“And what happened to your journalistic neutrality?” he asked.
“Who can be neutral in something like this?” she shot back. “When there’s a chance that I can do something that will help stop this madness? No,” she said, shaking her head, “maybe at one time I was. But now, after everything I’ve seen — well, it has to stop. And if reporting the stories the way they really are helps that, then all the better.”
“An admirable sentiment,” he murmured politely, and Drake could see that he wanted to believe her. “My family lived north of Chernobyl. Any shift in the wind and they would have been seriously at risk. But what can we do for you now?”
“The main thing we’re missing right now is a hammer,” she said bluntly. “Half the people I talk to don’t believe your laser can possibly work. The other half are spread out across the spectrum. I need to crush this insane American superiority complex, show them that we’re not the only nation in the world that can build a system that works. I’d like to get another look at the laser, and this time take some pictures. Any technical data you can release—” She held up one hand to forestall comment. “I’m not asking for military secrets. But if there’s anything I can show them to prove that your laser works as advertised, maybe they’ll believe we’re headed for another Cold War arms race. Please,” she put a note of pleading in her voice, “can’t we just stop this madness?”
For some reason, Rodney King’s anguished and oft-parodied plea ran through her mind: Can’t we all just get along?
The two officers looked uncertain now, as though they believed her but were not entirely sure of what to say. Or what they could say. Finally, the public information officer spoke. “I’ll have to confer with the admiral, of course. But there’s great merit in your arguments. We, too, would like a peaceful world.” He stood, and smoothed out his tunic as he did. “Please wait here. We can provide refreshments while I talk to the admiral.”
Intell. He’s got to be — and a lot more senior than he lets on.
“Some coffee?” her escort asked. “Or perhaps a sandwich?”
“Tea would be fine,” Pamela murmured, remembering the last cup of coffee she had on board a Russian ship.
“A sandwich sounds great,” her cameraman said enthusiastically. He let his bags slump onto the couch and came forward eagerly.
A few minutes stretched into half an hour. They were fed, given freshly brewed tea, and the escort made polite conversation. She shifted the talk away from her to his family. He had a wife and two boys. His mother lived with them. Like most officers, he was worried about providing for his family, but was fiercely proud of the work he did.
Finally, the PIO returned, with the admiral following him. He stepped aside and allowed the admiral to approach Pamela.
The admiral studied her from under his bushy eyebrows. He was of a different generation than the other two officers, one who remembered the glories of the Soviet Union and the uncertainties of the Cold War. Her proposal would be tempting to him, but he would be even more deeply suspicious of her then the younger officers. “We provide you data. And you may take pictures,” he said abruptly. “Some information we cannot tell. Pictures, basic information — yes. Take it to your people, the ones who do not believe that Russia is capable of this. Show them that if they continue this madness, we will match everything they do.”
Unable to resist, Drake asked, “Admiral, you have been remarkably candid with us. How do you view the American development of this weapon?”
He glared at her. “It is an act of aggression,” he snapped. “The United States seeks to disrupt the balance that has kept the world stable. Once her missile shield is in place, what is to prevent her from attacking us first?”
“There are those who would say the U.S. will never fire the first shot,” Drake said.
The admiral snorted. “The United States has used nuclear weapons before. Japan, yes? Russia has never done this. Only the United States. And I will—”
The PIO stepped forward smoothly, catching the admiral’s attention. “The admiral has given me explicit instructions on what you may and may not see, Miss Drake. We hope that it will be sufficient to contribute to your efforts for peace. If you would come this way.”
Arrogant — so arrogant. You would never see an American officer cutting off an admiral that way. She glanced back at the older man, and saw him deflate, a balloon from which the air had been let out. Just who is this guy anyway?
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly just a little bit sorry for the admiral. He was a warrior, a military man, yet this weasely little politician had him under his thumb. He had not gone to confer with the admiral — he’d gone to the admiral as an equal.
“This way,” the PIO said. He led them down the same passageways as before — or, at least Pamela thought he did. Some of it looked familiar, but she knew all too well how easy it was to get lost in the passageways on a large ship. She glanced back at her cameraman and saw him nod slightly. He was keeping track of where they were going, too.
And does he have a plan for getting us out of here? What am I supposed to do, drop some bread crumbs along the way?
They arrived at a hatch that they’d seen before, or at least it looked like the same one. She glanced at the marking above it and was relieved to see the numbers matched what she remembered. This time, however, a radiation trefoil had been added to the door.
Seeing her glance at it, the PIO smiled grimly. “Nothing to worry about. If you like, I can get you a dosimeter.”
“How much radiation is there?” she asked.
“It’s about like being on the beach on a sunny day.” He waited patiently for her to make up her mind. Finally, she nodded.
He clicked in the numbers on the cipher lock and shoved the door open. There was no one inside the compartment. He stepped aside to let Pamela and her cameraman go in first, then followed. He turned and secured the door behind them.
It was just as she remembered it, sleek and deadly. The bright blue crystal at one end was dull. Lab Rat had explained that when the laser was operated, the crystal would glow. If it were in operation, she wouldn’t be able to touch it.
“We’ll shoot video from all angles,” she said. “That way, we can cut in whichever views we need. And then some stills, both with me and without me.” She glanced over at her cameraman. “Want to shoot an intro in front of it?”
“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “Be great if we could get the admiral in, too. You mind asking him?” asked the PIO.
The officer paled a bit. “I do not think that would be possible. And as for me, I would prefer not to be in any photographs. I really have nothing to do with it other than providing briefings for visitors such as you.”
That confirms it. A PIO who doesn’t want his picture in the paper. Either they’re a lot more shy than their American counterparts, or he’s got other reasons for not wanting his face in the limelight, and I’m betting on the latter.
But then again, Pamela, you’re not exactly what you appear to be either, are you?
She nodded sympatheticly. “Cause problems with your mates, would it?”
“They might think I was being — well — self-promoting, I think.” He gave her a chuckle that sounded remarkably genuine. “And I’m not really sure how my wife would react to it. We’re out at sea for a couple of months, then she sees a picture of me with a — well — I do hope I won’t offend, Miss Drake, but my wife has a wide jealous streak.”
Good move. Flattering me, are you? But you’re a bit too young for me, sonny.