"Harry, you know Brad. He doesn't stay in flophouses. We just need to call the better hotels."
With a grim look, O'Meara returned to the table and crouched down on his cushion. "The military and the State Department are denying the allegations, but unidentified sources in the Pentagon have admitted that an investigation is underway. The North Vietnamese called you guys Yankee air pirates, and murderers."
Russo expelled a sharp breath of air. "Brad is in some deep shit. All they have to do is look at the flight schedule for that date, including the Air Force, and interrogate the pilots and RIOs."
O'Meara looked skeptical, pointing to the picture. "I don't think so. Look closely at the fuselage. I'm sure they've enlarged the photograph, and that dark slash on the side of the fuselage, as you know, is the name of our carrier."
Harry sagged and leaned against the wall. "It's all over but the court-martial."
Russo examined Hutton's eyes. "You weren't flying the airplane. Harry, you didn't have any control over where Brad was going."
"True," Harry replied, "but I didn't report the incident — the goddamn violation."
"Listen," O'Meara interjected. "What RIO worth a pig's ass is going to rat on his pilot?"
Harry looked melancholy. "They aren't going to buy that. We're a team — we're supposed to follow orders."
Russo darted a look at O'Meara. "Any board of inquiry knows that we wouldn't sell out our pilots, even after all the dumb-shit stunts they pull."
Managing a faint smile, Harry shoved himself back and awkwardly got to his feet. "I'm going to find Brad, or at least get a message to him."
Chapter 34
The officers' club had grown quiet after the lunch crowd had returned to their duties. Harry Hutton sat at the bar, nursing a warm beer and looking remorseful. Next to him, Jon O'Meara and Mario Russo passed a dice cup back and forth in a game of Ship, Captain, and Crew.
The three men had decided to return to the base after several failed attempts to deal with the local telephone operators in Kyoto. One operator had mastered pidgin English but had not been successful in completing the information call to San Francisco.
After arriving at the club, Harry had located Brad after calling three other prominent hotels. He had been deeply disappointed when his pilot had not answered the call. Leaving a message, Harry had given the hotel operator the number of a pay phone in the officers' club.
"Come on, Harry," O'Meara invited. "We need some of your money in the game. You need to get your mind off this shit, and lighten up."
"Lighten up," Harry snorted. "They're going to hang our asses from the yardarm, and I'm supposed to lighten up? Jesus, give me a break."
Russo leaned around O'Meara. "Hey, you can't do anything about the deal at — "
Harry jumped when the pay phone rang. He leaped off his bar stool and raced for the row of telephones. Yanking up the receiver, Harry turned his back to the room. "Lieutenant Hutton."
"Harry, Brad. I just got your message. What's the situation?"
Cupping the telephone, Harry stole a glance at the bar. "I don't know, except that our airplane is splattered on the front page of the goddamn newspapers — front page. We're in so much shit, we're going to need a snorkel."
"Yeah, I saw our aircraft on television. Have you been questioned yet, or said anything to anyone?"
Waiting for a senior officer to pass, Harry cleared his throat. "O'Meara and Russo know the whole story. They saw the picture in the paper — we were in Kyoto — and I told them what happened. I haven't been back aboard ship since the story broke, so I don't have a clue as to what the hell is happening, but it ain't good."
The line remained silent a moment before Brad responded. "Listen, Harry. I'm taking the next available flight, so I've got a suggestion."
"Suggestion?" Harry countered harshly. "You had better have some goddamn solutions."
"Harry, you're yelling. Calm down."
"I'm waiting."
"Get a room at the hotel — the one that's down the block from the Club Alliance, and I'll meet you there as soon as I can." Hutton looked at his wristwatch, counting the remaining hours until he had to return to the carrier. "What are you planning to do?" "I'm going to tell the skipper the truth, and try to keep you out of the firing line. I don't want them to get to you first. Don't go aboard ship until I get back."
Harry paused, seeing Jon O'Meara walking toward him. "I appreciate that, but I don't think any amount of damage control is going to keep us from getting keelhauled. Hang on a second."
O'Meara quietly told Harry what he and Russo had just overheard at the bar. Three of the air-wing officers had been discussing the incident.
Unconsciously gripping the phone more tightly, Harry watched O'Meara head for the lavatory. "Brad, the admiral and CAG were summoned to Hawaii to see CINCPAC, and they're due back tomorrow."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
Harry placed the receiver down without responding. He walked back to his spot at the bar, glanced at Russo, then ordered a double scotch on the rocks.
Watching an airliner taxi to the adjacent gate, Leigh Ann brushed the wetness from her cheeks. Brad was talking to the gate agent, confirming her departure time.
The airliner moved steadily closer, trailing a shimmering stream of jet exhaust gases. The airplane stopped abruptly and the pilot shut down the whining engines.
Leigh Ann thought about Brad. Would he ever fly again? What would the military do to him? She choked back a sob when Brad walked to her side.
"Your flight is on time, and they're about to board. I'll call you as soon as I know something."
She nodded silently.
"Leigh Ann, I'm sorry about this."
"It's almost as if," she hesitated, looking into his eyes, "we aren't meant to be together. Maybe Dad was right in the first place."
Hearing the boarding announcement for Leigh Ann's flight to Memphis, Brad touched her face. "Don't you have any faith in me?"
"I don't know what I feel right now." She dabbed a tear. "I have such mixed emotions. First, Tyler humiliated me… and now this. Why can't anything turn out right for me?"
"I'm sorry if I embarrass you," Brad said, swallowing his irritation. "If your feelings are that shallow, it's better that I know now."
"My feelings aren't shallow." Her voice rose. "Why didn't you explain to me that you were in trouble — serious trouble?"
"I didn't know I was in trouble. I knew the potential for a court-martial existed, but I found out about it at the same moment you did."
Leigh Ann reached in her purse for a fresh tissue.
"Besides," Brad continued, "what does that have to do with our relationship… if you truly love me? People who love each other stand side by side through all adversities."
She glared at him. "I understand that, but how am I going to explain this to my father?"
"What's he going to do — court-martial you? Why don't you think about me and stop worrying about your father? Make your own decisions."
Her anger grew. "You have no right to talk to me like that."
"Leigh Ann," Brad countered, unable to quell his frustration, "I do love you, but you need to step out of the shadow of your father, and develop some independence."
"Brad, I'm a lot more independent than you or my father give me credit for. I can tell you what I intend to do. I'm going to give some serious thought to our relationship. My heart tells me that I love you, but maybe that isn't in my best interest. I just don't know right now." She turned and strode toward the jetway.
"Leigh Ann," Brad called after her, "I do love you."
Brad dropped his luggage in front of Harry's room and knocked on the door. When the door opened, he examined Harry from head to foot, then looked at his swollen eyes. Brad grimaced, lifted his bags, and walked into the small, cluttered room. "You look like dog meat."