I was surprised at the crowd. There were a lot of the same faces as the night before, all evidently wanting another look at the tame Americans.
I shot my sleeves a couple of times, showing off my fake Rolex. I figured they wouldn't know the difference.
Anna was there again, too, and promptly attached herself to my side.
It was good to see her, and my reaction to her was even stronger this time.
Even when your mind knows somebody is probably a Russian spy out to pick your brain for everything you ever knew about the national defense strategy, it's still nice to see a good-looking chick sitting next to you at lunch. Sheila's tame American attache turned up as well, all big white teeth and crinkling blue eyes of him. He was maybe an inch taller than me and looked like he worked out a lot. Still, I figured I could take him if I had to.
"So, you are flying again this afternoon?" Anna asked. She pulled a dish of fresh rolls toward me, nudging me slightly. "Homemade ― the very best bread in Russia," she said proudly.
"Yeah, another flight this afternoon." I reached for one of the rolls, felt the thin, butter-glazed surface crack under my light pressure.
Man, these fellows knew how to cook!
"You like flying?" she asked. "That's a good thing, yes?"
I started to answer, but my mouth was still full. I swallowed hastily, then said, "A very good thing. There's nothing better in the world than flying, and the Tomcat's the best aircraft to do it in."
Sheila's American attache spoke up now, putting in his two cents' worth on the value of naval aviation. Like any of us really cared what he thought.
"You know, the Russians have made some big strides in developing their own version of carrier aviation," he said. He turned to smile charmingly at Sheila. "But everything they fly is a single seater. A big mistake, in my estimation." His smile left no doubt that he was talking about her as a RIO in particular.
I stifled the irritation I felt crowding the back of my throat. Man, she wasn't falling for his line, was she? How obvious could you get ― he was damned near trying to look down the front of her uniform.
But much to my surprise, my normally savvy RIO was buying it. Big time, from the fawning look she gave him. It really makes me sick, the way that some women are.
"That's so nice of you to say, Brent," she cooed. "Really, I'd have to agree with you on that."
I heard a slight, muffled giggle to my right. I looked over at Anna.
She was shaking her head slightly in disbelief.
I grinned. It was as though she could read my mind, and was agreeing with me about the sheer idiocy of Brent's run on Sheila.
"You know, Brent," I said loudly, cutting off the love fest that was starting across the table from me, "you'll probably be interested in this afternoon's engagement as well. It's a bombing run, you know? Like when you come in fast and hard on a target and try to pop your load off right on one spot."
Sheila's head shot up and she fixed me with a glare. "All you have to do is drive," she said, reminding me of our respective roles in life. "The timing is up to me. And I can handle my end of things just fine, thank you."
Brent shot a puzzled glance back between the two of us, then shrugged.
"I understand there won't be much to see, though," he said.
Sheila shook her head. "No, you won't be close enough to see ordinance on target, not unless you're in the observation plane. And I don't think you can wangle that." Brent smiled. "Well, I guess I'll just have to rely on you to tell me all about it when you get back down."
Oh brother. He was really laying it on.
"That's not true, is it?" Anna said mildly. "Skeeter says he has a lot to do with whether ordinance gets on target. Don't you?" She turned those big, doe-like eyes up at me, smiling slightly.
"That's right," I affirmed. "Back in the old days, most of the ground attack aircraft were single seaters. One man can do it all," I said, letting my voice emphasize the word man slightly.
"One man still can," a new voice chimed in. I looked up to see Illya Kyrrul standing over me, smiling broadly. Geez, what was this? Everybody in the world seemed to be having a hell of a time around me, all taking potshots at my Tomcat. Well, I didn't have to put up with this.
"We'll see what the best way to do it is this afternoon," I said, pushing myself away from the table. I turned to Anna. "You were going to show me those historic etchings out in the front passageway, weren't you?"
Her puzzled eyes met mine for a moment, then her face cleared and she nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course ― the etchings."
As we paced off toward the door, I turned to shoot a victorious smirk at Sheila. I guess that proved where she stood in the pecking order of things. I had a real life Russian spy after me, whereas all she could muster up was a stupid old American civil servant. Once we left the banquet hall, Anna could no longer contain her amusement. Her light, silvery laughter seemed to tinkle against the walls inside the cavernous entrance. "These etchings ― I have heard about that!" she said, as though delighted to find a quaint American expression in actual use. "It is a joke, yes?"
"A joke of sorts," I agreed. "But I was interested in these pictures." I pointed to the massive gilt frames lining the walkway down to the banquet hall. "Tell me about them." "All heroes of the Mother Land," she said briskly. "Afghanistan, of course. Even World War I and World War II. The Great War, we call it, the first one." She began to walk me down the hallway, telling me the little she knew about the men in the pictures. At the end of the hall, she turned back to me and laid one hand on my chest. "I must thank you ― you are helping my reputation as a spy immensely," she said mischievously. "My superiors will be convinced that I am so clever in getting secrets from you, meeting alone with you like this. But of course, there is nothing to it, yes?" She shrugged helplessly, as though acknowledging the absurdity of our positions. "We managed to fool my superiors ― and your girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend ― she's just my RIO," I said.
She paused to consider this. "Then why do you care if she acts foolish over the other American?" "Just because she's looking stupid," I said. "That guy ― hell, he's nothing. She could do a lot better than that if she wanted."
"Perhaps I could scare up a Russian spy for her." Anna twinkled, then laughed again at the horrified expression on my face. "Oh, don't be so silly. It is hard enough these days to justify one's job. I am grateful that you have made it that much easier for me. Now, these other pictures…"
I couldn't figure it out. Maybe what she said was true, that everyone was so desperate to look like they had a job in this new Soviet economy that simply being alone with an American aviator was sufficient to secure her reputation as a devious Mata Hari in this new pecking order. But she hadn't asked me anything about flying, anything about tactics or my squadron, or anything at all that might possibly relate to military intelligence. Sure, she'd mentioned the bombing run, but it was evident from her questions and her comments that she really didn't know anything about military matters. Maybe she was just what she said she was ― an agricultural spy, like industrial espionage or something.
Anyway, I was glad to be away from Sheila and Brent. We'd have some words when we got alone in the cockpit. She could be sure of that.
All too soon it was time to make our way back to the airfield and go through our very thorough preflight. Even though she'd been acting like an ass over lunch, I knew Sheila was as determined as I was not to get caught with another stupid trick like the altimeter. We preflighted everything, even the things that weren't on the checklist. Like the altimeter. Like the clock. After a while, I felt pretty stupid staring at the digital face and comparing it with the sweep of the second hand on my fake Rolex.