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The discussion continued for a few minutes more, but Skandar’s recommendations had clearly set the course, and within a half hour the meeting concluded.
    Memon, feeling defeated and frustrated, sat in his seat as the others began filing out. When he finally rose, Skandar touched his sleeve, signaling that he should stay. Cheeks flushing, Memon sat back down.
    â€œYou win no points by being too fiery in the cabinet room,” said Skandar.
    â€œThe Muslims must be behind this,” said Memon. “They are the only ones who benefit. The intelligence services simply are inept in gathering evidence.”
    â€œWe must examine everything in context.”
    A large man, with a shaved head and an emotionless smile, Skandar appeared almost godlike. But of late Memon had begun to wonder if the man generally referred to as the “Admiral” was simply old. Not quite thirty years before, he had distinguished himself as a young officer in charge of a raiding party in the 1971 war with Pakistan. Promotions quickly followed. In time, Skandar became the head of the Naval Staff, the highest uniform post in the navy.
    In 1994, Skandar retired to run for congress. Winning election easily, he had been asked to join the Prime Minister’s government as the Defense minister. The old admiral at first demurred, but soon was persuaded that he could do much to help the services.
    Memon had been among those who helped persuadehim. The admiral’s “price” for agreeing was that Memon would join him as deputy minister. He’d done so, despite the fact that he had hoped for his own minister’s portfolio. Like many other young Indians, he saw Skandar as the one man in the government with enough stature to bring India’s military into the twenty-first century.
    The admiral had done better than any one of them, Memon included, might have hoped, adding aircraft to the air force, tanks to the army, and above all ships to the navy. It thrilled Memon, who wished India to take her rightful place in the world. But of late Skandar had seemed only an old man, talking of abstractions rather than actions.
    â€œAdmiral, the context is before our eyes,” Memon told him. “We are being attacked.”
    â€œIn the next century, who will be the superpowers of Asia? Russia is a shadow of herself. We pick over her bones to build our own forces. The United States? They are preoccupied with Europe, Taiwan, and Japan, spread so thin that they cannot afford to send more than a token force to the Gulf of Aden.”
    â€œChina is our ultimate enemy. I realize that,” said Memon. “But you’re worrying about fifty years from now. I’m worrying about today.”
    â€œOur actions today will determine what happens in fifty years.” Skandar smiled. “You’re still young. Full of fire. That is admirable.”
    At thirty-eight, Memon did not consider himself particularly young. But since he was half Skandar’s age, the comment was not meant unkindly.
    â€œWhat do you think of joining the Shiva ?” added Skandar.
    Memon had been instrumental in the conversion of the ship from the Russian, Tiazholyi Avianesushchiy Kreyser, or Heavy Aircraft-Carrying Cruiser, Kiev . To Memon, the Shiva epitomized India’s new aggressiveness, and he would love to be aboard her. Its captain, Admiral Asad Kala, was an old acquaintance.
    But why was Skandar suggesting it? To get him out of New Delhi?
    â€œI would like nothing better than to join the Shiva, ” said Memon warily. “If you can spare me.”
    â€œGood, then.” Skandar rose. “You should make your plans immediately.”
    Dreamland
6 January 1998
1140
    â€œT HIS ISN ’ T A B-1, C APTAIN . Y OU ’ RE NOT GOING TO GET UP over that mountain unless you start pulling the stick back now.”
    Jan Stewart clenched her teeth together but did as she was told, jerking the control yoke toward her. The EB-52