Then what is it? Try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about Arkady’s bearing, the way his men looked at him, the way Arkady’s chief of staff stood slightly away from his commander. That wasn’t like most chiefs of staff that Tombstone had worked with. Your chief of staff was like a second skin, an extension of your own body, closer to you than damned near anyone, a fucking mind reader — or you got a new one.
“We should have some final word on the helicopter crew and passengers later today,” Arkady was saying as Tombstone’s attention returned to the conversation. “Frankly, I don’t hold out much hope for them. The fire destroyed most of the helicopter, and the remains are being sorted out as we speak. It may take weeks for the DNA analysis to prove who died in this tragedy.”
“Is there any possibility that anyone survived?” Tombstone asked. The possibility that Pamela was irrevocably gone seemed inconceivable.
“I don’t see how. The fire…”
“What if it didn’t catch fire immediately?”
Arkady was silent for a moment, then turned to his chief of staff. “Is it possible?”
To Tombstone’s surprise, the man seemed to go pale. “I don’t think so,” he said finally, but his voice lacked conviction.
Arkady let his gaze linger on the chief of staff for a few moments, then returned his attention to Tombstone. “If there were survivors, we would have heard from them by now.”
“How near is the crash site to the Macedonian forces?” Tombstone glanced at the chief of staff as he asked the question and was surprised to see that he was even paler than before.
“Ten kilometers, a little more,” Arkady answered. “Determining exactly where their forces are at any one time is one of the diff—”
“So it’s at least possible that there were survivors who could have been captured by the Macedonians?” Tombstone interrupted.
Silence, chillier than before. “I suppose so. But we would have heard something by now. A demand for ransom, perhaps some propaganda about the cause of the accident. These people think nothing of using tragedy for their own purposes.”
“There won’t be a ransom demand,” Tombstone said, suddenly certain that he knew exactly what was happening. “No, that won’t be the first thing we see from them at all.”
“The first thing? Admiral, I realized that you are intended to be my advisor, but you do not know these people. I do. What else could there possibly be?”
Tombstone smiled. “A story.”
The commanding officer of VF-95 was perturbed. More than that — clearly pissed off. She glared at Airman Smith, bringing the full force of nineteen years in the Navy and three full stripes on her sleeve to bear against Smith’s eighteen months in the Navy and three small slanted stripes.
“You put it on. No more of this bullshit, Smith. Get that damned patch on your uniform by tonight and you’ll get off with some extra duty. You understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Smith said.
The captain appeared relieved. “Good. Then this matter is settled.” Commander Joyce “Tomboy” Flynn-Magruder snapped the manila folder shut.
“Not exactly, ma’am,” the maintenance chief said. “We ran across this little problem earlier. I said the same thing to him.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” Tomboy said, menace plain in her voice.
“Skipper, you asked him if he understood. You didn’t ask him if he’d do it.”
Tomboy swore silently. The chief was right. She turned to look at Smith. “Well?”
Smith was shaking his head before he even started to answer. “I can’t do it, Skipper. It’s just wrong to put someone else in charge of American forces. I can’t.”
“Won’t, you mean,” she said.
“Can’t. The oath said I’d protect and defend the United States. I put this on, I’m going back on my word.”
Tomboy sat back down at her desk. “What if I told you that in my opinion, this is entirely legal?”
“No disrespect intended, ma’am. But I’d have to disagree.”
Tomboy looked at the circle of men and women formed up behind Smith. His LPO, Chief, Division Officer, Department Head, and the XO looked back. In each face, she saw the emotions that were churning her own guts up.
The easy way out would simply be to ship him back to the boat. Get him out of the way, wait for this all to blow over.
Yesterday that would have worked. But today… Tomboy sighed and reluctantly opened the folder again. “You realize what’s going to happen, then?”
“I get court-martialed, I guess.”
Tomboy checked off one box on the disposition section of the report chit. “Right.” She closed the folder and handed it to her XO. “Make sure he gets to see a lawyer immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And XO?”
“Ma’am?”
“Make sure they give him the best one they’ve got. He’s going to need it. We might all need it.”
NINE
General Arkady stood just outside the line of trees as the mishap investigation team combed through the wreckage. A support team was erecting a command tent and running field cabling for the generator. Darkness had cut short the inquiry the night before, but wouldn’t slow them down now. By that afternoon, giant floodlights would bathe the area in high wattage night.
“We need proof,” Arkady said as he watched the team clad in white jumpers approach the twisted masses of metal. “You and I, we know who is responsible. But proving it to the world is a different matter altogether.”
“No one has any doubts,” Colonel Zentos observed.
“From a lack of doubts to military action is a large leap,” Arkady said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
And when has he ever asked my opinion in that way? Zentos had spent all night setting up the investigation at Arkady’s orders, and the general’s oddly congenial and mild mood was somehow all the more ominous. He would never understand this man, never, and the assignment which had seemed so much of an honor was becoming an increasingly difficult minefield to traverse.
“We will find it, if it is there,” Zentos said finally.
“Of course it’s there,” Arkady snapped, his mood changing abruptly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It is hard to tell with aircraft mishaps, General,” Zentos said carefully.
Just then one of the technicians broke away from the crash site and trotted back to them. He sketched off a hasty salute and said, “I think we’ve found some of the equipment, General. Would you care to inspect it?”
“What is it?” Arkady asked.
“We can’t tell yet. It’s buried under some debris. But it appears to be an overnight bag of some sort, perhaps belonging to one of the reporters. They’re going to try to move—”
The area under the trees exploded in the light and noise. The shock wave from the explosion hit them like a cannon, knocking Arkady and Zentos onto the technicians. Zentos shouted, and rolled over to cover Arkady with his own body. Debris rained down on them, one hard shard of metal piercing the colonel’s left shoulder, lancing through soft tissue and muscle like a bullet.
Zentos felt Arkady trembling underneath him and felt a moment of disgust. In danger, one acted. There was time to be afraid afterward.
“Get off me,” Arkady snarled. Zentos waited a few seconds longer to make sure there were no secondaries, then rolled off of his commander. “You presumptuous ass,” Arkady continued, then stopped when he saw the blood coursing down Zentos’s shoulder. Arkady stared for a moment, then turned away indifferently. “What happened?”