Tombstone’s frustrated sigh carried clearly over the radio circuits. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but that can’t stop us from trying. You wouldn’t believe the news media I have breathing down my neck out here.”
Batman thought he detected something besides true professional annoyance in his old squadron mate’s voice. “One of those news media people wouldn’t happen to be the lovely Miss Pamela Drake, now, would it?” he asked shrewdly.
If swearing on a Navy radio circuit weren’t prohibited, he could have sworn he heard Tombstone mutter a curse. But then again, the private circuit rigged up between the two admirals was hardly a normal channel.
“Of course it is! It just wouldn’t seem right, with things going to hell in a hand-basket, if she weren’t around, now, would it?”
“And how is that working out?” Batman pressed.
Silence descended on the circuit. Finally, Batman heard Tombstone sigh. “I’d be lying if I told you it was easy,” Tombstone said finally.
“Does Tomboy know she’s out there?”
“No. And I’ll thank you not to tell her. I’ll get around to it in my own time, in my own way. The separation hasn’t been easy on either of us.”
“At least she gets to fly every day,” Batman said, a note of longing in his voice. “I’m tempted to put myself on the schedule for one of those reconnaissance flights.”
“That was one of the hardest parts of that job, Batman,” Tombstone’s voice said soberly, “realizing that it wasn’t my turn anymore — that I could do more good for the battle group by staying where I was supposed to be, in TFCC and in command, than I could trying to outdo some youngster with faster reflexes and better eyesight.”
Batman chuckled. “Am I going to be following you around for the rest of my career, Stoney?” he asked, “learning every lesson two years after you’ve learned it?”
“Up to you, shipmate. You’re going to make mistakes. We all do. I recommend you avoid mine, and make your own.”
Batman felt the ship shudder as another Tomcat on the cat spooled up to full military power. “You hear that, Stoney?” he asked.
“The sound of freedom.”
“Yep, and for all that I get tired of following in your footsteps, I’d sure as hell rather be out here than stuck ashore like you are right now.”
“Don’t rub it in, asshole. You’ll get your turn ashore. In the meantime, why don’t you see if you can’t rustle up some evidence of what happened to that Greenpeace boat? Out there, you can always have a convenient communications failure. Back here, I can’t seem to get away from these people. Give me something I can use.” Tombstone’s voice took on an ominous, pleading quality.
“Roger that. I’ll see what we can come up with.”
Batman replaced the receiver thoughtfully and stared at it for a moment. In the twenty years that he had known Tombstone, he had never known the hotshot Tomcat pilot to sound so beleaguered. Even in the midst of the Spratlys conflict, or engaged in a dogfight over the Norwegian coast, Tombstone had had the ability to maintain an absolutely unflappable demeanor that had earned him his nickname. If shore duty had the ability to make his friend sound like a pussy-whipped lieutenant, then Batman wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.
Batman walked out of his cabin, through the Flag Mess, and toward the far entrance to the mess. His chief of staff’s combination stateroom and office was located immediately inside the door to the mess. Batman rapped lightly once on the doorjamb. The chief of staff glanced up from a two-foot stack of paperwork, then immediately stood. “Yes, Admiral?”
“Let’s get everybody assembled in the briefing room at fifteen hundred, COS,” Batman said. “We need to do some serious thinking about this Greenpeace boat.”
COS regarded him soberly. “Admiral, you know there’s no chance that those men are still alive. Even if they made it into the rafts, the cold would have killed them by now.” COS shook his head. “A damned shame, but I don’t know what we can do about it at this point.”
“That’s not what worries me, COS. Sure, we need to make every effort we can to find any survivors. People survive under the damnedest conditions, and if those men and women have the guts to hold out in a life raft, I’ll do my damnedest to find them. But what worries me even more is why they sank in the first place.”
COS shrugged. “Sounds like a massive engineering casualty to me.”
Batman looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe. Or they could have even struck a submerged iceberg. All of those are possible explanations. But we don’t get paid the big bucks to think of the easy solutions. I want to make sure we’re all thinking on the same wavelength.”
“You think they were attacked? By who, a coalition of angry fishermen who want to kill whales?”
Batman shook his head. “I don’t know, COS. And that’s what worries me. Until we have some evidence of what happened to them, I’m going to assume they wandered into harm’s way. And I want everybody on this ship thinking the same way.”
Tombstone heard a light rap at his door. He looked up and saw Pamela Drake framed by the doorway.
“Do you have a moment for me, Admiral?” she asked politely.
“Only if you’re not going to rake me over the coals,” Tombstone answered. “After yesterday, I’m not up to any more surprises.”
She walked across the room and settled into the chair in front of his desk with that too-familiar combination of easy grace and sensuality. She crossed her legs, not bothering to yank her skirt down when it rode up over her thighs. “Off the record, Stoney — can I still call you that?”
He nodded. “There’s a lot of history between us, Pamela. I wouldn’t change a bit of it.”
“Not even the way it ended?”
He shook his head. “Neither of us was willing to compromise. I won’t quit flying; you won’t quit hop-scotching around the world in search of the hottest story. It was inevitable. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Still, it’s good to see you again.”
“And you as well. Now,” he continued briskly, “what’s on your mind? Still off the record.”
She looked troubled. “This Greenpeace boat. It’s a tragedy, of course. There are several million of my colleagues out interviewing family members as we speak.” She grimaced, as though disgusted with the inevitable state of how-does-it-feel-to-lose-your-husband questions that were sure to be posed to the surviving families. “And as bad as it is for the men and women who were on that boat, I’m not sure why you’re mobilizing the entire ALASKCOM and a U.S. carrier battle group to look for survivors. As your operations officer said, there’s little chance that the men are alive.”
“Men and women,” Tombstone corrected. “Two years ago, you would have chided me for making that mistake.”
“Okay, men and women. But still-“
“Why are we mobilizing a full-scale SAR exercise when we’re fairly certain that no one survived?” He let his eyes rest on hers, and studied the sea-green eyes flecked with gold. There had been a time when just looking at her brought a thrill of anticipation to him, a tightening and hardening he’d never been able to control.
Now, seeing her here, he was surprised to find he still had the same reaction. Muted, perhaps, the edges smoothed away by his fascination with Tomboy, but the echoes of their long relationship still sang in his body. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to pull her toward him, run his hand over the smooth curves and sleek skin, feel her body warm to his touch and respond to him. He shook his head and tried to push the image of Pamela naked on the bed beside him out of his head. “A short lesson on governmental politics is in order,” he said, aware that his voice had softened and become more intimate.