“Sir, I have some news.” Lab Rat groped for words for a moment then extracted a photograph and passed it to Tombstone. It had been digitally enhanced, and one corner held a blowup of a small section of the overall photo. Tombstone took it, smiling slightly, and then stared. The color drained from his face. For a moment, Lab Rat thought he would faint.
“When?” Tombstone asked, his voice hard and quiet. “When and where?”
“Yesterday morning,” Lab Rat said gently. “And yes, that is the amphibious transport twenty miles off our beam.”
Tombstone stared at the photo, his mouth working silently as he tried to force the words out through his throat. Finally, he simply looked up at Lab Rat with that cold, impassive face that had earned him his nickname.
“Yes, sir,” Lab Rat said, answering the question he knew Tombstone wanted to ask. “We’re certain. It’s her.”
Tombstone dropped his gaze down to the photo and held the picture with trembling fingers. “Tomboy,” he said, his voice unbelievably steady. “You’re alive.”
Just then, the door opened. Pamela Drake, escorted by Chief Abbyssian, walked in. She held out a sheaf of papers with sketches on them, then a roll of film. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”
EIGHTEEN
Drake looked at the hastily constructed mock-up. Where the Russian laser had been all sleek lines and gleaming metal, this training model was composed of cardboard and tinfoil. It was a caricature of the deadly system she had seen.
“Over here,” Lab Rat said, tapping on one end, “is the emitter. The crystal on the other end collects the light, focuses it into a coherent beam, and shoots it out. Everything else is just alignment and targeting. It’s actually pretty simple.”
“It’s actually pretty ugly,” Pamela observed.
Don’t let my chief hear you say that. He’d be heartbroken.” Lab Rat shot her one of his rare grins, and she was surprised to see how it transformed his face.
Commander Busby had been one of the most underestimated officers on board Jefferson. Physically, he was unimpressive, and his slight build encouraged people to dismiss him. But as she had learned in the past, there was nothing small about the intellect housed in that unimpressive body.
Perhaps to compensate for his physical shortcomings, Commander Busby had always adopted a stern, cool manner with her. Even after she had tumbled to the fact that he was deserving of a good deal of respect, she had never managed to penetrate his reserve. Long after the others had forgiven her for her conduct, Lab Rat remembered.
She studied him with renewed respect. He holds a grudge, does he? But what about? I haven’t offended him in particular, have I? No, no more than anyone else. Maybe it’s because we’re both in the same business — gathering information and getting it to the people who need it. But in my case, the people who need it are just average citizens. I wonder if you resent that, that your very best work will never be seen by anyone other than high-ranking officials and military personnel?
“As you can see,” Lab Rat continued, apparently oblivious to her scrutiny — but not, she suspected, as oblivious as he would like her to think—“getting the crystal out will be fairly easy. Once you have access and a little time, it should be a piece of cake.” He shot her a sharp look, as though confirming that she understood these two qualifications.
“Access shouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “Based on what they showed me last time, I was right up next to it. It’s the opportunity I’m worried about. I’m not sure about putting my cameraman in this position.”
“We could substitute one of our people,” Lab Rat offered.
She shook her head. “No, we’ve been over that again and again. Even if I can get one of your stiffs to relax enough to look like a civilian, the haircut would give him away immediately. They’ve seen my cameraman — they know what he looks like. And there’s no way any of you could ever pass for him.”
Her cameraman spoke up then, an annoyed tone in his voice. “What am I, chopped liver? I already told you I would do it, didn’t I?”
Lab Rat turned his cool, analytical gaze on the cameraman. He studied him for a moment, his face expressionless. “Yes, my apologies. You did say you would do it, and I have no reason to doubt your capabilities. God knows you’ve probably been shot at more times than I have.”
The cameraman seemed slightly taken back. “A few times,” he muttered, obviously a bit embarrassed. “It’s a challenge, you know.”
“I know.” Lab Rat studied him for a moment longer, then turned back to Drake. “He’ll be fine.”
And just what does he see in my cameraman? What is it that I haven’t noticed? If I had to, I’d say he’s a good guy. We’ve been in some rough situations, and he’s never backed down, but I wouldn’t have thought he was the type to volunteer for something like this. Not as much trouble as I have getting him up in the morning.
The cameraman was shifting uncomfortably now. He evidently sensed the question in Drake’s stare. He muttered a few words, then stopped.
“What was that?” she asked.
He sighed, now aggravated. “I know what you think of me. Especially after that stunt Winston pulled. I shouldn’t have let her do it. I should have come to get you. But it was just like — I don’t know, you’re always ordering me around and acting like I don’t exist sometimes.”
Suddenly, with blinding clarity, Drake understood. She had treated him like a piece of equipment, like furniture to be moved around to suit her taste. All those times when he had captured pictures at some personal risk to himself, when he came back with the story against all odds — she hadn’t really thought of him as part of the team, had she? He was just like — well, invisible.
He could have spoken up, one part of her mind argued. Told me off sometime.
No, he couldn’t. Nobody does that to Pamela Drake. Not and gets away with it. What would you have done if he had objected? You would have shit-canned him and got another cameraman, wouldn’t you?
Maybe. Or maybe not. I like to think I know a professional when I see one.
Then start treating him like one.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot. But for now it would have to do. She would find a way to make it up to him when they got back.
He was staring at the tile, scuffing his toe, looking for all the world like a ten-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Doesn’t matter. I just want everybody to know I can do my part.” Finally, he looked a bit better. “I’m an American, too, you know.”
“Have you thought about how to manage it?” Lab Rat asked, neatly cutting off the therapy session unfolding in front him.
The cameraman nodded. “I know exactly how I’m going to do it.”
“How?” Drake asked.
He shook his head, and grinned. “Can’t tell you. If you know it’s coming, you won’t look surprised and that will spoil everything.”
“But surely we should go over this,” Lab Rat said, tension creeping into his voice. “Two minds are better than one, you know.”
“I know. And I’ll tell you. But she,” he said, indicating Drake, “has to stay out of it. That’s the rule. If you tell her, I don’t go through with it.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” Drake said hotly, her earlier regret for her conduct swept away in her impatience. “I’m not going unless I know what you’re going to do.”