She paused, welcoming the interruption, and fetched it. Her eyes darted to the pale blue air mail envelope amid the magazines and fliers, darted to Shepherd’s bold printing. She returned to the den, opening the envelope carefully to preserve it, then removed the contents, undid the tissue wrapping, and stared solemnly at the cassette. Walt’s scent was one thing, his voice another, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
The ring of the telephone jarred her.
“Stephanie, you sure about the name of your husband’s commanding officer?” Gutherie asked.
“Yes, yes, I am — Larkin. Colonel Richard Larkin. That’s what they told me when I called Heyford. Why?”
“I have a feeling something strange is going on,” he replied, telling her of his secretary’s discovery and of his suspicions that covert activity was getting out of hand. “Did your husband say or do anything unusual lately?”
“Well, come to think of it, he was always good about keeping in touch. This time was different.”
“Anything else?”
“I just got a tape from him in the mail. He always sent one before flying a mission. I haven’t listened to it yet.”
“Why don’t we do it together?” Gutherie suggested, hearing the uncertainty in her voice. “Who knows, it might shed some light on this.”
Forty-five minutes later the congressman’s black New Yorker was parked in Stephanie’s driveway and the two of them were in the den. Gutherie put the cassette in the tape player and turned it on.
“Thursday, three April. Real pretty up here, babe,” Shepherd’s voice began. The engaging charm of his gentle drawl enfolded Stephanie in its familiar warmth. She stared out the window at a stand of budding Aspen as she listened, almost chuckling at the image of an ice-water-soaked Beethoven. Walt’s reference to his favorite little gymnast coaxed a poignant smile from her. When he got to Brancato growling over poorly cooked pasta, she had almost put the horrible reality out of her mind. But his remarks about the mission wrenched her back abruptly. Her eyes had filled with tears by the time he promised they’d do something special to make up for their anniversary.
Stephanie shrugged, acknowledging that the tape hadn’t shed even a glimmer on the situation, when the selectively edited section began.
“Tuesday, fifteen April. This is going to shock you, babe; it’s going to make you happy too. Don’t believe what you’ve been seeing on TV. I didn’t go down over Libya; didn’t even fly the damn mission. I’m alive but I’m in big trouble and need your help. Come to London as soon as you can. Check into the Hilton and I’ll find a way to contact you. Trust no one, no one. Miss you and the kids like crazy. Kiss them for me, okay? I love you, babe, I love you with all my heart.”
A rush of adrenaline hit Stephanie with staggering force. Her color returned, a sense of joy spreading over her like a warm glow.
Gutherie was rocked; he stood in shocked silence, staring at the tape player.
“Walt’s alive,” Stephanie finally said in a stunned whisper. “He’s alive, alive,” she repeated, savoring the word. Her spirits soared, then came crashing down as the implications of the message hit her, hit her hard, and she turned a frightened look to Gutherie. “What do you think happened to him?”
“I have no idea,” Gutherie mumbled, the words sticking in his throat.
“You said you thought something strange was going on. You asked me if Walt said or did anything unusual. If you know something, please tell me.”
“I did, Mrs. Shepherd. Believe me, I told you everything I know.” The congressman stepped to the desk and picked up the air mail envelope. “It came in this?”
Stephanie nodded solemnly, then shut off the tape.
“It was mailed in London the day after the air strike,” Gutherie observed pointedly, examining it.
Stephanie bit a lip, holding back the emotions that had welled up, then nodded as the pieces began falling into place. “I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but I had a feeling something wasn’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Walt wouldn’t change bases without letting me know, let alone go a week without calling back. We’re a close family; I told you, he always kept in touch.” She paused, as a question occurred to her. “Why would the president say he died in the line of duty?”
Gutherie shrugged, clearly baffled. “I’ll make some calls; see what I can find out.”
Stephanie nodded numbly, struggling to cope with the wrenching swing of emotions; then, her presence of mind returning, she reconsidered. “Wait. Wait, no. I don’t want you to call anyone,” she said firmly.
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“You heard what Walt said about not trusting anyone. He said it twice; he must have a good reason.”
“Mrs. Shepherd, I think you can trust me.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, under the circumstances, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Quite true,” Gutherie mused. “Of course, it’s possible it might have just been a figure of speech.”
“No, I know my husband,” Stephanie said adamantly. “He’s a pilot, a technically precise man; and if he said no one, believe me he meant it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to London; I’m going to do exactly as Walt instructed,” Stephanie replied. Then locking her eyes onto his, she added, “And I expect you to do the same and keep this between us.”
“I can’t say I blame you, Mrs. Shepherd; but it’s obvious something’s terribly wrong. I can’t just ignore it.”
Stephanie broke into a knowing smile. “I realize there may be a hot issue here, Mister Congressman,” she said pointedly, her resolve strengthening with each passing minute. “Just give me some time to get to London and find out what’s going on.”
Gutherie winced, unable to deny that the upcoming campaign had occurred to him, and wrestled with the decision.
“A day or two. I’ll leave tomorrow,” she declared. “Please, I’m afraid for Walt; he sounded so desperate.”
Gutherie let out a long breath and nodded.
24
For three days, the interval between sonar signals had been gradually diminishing.
Following the call from Kiley, Commander Duryea had put the Cavalla on a heading for the Middle East and began hunting for the PLO gunboat.
“Lot of ocean out there,” he prompted McBride.
“Probably hug the coast all the way to Egypt,” the exec offered smartly, assuming the Zhuk would remain in Libyan waters, avoiding the 6th Fleet on station off Benghazi, several hundred miles northeast of Tripoli.
“I’m counting on it. Sixth gets nosy and spooks them, the element of surprise goes out the window and the hostages along with it.”
“Any chance she’ll port someplace to refuel?”
“Negative. She’s carrying two auxiliaries,” Duryea replied, having spotted the deck-mounted tanks while berthed in Tripoli harbor. He stepped to his keyboard and typed the word MAFIA. A graphic depicting a line of undersea SOSUS hydrophones was superimposed on the electronic chart of the area.
The MAFIA net cut across the Mediterranean from Sicily to Misratah, 50 miles east of Tripoli. Each cluster of detectors was encased in a huge tank moored to the bottom and linked to an onshore transmitter by fiber optic cables. The hydrophones picked up the sounds of the sea, its inhabitants, and all vessels that crossed or came within several hundred miles of the net. All data was relayed via FLTSATCOM to SOSUS control in Norfolk, Virginia, for computer processing and storage.