The two aviators, as though by silent agreement, watched the submarine die before turning to consider their own situation. Finally, when there had been no air bubbles for several minutes, Bird Dog said, “Let’s call Mother and let her know.”
“Okay. I’ll do the honors.”
Bird Dog heard Gator’s voice going out over Tactical, advising the air boss — temporary commander of the carrier battle group — of what had occurred. He listened to the brief conversation, patiently orbiting in a standard marshall pattern, albeit at a lower altitude than he normally would have done had there been other aircraft in the pattern. Finally, he heard the air boss say, “Bring her on home, gentlemen. We’ve still got a few problems, but I think we’d best get you on deck.”
“Sounds good to me,” Bird Dog said wearily. “And this time, boss, we’re getting out of the cockpit right away.”
“We’ve lost communications with our submarine,” Rogov said heavily. He glared at Tombstone Magruder. “I warned you what the consequences would be if you interfered.” He raised his 9mm slowly, and held it against the side of Tombstone’s neck.
“No!” Tomboy shouted. She started to stand up.
Rogov turned to face her, training the weapon on her. “Even better. You first.”
A movement in the corner of the room caught Tombstone’s eye, momentarily distracting him from the life-and-death scenario being played out in front of him. He glanced up, saw a black form move through an escape shuttle located behind the JOTS terminal, and a hand with a dully gleaming black shape pointed at Rogov. There was a short, quiet bark, too soft to seem like gunfire.
The bullet caught Rogov in the throat, slamming him across the small compartment and into the far bulkhead. Before he fell, his head rolled back, ending up resting along his spine, held to his body by only a few thin strips of skin and sinew. From chest to chin, his throat was almost completely gone.
The gruesome, decapitated corpse slid slowly down the wall, catching for a moment on a yellow emergency lighting battle lantern before hitting the deck. Blood poured out of the shattered neck at a tremendous rate, stopping only when his heart gave up the struggle to keep it circulating through the body.
The black-clad figure climbed the rest of the way through the escape hatch, and then stood and stretched. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” Sikes said simply, looking back and forth between the two. “It was a chance, with him so close to you, but I couldn’t wait. You know that.”
Tombstone nodded. “Another few seconds and it would’ve been one of us. You did all right, Sikes.”
The SEAL nodded at Tomboy. “Good thing you spoke up. It distracted him just long enough for me to get a shot off. If you hadn’t — well, better lucky than good.”
“Tombstone turned to Tomboy. “TAO — get someone in here to clean up this mess,” he said, surprised at how steady and calm his voice sounded even to himself.
Tomboy nodded. “Aye, aye, Admiral,” she said. “But there’s something else I need to do first.” She crossed three steps over to Tombstone, carefully stepping over the mutilated body on the floor, and let her arms snake around him. Tombstone resisted for just a second, then pulled her toward him as though he’d never let her go.
CHAPTER 16
“You got them all?” Tombstone said into the hand-held radio.
“Yes, sir. Nasty bit of work. You’ve got two injured up here, one pretty seriously. The corpsmen are already here — first impression is that they’ll make it,” Sikes replied. “You’ve got the bridge of your ship back, Admiral. And four nasty characters in custody.”
“Good work. And just for the record, it’s not my ship for much longer. About ten seconds, I’d say.” Tombstone glanced across the room at Batman, who was pacing back and forth in the admiral’s cabin. His own cabin, Tombstone reminded himself, not mine. Not anymore — and never again. This one last brief command of the carrier group had been a fluke.
“You ready to relieve me?” Tombstone asked Batman. “If you’re going to wear out that strip of carpet, you might as well be the one who has to explain it to the shipyard.”
“You bet! For a moment there, I was afraid you wouldn’t give her back.”
“The thought crossed my mind. But I’ve had my tour — Jefferson is all yours.” Tombstone paused as a thought suddenly occurred to him. A cold, distant shadow flitted across his face. “Almost. There’s one last thing I have to take care of.”
“What? You’re not pissed about the JAST bird going sneakers up, are you?” Seeing the look on Tombstone’s face, Batman added hastily, “Not that I really care. Being project manager for JAST was last tour, not now.”
“No, nothing to do with your baby at all. It’s just I’ve cleaned up the mess I left in your cabin — I ought to finish the job.” Tombstone reached for the telephone, then paused. “Can you wait another five minutes? No longer — and you’ll be glad you did.”
“Wha-?”
Tombstone cut him off. “I just remembered another little mess I left on your ship. And I’m going to need the lawyers to straighten it out.”
“You’re sure?” The JAG officer looked doubtful, then shook his head. “Washington’s going to scream bloody murder over this one.”
“Let them scream,” Tombstone answered coldly. “Those people endangered the safe operation of this ship with their stupid stunt. I want criminal charges brought against all of them — and I want my name on the charge sheet. How long will it take you to get moving on it?” He glanced over at Batman. “My relief’s chomping at the bit.”
The JAG held out the manila envelope he’d been carrying in his left hand. “Admiral, after our last conversation — well, I took the liberty of — I thought you might be asking for this at some point. I think you’ll find everything in order.”
Something softened slightly in Tombstone’s eyes. “Why, Captain. By any chance have you anticipated my desires in this matter?”
The lawyer nodded. “I like to be prepared for anything, Admiral.”
“And what, may I ask, is in the other folder?” Batman broke in. “Commendations for all of them?”
The lawyer looked faintly alarmed. “if I’d thought of it, there would be. No, the only other option I’ve prepared is an airlift request — with and without armed guards.”
Tombstone nodded. “You get those armed guards ready to go. I think I’m going to need them.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tombstone watched from Vulture’s Row as four civilians wearing flight deck cranials paraded across the flight deck toward the waiting COD. Two master-at-arms carrying sidearms flanked them. Each of the civilians had his or her hands clasped behind the back in a peculiarly uniform-looking arrangement. From the 0-10 level, the handcuffs were invisible.
“Pamela’s going to be damned pissed at you for a long, long time, Stoney,” Batman remarked. “Though I do admit the handcuffs were a nice touch. Something in your personal life you want to share with your old wingman?”
Tombstone shot him a wry look. “You got it all backward. If you think Pamela’s going to stay mad at me, then you know nothing about the media and reporters. Hell, I’ve just put her on the top of every news show in the world. Can’t you see the headlines — Journalist Imprisoned on U.S. ship? And ACN is going to have an exclusive.”