"What did Commander Rooney have to say?" Jocko Carella asked, neatly stacking his pile of paperwork on the side of his desk.
Bailey ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper crewcut. He looked at his acting executive officer and moved his head in a wide arc. "He was uncomfortable, and didn't even want to discuss the subject. I've known him for a long time, and he hasn't changed. He'd rather avoid problems than investigate them."
Carella gave him a curious look. "I don't know him that well, but you'd think he would want to get to the bottom of the matter."
"Rooney has always been a keen political player who shies away from anything that might splatter mud on his dress whites."
The XO shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the words political player.
"He said," Bailey continued, looking tired and grim, "that he wanted to keep his distance from the rumors until the accusations are proved, or dismissed."
Carella bit his lip thoughtfully. "Has he talked to the pilots who were involved in the strike?"
Bailey shook his head slowly.
"That's incredible," Carella responded, looking at the neatly penned notes on his desk pad. He had written three pages when he and the CO had first talked about the incident at Phuc Yen.
Dan Bailey examined the framed painting on the bulkhead next to Carella. The print showcased the aircraft carrier USS Hornet at the Battle of Santa Cruz. "His caution is directly proportional to his rank. He doesn't want any blemishes to impede his career."
"Skipper," Carella ventured, remembering what the CO had said in the passageway, "what do you think happened, if anything?"
Bailey glanced at the picture of the carrier again before looking directly at his XO. "I don't know. With Austin somewhere in California and the other guys out roaming the countryside, we're just going to have to wait until CAG and the admiral return."
Carella darted a look at his first page of notes. He had been convinced from the outset of their reconstruction of the events that Brad Austin had been the culprit. His intuition presupposed that the accusations were true.
"Sir, can't we contact Austin, and go ahead and get his statement?"
Bailey heaved a sigh. "No, because I allowed him to go without leaving an address, since we yanked him back from Hawaii. I'll get my ass fried for that if this can of worms turns out to be on the level."
Chewing the end of his pen, Carella grew more bold. "Skipper, after going over the mission debriefing reports, I think we should at least try to get in touch with Austin. Everything points to him, even Hutton's reluctance to add anything of any significance to the action report."
Bailey studied Carella's piercing dark eyes, noting the intensity in his voice.
"Sir," Carella continued, placing his pen on his desk, "I believe that it is in our best interest to get straight answers from Austin and Hutton, before CAG and the admiral get back."
The CO rubbed his neck. If the accusations turned out to be true, the consequences could be serious. If Austin had indeed shot down a MiG over an off-limits airfield, Dan Bailey could toss his career off the fantail.
"I have a theory," Carella continued cautiously, "that Major Dao bagged Durham and Lunsford, and Austin went after him. Everything we've looked at points to that conclusion, at least in my mind."
Bailey weighed Carella's argument, wishing the matter would evaporate. "Jack, you may be right, but I want to get all the facts — all the information from CINCPAC — on the table before we confront anyone."
"Yes, sir," Carella replied, unsure if he should press the issue. "Skipper, I would suggest that we send Ernie Sheridan out to see if he can locate Hutton. At least, if the story is true, you'll have time to think about the problems we're going to have to face."
Bailey's shoulders sagged as he lowered his head, then raised it slowly. "Jack, I believe that sends the wrong signal. That type of approach would take on the appearance of a witch hunt. We have to trust one another, and wait to see what turns up from the investigation in Hawaii."
Chapter 33
Brad felt the warm morning sunlight on his face. He blinked several times and turned his head toward Leigh Ann. She was entwined in his arms, her tangled dark hair partially covering her peaceful face. She stirred and nestled closer to him.
Reflecting on their shared ecstasy, Brad brushed her soft hair away from her face, then reached for the telephone on the bedside table.
Leigh Ann opened her eyes and smiled. "Good morning."
He returned her smile. "It is a good morning." Placing his hand on the telephone receiver, Brad kissed her on the forehead. "I thought I would have breakfast sent to our… your room."
They both laughed while Leigh Ann slid across the bed and reached for her kimono. "I believe we can dispense with the extra room at this point, if you're brave enough to share a bathroom with me."
"I believe I can handle that."
"Oh, you are a brave marine," she replied with a wink as she slipped on her silk robe.
Brad dialed the phone and looked at his wristwatch. Seven fifteen was a good start for a day of sight-seeing.
After ordering a generous breakfast for two, Brad gathered his clothes, which lay in a small pile beside the bed. He donned his wrinkled trousers and walked into his room. Ten minutes later, he emerged in a hotel robe and stretched out on the bed beside Leigh Ann.
She curled next to him and rested her head on his chest, laughing softly to herself.
"What's so funny?"
"Well, I'm not in the habit of traipsing around the country, meeting strange men in hotel rooms, but I finally did something I wanted to do, for a change."
He smoothed her hair. "You sure did."
She kissed his chest. "Dad would have a conniption." "Your father," Brad chuckled, "would shoot me." Propping herself up on one elbow, Leigh Ann turned to face Brad. Her smile was sultry. "No question about it. You're a scoundrel, but I love you anyway."
"I'm glad to know that," he yawned. "Sorry."
She laughed, then leaned back.
"Do you mind," Brad smiled, "if we watch the 'Today' show?"
"Not at all. I'll turn it on."
When she returned to the bed, Brad pulled her back to him, feeling her warmth. "I wonder how soon room service will be here?"
"Who cares," Leigh Ann sighed as her lips met his.
They propped their pillows against the headboard and turned their attention to the morning news program. Turning to face Leigh Ann, Brad leaned closer to her. He breathed the sweet fragrance of her hair.
Leigh Ann kissed him lightly on the forehead, then paused, transfixed by the photograph being shown on the screen. "Isn't that the kind of plane you fly?"
Brad turned his head and froze. There was his Phantom, Joker 205, banked steeply over Phuc Yen. He caught only a few key comments from the broadcaster, the words State Department and investigation among them. He stared at the photograph of his F-4, hearing the words allegedly shot down a MiG while a picture of a crashed airplane flashed on the screen. Two seconds later the dapper newsman switched to a different story, and the airplane wreckage disappeared from the screen.
Brad's mind spun, trying to comprehend the significance of the news report. How much do they know? He could not believe that someone captured it on film. Will anyone else recognize that it was my airplane?
Leigh Ann gripped his wrist. "Brad, what's wrong? Do you know the pilot of that plane?"
He stared in shock at the television. "Ah… yes."
Leigh Ann gave him a confused, frightened look. She had been startled by his strained voice.
"Leigh Ann…"
"Brad," she responded, reaching for his hand, "what's the matter?"
He shook his head slowly. "Jesus H. Christ…"
Leigh Ann felt a sudden pang of fear, frightened by the brittleness in his voice. "Please, Brad… I'm scared. What happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?"