air Force on board each aircraft. They are happy to remain on the aircraft with your pilots; however, your pilots must actually fly the aircraft, so that they are clearly American property."

He pointed upwards, to where the Ukrainian flag had been sloppily painted over on the tails of the aircraft, with an American flag painted over them. "It is obviously an American aircraft, and the Chinese won't dare to bother you!" he laughed.

That was when Sarah realized that only two of the planes were ready. "What's going on with the third one?"

"We are having some trouble with the engines," Rabatov replied, a note of concern in his voice. "My men believe they can get them working within an hour, but they cannot make any guarantees."

"Well," Sarah replied, "if we can't fly it out, we'll destroy it."

Rabatov shook his head. "I cannot allow that," he said, solemnly. "The risk of toxic pollution is too great."

"Then your men better have that thing ready to fly before the Chinese get here," Sarah said sharply, switching to Russian.

Rabatov's eyes widened, and he snapped to attention. "Yes, ma'am," he replied in the same language.

Turning, he began barking orders in Ukrainian. His men began to move even faster, if that was possible.

Twenty minutes later, the two operating Blackjacks taxied to the runway. Five minutes after that, they took off, one behind the other, disappearing rapidly into the cloud cover.

With about two hours to go until the Chinese were scheduled to arrive, a black Lada sedan came rolling onto the airfield. Major John Casey jumped out.

"Agent Walker," he called. She turned, and crossed to greet him, Bryce in her wake. "Good to see you again."

"And you, Major Casey," she replied. "This is Field Agent Bryce Larkin."

"John Casey," he said, sticking out his hand.

Bryce took it. "Bryce Larkin."

"So, Walker, what's the deal with this aircraft?"

"They're having some trouble with the engines, but General Rabatov swore up and down that he'd have it ready before the Chinese arrived."

Just then, General Rabatov came running up to them, a worried look on his face. "Ms. Walker," he said hurriedly, "the aircraft is ready to fly, but there is a problem."

"What's that?"

"The Chinese delegation is early. They have just entered Ukrainian airspace."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Let's go, right now. Is there a crew onboard this aircraft as well?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Sarah didn't answer, just took off running, Bryce, Casey, and Rabatov trailing behind her. She hit the ladder into the aircraft at a dead run, and startled the Ukrainian crew inside. "Good afternoon. Ready to thwart the Chinese?" she asked them in Russian.

Smiles and nods broke out among the crew, who returned to pre-flight procedures.

Casey and Bryce followed her into the aircraft, Casey taking his place in the left hand seat of the cockpit. Bryce and Sarah buckled themselves into jumpseats in the back of the cockpit, Sarah donning a headset.

"This is General Rabatov," she heard him say over the system. "You are cleared for takeoff, and good luck."

"Thank you, General," she spoke into the microphone. "Casey! Let's go!"

She heard a whine from the back of the aircraft as the four huge Kuznetsov turbofans spooled up. The giant bomber began to move forward slowly, heading toward the runway.

As soon as Casey had the bomber lined up, he firewalled the throttles, engaging the aircraft's afterburners. It leapt forward down the runway, accelerating faster than anything either Sarah or Bryce had been in before.

Casey had just eased the plane off the runway and was beginning to climb when a harsh voice sounded in their headsets, coming over the GUARD channel in English.

"Tupolev 160 bomber over Kiev, this is the Air Force of the People's Republic of China. You are in possession of property of the People's Republic of China. You will lower your landing gear and return to Vasylkiv Air Base immediately!"

Casey didn't respond, just kept climbing. Sarah could see the faces of the Ukrainian crew beginning to go pale.

"Tupolev 160 bomber, please look out your starboard side."

Sarah looked out to the right – and saw a gunmetal grey fighter with a red star on the tail.

"As I'm sure you've realized, I am in a MiG-29 fighter. If you do not lower your landing gear and return to Vasylkiv Air Base immediately, you WILL be shot down."

