But this business about placing U.S. forces under UN command — well, that was another matter entirely. Even a young airman had been able to see that, and had done what he could to stop it.
There was a rap on the door, and Batman poked his head in. “All done?”
Tombstone nodded. “And guess what the kid wants?”
“A medal?” Batman asked sarcastically. He walked into the admiral’s cabin, and slumped down in the seat that Smith had just vacated. “I tell you, we lost too many men and women out there. I’m going to be signing too many posthumous recommendations for awards as it is.”
“I know. I wonder if we had all followed Airman Smith’s path if we could have saved any lives?”
The two admirals were silent for a moment, each considering the possibilities. Each examined his own soul, trying to decide whether or not a young airman had had the courage to do something he wanted to do and hadn’t.
Finally, Batman spoke. “For what it’s worth, he was right… and wrong.”
Tombstone nodded. “That’s exactly what I told him.”
“So what does he want?” Batman asked, returning to Tombstone’s original question. “A meritorious promotion?”
“Nope. You’ll never guess. He wants to go back to his division and forget about this. That’s all.”
Batman beyond. “It figures. That’s what the good ones always want, isn’t it?” And what about you, old friend? What do you want?” Batman’s voice was suddenly serious.
“A tougher question, that.” Tombstone leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes, letting the tension flow out of his body. “You don’t get asked that very often in this business, you know? What it is that you want, I mean.”
“I know. If someone asked me the same question, I’d be hard put to think of anything that. Well, maybe the CNO’s job. Or the chairman’s.”
Tombstone opened his eyes. “Is that what you really want, Batman? Or is that just what you’re supposed to want? Can you even tell the difference anymore? I wasn’t sure I could, not until recently.”
“I don’t know.” Batman sounded honestly puzzled. He spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I mean, it’s what you’re supposed to want, right?”
“But you know what it is that we both really want, don’t you?” Tombstone pressed. “We want to be back in the cockpit, lieutenant commanders, maybe even lieutenants. Flying missions, just worried about getting the missiles on target. All the rest of this, the political stuff — none of it mattered back then, did it?”
“You’re right about that. But you get promoted, things change. But, sure… if I had my choice, I’d be back in the cockpit. Just like you would.”
“Well, then. That’s not going to happen, we both know that. And as for CNO, that’s not in my future anymore. My uncle laid it out for me. But this new job he’s given me, sort of troubleshooter admiral — it might turn out to be interesting, you know? I mean, if I can’t fly.”
“You’re getting in more stick time than I am lately,” Batman said. “So what’s your next mission, Admiral Troubleshooter? Going to solve the energy crisis? Bring about world peace?”
Tombstone laughed. “No, the interesting thing about this is I don’t know what I’ll be doing next. That’s what’s good about it, you know? It feels like a weight off my shoulders. No staff, no aircraft. Sure, I miss the flying, but I don’t miss the tons of paperwork. And it sounds like I’ll be going to some interesting places fixing problems. Batman, I think it’s a chance to make a difference, just like I did back then.”
Batman stared at him for a long moment. “You always did make a difference, Tombstone. Whether you knew it or not, you made a difference. And in the end, that’s all any of us really want, isn’t it?”
“I told him no,” Tombstone said suddenly. “Airman Smith, I mean. No way he was going back to his division after that. I have something different in mind for him.”
Pamela scanned the crowd, looking for Xerxes. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been covered with grime and filth, wearing a field uniform he had had on for days. In the days that had passed since her evacuation to Jefferson, she’d thought of him often. About maybe going back, exploring what had never really had a chance to grow between them. But there had been interminable briefings, then the wrap-up report to make, not to mention demands for interviews from every other network in the world. To her aggravation, she’d been pulled off the story. She was now part of it, not reporting it.
But wasn’t that true about any conflict? Wasn’t the media as much a part of it as the forces fighting on the ground and in the air? Look at the role that CNN had played in Desert Storm and Desert Shield — today, every world leader monitored their transmissions continuously. The international news networks were often the first to report breaking stories and the initial stages of any conflict.
So how to maintain objectivity if she was by default part of the story? It was a question she had yet to resolve in her own mind.
Pamela spotted him then, standing apart from the rest. He looked oddly uncomfortable in a full dress uniform, shoes shined and softly gleaming, and new rank insignia on his collar. A promotion — two grades, she knew, automatically filing the information away.
He was staring at her, a warm smile of welcome curling around corners of his lips. Freshly shaven, spotlessly attired and rejuvenated by sleep, he looked like a different man.
She shoved through a throng of competing network reporters, snapping out a harsh, “no comment,” and made her way over to him. A phalanx of security guards kept the reporters at bay, but the cameras still tracked her, the hard spotlights blurring her vision.
“It all worked out, didn’t it?” she said.
Xerxes’s dark eyes burned into her. “It did. Thank you for your assistance.”
She brushed aside his gratitude. “It was Murphy who made the difference. He was the one who recognized the man as a member of Arkady’s staff. I was just along for the ride.”
Xerxes’s stare grew more intense. “Something more than that, I believe,” he murmured. He took a small step toward her. “But we have several matters left to resolve, don’t we?”
“Such as?”
“You know what I mean.”
And she did. Sure, he’d forced her to face the toughest ethical question she’d run across, had challenged her to take sides. In the end, she had, and there was no turning back from that fateful decision.
Could there be something more between them? She found herself hoping desperately that there could be. “Is there somewhere quietly could talk?” she asked. And maybe more than talk, one part of her mind suggested.
“Certainly.” His hand closed gently over her elbow. “Come with me.” The longing she heard in his voice set every nerve in her body aflame. She let him lead her toward a waiting staff car.
“Pamela!” One voice broke out over the fervor of reporters behind her. “Dammit, Pamela, listen to me.”
She turned to see Mike Johnson, the regional news desk supervisor, waving at her. There was a look of urgency on his face.
She turned to Xerxes and saw his face clouding over. “I’ll be back in just a second — I’ve got to see what he wants. He’s one of my bosses.” Not entirely true, and she could see that Xerxes realized that. Pamela Drake of ACN answered to damned few people, and Mike wasn’t one of them.
Still, as regional news desk supervisor, he knew what was going on. And if ACN HQ wanted to track her down, he’d be the person they’d send. “One second.” She summoned up her most convincing smile, pulled lightly away from his grasp, and headed toward the cordon of security guards that were holding him back.