Second, he knew about Tombstone's father and what the admiral was doing in Russia right now. Now, that was more of a surprise.
Most of the ship knew that during our last cruise Admiral Magruder had found indications that his father had survived his ejection so many decades ago over Vietnam. While they might not have the specifics, they did know one thing At some point the admiral's father had been alive and in country.
What they didn't know was the rest of the story. How Admiral Magruder had tracked his father's trail across country in the company of a dissident militant group, had survived an all-out air strike on the area that had obliterated the physical evidence of his father's existence.
Even more importantly, most of the ship ― I thought all of the ship ― was ignorant of what had happened next. Of Admiral Magruder's growing involvement with the MIA/POW groups, of the photographs he'd received in the mail from them. Admiral Magruder had come to me with the second event, and I eventually wormed the rest of the story out of him. He seemed relieved to have someone he could talk to, an intelligence officer who understood the clandestine and uncertain murky waters of the world he was entering. I tried to provide some perspective to him, cautioned that it might still yet all turn out to be a fabrication. He knew that, and on some level wanted to discuss it, but a part of him clung stubbornly to the possibility that his father might still be alive.
During our last briefing, just before he and the other members of his team had flown off the carrier, I'd come back to revisit the topic one more time. "You're going to be in country, Admiral," I said, using the term "in country" deliberately. In most circles, that refers to being on the ground in Vietnam, but using it to refer to Russia would, I hoped, carry a double meaning for Admiral Magruder.
He nodded, signifying he caught my drift. "I know that. We'll be on the lookout for anything of use."
Again, a hidden meaning. "No active collection, though," I cautioned.
"Despite all this love and brotherhood, Russia's not our closest ally." Tombstone smiled, a brief, wintry stretching of his lips that did not reach his eyes. "The essence of all warfare is seizing opportunities that present themselves," he said obliquely. "Just like intelligence. The best stuff comes not from your own efforts, but when someone else screws up."
I glanced at the other three officers sitting at the table. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" I glanced back at the admiral for permission.
"The admiral and I need to go over a couple of other measures."
Tombstone waved one hand. "I'll meet you in the handler's office," he said to Skeeter. A few moments of scuffling feet and chairs scraping, then we were alone in the small briefing room. "Admiral, with all due respect ― have you got something planned?" I asked, trying to tone down the worry and concern in my voice.
Tombstone regarded me gravely for a long moment. I was suddenly extremely conscious of the gap between our ranks, his three stars against my silver oak leaves. I knew he was letting the silence drag on deliberately, to put me in my place. Nevertheless, I persisted. "Admiral, again, with all due respect, sir ― I have the utmost regard for you, you should know that by now. But I'm deeply concerned that you have some… personal agenda in this visit. Sir, I know of no way to put this politely.
But as intelligence officer for this ship, I feel I must ask ― are you going to continue the search for your father during this mission?"
There was no immediate answer from Tombstone, just a slight change in his posture. It was barely perceptible, more an air of increased caution and wariness than anything else. He kept his eyes glued on me, his face revealing nothing. Finally, he spoke. "I understand your position, Commander Busby," he said, his voice cold and formal. "Be advised I'm well aware of my duties and responsibilities as a flag officer during this historic visit to Russia."
I nodded and waited for him to continue. But Tombstone had evidently said all he was going to say and had made it very clear that he did not wish for this conversation to continue.
"Hypothetically speaking," I tried again, "if you were to happen across any intelligence gathering opportunities while you were there, it might be helpful if I were standing by to assist you. Just hypothetically speaking, you understand. I wonder if you would be adverse to allowing me to suggest a series of simple code words that would, still hypothetically, enable me to be prepared to assist you. That is, should the occasion arise."
Tombstone appeared to consider this, and then inclined his head just a fraction of an inch, granting permission for me to continue.
"Just a few words West, if you find any evidence of your father's presence in Russia." I abandoned the hypothetical scenario I'd tried to play out, since none of it would do me any good if it came to a court-martial. It was clear that the admiral did not wish to place me in a compromising situation and was trying to shield me from whatever he had planned. Nonetheless, I had no doubts that Tombstone had a plan. He always did.
"If I hear the word west mentioned in casual context in your narrative, I will know that you have found something. Westward will indicate physical evidence. To the west will indicate HUMINT-human intelligence. Somebody who remembers something, an old-timer telling stories. I don't have to tell you how unreliable HUMINT can be." "Go on," Tombstone said almost disinterestedly.
"If for some reason you are in physical danger, or feel that you may be compromised in any way, mention something about your backache. You can phrase it in any way you wish, whether it has to do with the lumbar supports in the Tomcat or a workout you had, just something about your back. I'll know then that we may have to be prepared for some sort of extraction."
"I hardly think that will be necessary," Tombstone said, a thread of impatience in his voice now. "And this is all hypothetical, is it not?"
He shot me a hard, penetrating look. "And just what are you going to tell Admiral Wayne about all this?"
It was my turn to fall silent and consider my position. There was a strong bond between me and Tombstone, one that went back several cruises.
I had the utmost respect for him, both as an admiral and an aviator, and I'd seen him pull this battle group's ass out of the fire too many times not to trust him implicitly. Yet my current assignment was as Admiral Wayne's intelligence officer, not Admiral Magruder's. Admiral Wayne, Tombstone's oldest friend in the Navy, had first claim on my loyalties.
"I think you know what the answer has to be, Admiral," I said finally.
"If it affects the battle group in any way, I will have to tell Admiral Wayne. Other than that, I see no need to keep him briefed. What you tell him is up to you."
Tombstone nodded. "Your concern is appreciated, Lab Rat," he said, his voice losing the earlier formality. "I don't have to tell you ― hell, you're the one who knows most of the story. Maybe more of it, from what I hear about you intelligence people. You probably know exactly where my old man was and are holding out on me, aren't you?"
"I wish I did, Admiral," I said quietly. "I would tell you if I did ― and if I've got anything in this office that you need, you know you've got it." We worked out a few more details on the codes we'd use.
Tombstone would be sending back daily situation reports, using the radiomen and the secure communications gear in the COD, receiving updates from the carrier the same way. Finally, we had something we figured would cover most possibilities.