Casey keyed his microphone. "PRC fighter off to my starboard side, this is the United States Air Force. Take a close look at the flag on the tail of this aircraft, and then do me a favor and nǐ qù sǐ."

Sarah had no idea what that meant, but Bryce's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, that pilot's gonna be pissed," he muttered.

"What did he just say?" Sarah asked.

"He told the pilot to go fuck himself."

Sarah's eyebrows went up, and she smiled, but her smile disappeared immediately as the Chinese fighter rapidly decelerated, dropping back behind them.

"Uh-oh," Casey said over the interphone.

A stream of tracers went shooting past the windows. "This is your last warning. Drop your landing gear and return to Vasylkiv Air –"

The warning was interrupted by a sonic boom as two more MiG-29 "Fulcrums" went streaking past. These ones had the blue and yellow flag of the Ukraine on their tail.

"Chinese fighter, this is the Air Force of Ukrayina," came the distinctive voice of General Rabatov on GUARD. "You are violating multiple international treaties by conducting military operations over the sovereign airspace of a country with which you are not engaged in hostilities. Disengage immediately and reverse course, or YOU will be shot down."

Sarah could hear the rage in the voice of the Chinese pilot as he spat, "Acknowledged," over GUARD.

"As they say in America, 'Happy trails!'" Rabatov said cheerily.

When the Tu-160 landed at Ramstein, they saw that the other two had already been pulled into satellite-fooling revetments. The CIA Learjet sat out on the tarmac, a Ukrainian An-72 transport parked next to it.

"How'd that get here?" Sarah asked, pointing to the Learjet, as she approached the CIA pilot.

"Ukrainian crew flew it up here," he replied. "They also flew the Antonov up here to take their crew back, and to retrieve their crews from the Blackjacks."

His face broke into a smile. "That was amazingly fun, Agent Walker. I need to fly you on missions more often!"

Sarah smiled. "Anyway," the pilot continued, "we got a call from Director Graham while you were in flight. He wants you and Agent Larkin back at Langley as fast as possible, and I've been ordered to bring Major Casey as well."

She nodded. "Casey!" she called, turning around. He poked his head out of the aircraft.

"What!"

"We have to go! They want us all in Washington!"

His face fell. "Aw, dammit, I wanted to poke around the aircraft some more!"

She laughed. "I'm sure you'll have plenty more chance to do that at other times!"

On the flight back, Bryce and Casey got to talking about some TV show or other called "Firefly", apparently because Bryce recognized the Chinese phrase that Casey had used as being from the show. It seemed a little more complex than Sarah cared to try to figure, especially when Bryce referred to something called the "Big Damn Movie," and Casey excitedly replied, "Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

When they landed, it was at Washington National Airport, not Langley, much to Sarah's surprise. The three were herded into a Suburban, and driven from the airport not across the river, but rather someplace Sarah hadn't been in over two years – the White House.

As the morning of the 29th dawned bleak over Washington, the three agents were escorted to the Oval Office, where the President waited for them. "You're all receiving an Intelligence Star for this one," he said, with no preamble, "which is your third, correct, Agent Walker, and your second, Major Casey?"

They both nodded.

"I wanted to present them personally, but I have to be quick, because the shit is about to hit the fan," the President said.

"Sorry, sir?" Casey asked.

The President pointed. The three agents turned to see a muted television behind them. It was a picture of chaos, winds whipping through a town at literally hurricane force speeds. The byline said New Orleans.

When they left the White House, Casey headed to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade. Sarah and Bryce headed back to Langley, their good mood muted by the knowledge of what was going on in Louisiana.

Their driver had the radio tuned to a news station. "Hurricane Katrina made landfall about twenty minutes ago," the announcer was saying. "It hit New Orleans as a Category Three storm. The damage it wreaked is unbelievable. From the helicopter shots I'm seeing, the French Quarter is under water. Interstate 10 is… it's just gone, and it's like the Ninth Ward was never even there."

"There are no words to describe it. It's just an utter disaster."