Could Bolshovich really be as dull as he seemed? Was it possible to be stupid and rise to command of a ship of this size, much less be entrusted with the testing of Russia’s missile defense system? Perhaps, but traditional Russian paranoia demanded that the general consider the possibility that he might have underestimated the captain.
The general paced the small compartment for a bit, letting the heat leach out of his body through his feet on the cold linoleum, then he washed his face and tried to clear his mind. He changed his T-shirt and was comforted by the clean, crisp feel of fresh cotton against his skin. Finally, he lay down on top of his blanket and pulled it around him, avoiding the clammy sheets. Like all good ground troops, he was capable of making use of almost any opportunity to sleep. Old habits kicked in, his mind stilled, and he drifted back off to sleep. His final thought before he fell asleep was to wonder if Bolshovich was sleeping, too.
TWO
Pamela Drake’s first thought upon meeting Cary Winston was that her boobs couldn’t possibly be real. Nature simply didn’t make them that rounded and jutting. Nor did nature, in Drake’s experience, ever couple that attribute with exceptionally translucent skin, sky blue eyes, and gold hair. Nature wouldn’t: it simply wouldn’t be fair.
“Hi.” Cary’s voice was low and warm. “What an honor to meet you, Miss Drake. I’ve been a fan of yours since grade school. And now to have a chance to work with you — well, it’s more than I could have ever dreamed.” Winston fluttered her improbably long lashes at Drake, her expression one of complete awe.
“Thank you, I’m sure,” Drake murmured, seething. Since grade school. And that would imply precisely what? That Drake herself had been knocking around different parts of the world since before Winston was potty trained?
“I hope you don’t mind if I’ve got a lot of questions,” Winston continued, apparently oblivious to the effect she was having on Drake. “Gosh, I don’t even know where to start.” Her blue eyes looked up with hero worship shining.
But it was true, wasn’t it? Winston had been drafted deep from the ranks of regional news programs in the Southwest, after only two years’ experience on network. Two years, plus four for college, plus four for high school — yes, ten years. She could easily have been in grade school, or at least middle school, when Drake had started at ACN.
“Of course,” Drake said, not allowing her emotions to show in her voice. She was acutely aware of the rest of the newsroom crew watching, and could almost feel the effort it was taking for them to choke back snorts of laughter. Winston may not have known what impact her remarks had, but none of it was lost on the rest of the cynical, world-weary reporters there.
Or maybe, Drake thought, scrutinizing Winston more closely, the young woman did know exactly what she was doing. She couldn’t be a completely brainless idiot, could she? Not and have risen that quickly through the ranks of regional news organizations. No, she had to have more on the ball than Drake was seeing right now.
Give her some time and see what develops. Maybe it’s just nerves.
Then again, if the bitch was going to declare war on anyone, she’d better watch out. Drake had not survived in this bastion of male superiority without developing a few guerrilla combat techniques of her own. And foremost among them was niceness.
“Anything I can do to help,” Drake said, her voice suddenly sweet. She put one arm around the younger woman’s shoulders and gave her a warm hug, only accidentally throwing her off balance in her high heel shoes. “Of course, it was such a long time ago that I was as — well — new as you are, wasn’t it?” Her green eyes ringed with gold bore in on Winston’s blue ones, and just for a moment, the new reporter looked shaken. “And there is so much to learn, isn’t there? The technical information, how to get around in the world — not to mention contacts. Even learning to get along with the rest of the staff can be a challenge, don’t you think?” Drake stepped up the intensity of her stare that was quickly turning into a glare. “After all, it’s all a matter of teamwork, isn’t it?”
Winston smiled uncertainly. “Of course. And with all your experience—” she started, evidently setting up for another jab, but Pamela leaned forward and accidentally stepped on her toe. Winston yelped and drew back. Pamela reached across her to pick up a catalog. She handed it to Winston and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I do hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Not at all.” Winston drew herself up to her full height, her face hard. The steel beneath the attractive exterior was now showing.
“Because the smallest injury can really set you back,” Pamela said, her gaze locked on the other woman’s eyes. “I mean, a broken toe or something — well, it’s not like you can do much traveling if you can’t run, is it? The sort of places we go, you never know when you’ll need to get out of the way.”
“I wouldn’t let a broken toe slow me down.”
Drake shook her head, amused. “Ah, no. You wouldn’t. But first off, Hank would never allow you out of the country until you had medical clearance. And second, even if he did, it would be very dangerous. You never know when the shit is going to hit the fan and you have to be able to run for your life. If it comes down to it. And it sometimes does.” She turned back to survey the other reporters, now watching them enjoy the interaction. “Isn’t that right, guys?” A chorus of nods and agreement answered her. Sure, they were enjoying the tiff, but they knew which side their bread was buttered on. Drake was a powerhouse and Winston was just the new kid on the block.
Besides, Drake was right. The cameramen would have enough to do with getting their own gear clear of trouble without worrying about a reporter with a bum leg.
“So, for starters,” Drake said briskly, her point made, “you need more comfortable shoes for around here.” She tapped the catalog she’d given Winston. “I ordered from these guys. Spring for the steel-toed field shoes — they come in handy, particularly if you’re on a ship.”
“Thank you, I will,” Winston said. For a moment, all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Then her temper flared again. “So tell me, Miss Drake — Pamela — is there any truth to the rumor that you’ve picked up where you left off with Admiral Magruder? After all, I understand he’s available now.”
There was a moment of shocked, appalled silence, and Winston immediately saw that she’d overstepped her bounds. But there was no way to recover, not with the entire newsroom staring at her. Drake herself was a model of icy composure.
“First off, as you should know, he’s no longer an admiral. He’s just a civilian now. And no, I am not quite ill-bred enough to, quote, pick up, unquote, as you put it with a man whose wife is missing in action.”
“It’s been a year,” Winston said. “Surely he’s preparing to go on with his life and accept the inevitable. After all, she hasn’t been heard from at all since she was shot down.”
Pamela did not move. “A parachute was sighted when she ejected. While the conclusion that she was killed in action may seem the only correct one to you, I can assure you that all of us — and I mean all of us — are hoping and praying that she is eventually found. To do less would be rather despicable, don’t you think?” Behind her, the rest of the newsroom murmured its agreement.
Winston considered that for moment, then a flush crept up her cheeks. “You know,” she said, a new note in her voice, “I wonder if I could ask you an enormous favor. Just this once.”