Lab Rat held up one hand to cut the argument off. “Do you trust my judgment?”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, then. He’s going to tell me and I’ll decide if it’ll work. Then I will give you a go or no go. That’ll have to be good enough,” he finished.
Damn! They’re double-teaming me. She gritted her teeth and glared at the two of them. “Okay. But when we get back—”
“If we get back,” her cameraman corrected, “then I’ll owe you an apology.”
“Okay, okay,” Lab Rat said. “If we can break up the mutual apology club here, we need to go over this again. Drake, it’s going to take some neat sleight of hand to pull this off. You,” he continued, pointing at the cameraman, “watch, to make sure you can buy us enough time for this. Now, do it again.”
Again Drake practiced the motion of slipping back the housing, slipping her hand in, and quickly swapping the crystal for the fake in her hand. She did it again and again, every movement critiqued and analyzed by Lab Rat and her cameraman, until they were convinced she had it. By the time they were finished, the muscles in her arm were trembling with exhaustion.
“That will have to do it,” Lab Rat said finally. He didn’t sound entirely satisfied, more resigned than anything. “Okay, get a good night’s sleep. Come back here before your helo leaves and pick up the substitute. I’ll be standing there when you get back to take the real thing off your hands.” He turned away from them, dismissing them.
On the way back to her stateroom, Pamela couldn’t help thinking about her cameraman’s choice of word. If. He said if we get back. What does he know that I don’t?
The cameraman stayed behind to explain his plan to Lab Rat.
This time, as they approached the Russian ship, it looked ominous. Perhaps it had been the company of the other news helicopters waiting for their turn to land. Perhaps it had been the warm welcome, or her anger against the Americans, that had obscured the real situation. Now, flying in toward what she had come to think of as the enemy, with her Trojan horse in her pocket, Drake shivered.
The deck looked oddly silent. Perhaps the difference in circumstances, but she wasn’t so sure. The sailors looked more — well — military, the uniforms more severe, their expressions more forbidding. The aircraft and helicopters were lined up and tied down with a precision that bordered on obsessive.
In the center of the deck stood a lone plane captain, his hands held above his head. Everyone else was well away from the center, clustered around the edges.
“I don’t see our welcoming committee,” the pilot said, his voice betraying uneasiness. “You sure we’re expected?”
“Absolutely.” Drake tried to inject a note of confidence into her voice. “We’re getting an exclusive on this one.”
“Yes, well. In my line of business, an exclusive isn’t always such a good deal,” the pilot said. Drake saw him glance over at his co-pilot, and they exchanged a nod. “If it’s all the same with you, we’ll stay with our aircraft.”
“You mean our getaway car?” Drake answered.
“Yeah. Maybe.” The pilot fell silent except for some muttered self-encouragement as he approached the deck. He concentrated on his landing and brought them down as gently as he had before. As he opened his shutdown checklist, he turned back to look at her. Penetrating blue eyes stared out at her from under the decorated flight helmet. “You should know we don’t fly suicide missions unless we’re volunteers.”
“Who said anything about a suicide mission?” she snapped. Beside her, the cameraman grunted.
“We never fly a mission that’s not briefed. I mean completely briefed. Especially Intell. You get my drift?” His mouth hardened into a thin line.
So Lab Rat told him. That figures. It comes right down to it, that’s the way they do it.
Drake wilted slightly under his glare. “I got it. And thanks.”
He shook his head, dismissing her gratitude. “We all do our part, lady. So get in there and get back out. I want a nice quiet ride home, you hear? No cops and robbers.”
Drake forced a grin. “Got it. Back in thirty mikes.”
His eyebrows shot up at her use of military slang. “Don’t get carried away with it. Be safe. If things fall apart, abort the mission.”
“I know, I know. Lab Rat gave me the same lecture.” She gathered up her gear, unfastened her harness, and got up to leave. Unexpectedly, the pilot stuck out his hand. “Names Dixon. Mike Dixon.” He shook her hand solidly, and then shook hands with the cameraman. “Now go on, get out of here. The sooner you start, the sooner you’re back.”
The helicopter was shut down, but just barely. Drake knew from prior experience that he could be turning and at rotation speed in a matter of moments. She waved a casual goodbye and turned to face her Russian escort.
The public information officer was waiting for them. Although his face was professionally pleasant, there was none of the warm friendliness that she’d seen before. Were they suspicious? Maybe. But if they knew her, they knew enough to know that she would go after any story anywhere anytime. She was hoping her reputation would help her pull this off.
“Welcome back, Miss Drake,” the public information officer said. “We’re flattered at your interest in our ship.”
He’s not cool with this. Ill at ease.
“Thank you. It’s nice to be back,” she said casually. “I appreciate your hospitality. Perhaps if we can go inside, I can fill you in on what’s happened so far.”
The two officers glanced at each other, then the public information officer nodded. Not for the first time, Drake wondered who he really was.
He led the way back into the ship, and via a different route, to what was obviously a senior officers’ mess. “A bit more privacy here,” he explained when he saw her glance around. “I suspect not everyone should hear what you have to say.”
Drake nodded. “You may have noticed that my last report got a lot of attention. High-level, too. The military and the politicians are crawling all over my boss’s back. And this whole thing about the lasers — well, I don’t have to tell you it’s a political hot potato.”
“So I have heard,” the information officer responded. “I imagine that at some level, politicians are all the same.”
“You got that right. Anyway, like I said, it’s caused a real stir. From what I can tell, there’s a lot of people rethinking their position. This laser stuff — yes, it sounds fine. But not if it puts us in another Cold War arms race, you know? The people that are in power now, they remember that. It wasn’t so long ago that we were practicing air raid drills and building bomb shelters. And nowadays, when you’ve got laser-guided missiles and such, everybody feels pretty defenseless. I think, with a little pushing, that this can all go away and we can get down to the business of disarmament.”
“And what would be your interest in this matter, Miss Drake?” he asked. “Simply that it is news?”
Drake looked down, feigning embarrassment. “There’s that, of course. As you probably know, I’ve been around for a while. I’ve seen a lot of the world, and a lot of what happens when nations go to war.” She looked up, and forced a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You may laugh, but what I’ve seen makes me believe that disarmament must start now. And start with us. The world is too small anymore. There’s no room for nuclear weapons, not now that we know what they can do. The ozone layer, the potential for fallout — just look at Chernobyl. You people know better than I do what happens when nuclear power goes wrong.”