“Oh.”
Arkady continued, not meeting her eyes. “If I take this JSF job, it’ll mean another couple of years of us seeing each other for a week every six months. If I pass on the JSH, I figure we can at least both get something on the same side of the continent.”
“No, love,” Amanda said quietly. “No. You can’t miss an opportunity like this.”
“Sure I can,” he replied simply. He slouched lower on the cockpit bench, studying her face, his own impassive. “If that’s how it has to be, yeah, I can do it.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s either that or we both try for a different deal of the deck. I’ve been thinking…”
A shrill electronic warble issued from the Seeadler’s cabin, startling them both.
“Damn, damn, damn! Arkady, take the helm!”
“Got it,” he replied, snapping back to Navy mode. Deftly he ducked under the boom and took over the tiller. Going forward and hunkering low, Amanda reached inside the cabin hatchway and disconnected the cellular phone from the jack of the solar power charger. This was her personal work phone, the one that could not be disregarded.
“Garrett here.”
“Commander Garrett,” a distant and decisive voice whispered. “This is Commander Koletter, the OOD at NAVSPECFORCE Atlantic. A situation has developed that requires your presence at LANTFLEETCOM immediately. Admiral Maclntyre’s orders.”
“Admiral Macintyre.” All thoughts of a personal nature drained away in an instant. That carefully deliberate phrase. “A situation has developed,” and Eddie Mac Maclntyre’s personal brand made this a fire-alarm call. “I’m aboard my boat at the moment, Commander, just off the mouth of Albemarle Sound. I’ll put in to Port Powell immediately and try and rent a car.”
“That won’t be necessary, Commander. Can you give us your position?”
“Affirmative.” Amanda reached into the cabin again and procured the Seeadler’s Admiral GPU. It was the work of a minute to establish and read off the fix.
“Acknowledged, Commander Garrett. Maintain those coordinates. A Coast Guard helicopter is being launched to pick you up. They will be over your location shortly. Please be ready to signal them in.”
“We’ll be standing by. Garrett out.” She snapped the cellular phone shut, not even realizing that she had slipped into naval radio discipline.
“What’s the word, Skipper?” Arkady inquired crisply.
“Something pretty hot,” she replied, her own thoughts jumping ahead. “They’re sending out a helo for me. Bring her into the wind and let’s get the canvas off of her. They’ll be doing a sling pickup, so we’ll need bare poles. While I get my gear together, you start the auxiliary and break out a marker strobe and some smoke flares. You’re going to have to take her back alone…”
Amanda let her string of commands trail off. The bubble so carefully built the previous day and night had burst as if it had never been.
She hunted for Arkady’s eyes. “Love,” she said carefully, “I think you had something you wanted to say before that phone call. What was it?”
From his station at the tiller, Arkady smiled back at her. There was a degree of sadness in that smile, but his vivid blue eyes held only love and a quiet resignation. “It wasn’t anything important, babe. Nothing at all.”
The Coast Guard HH-60 Jayhawk settled onto the Operations Center helipad amid the whirlwind of its own liftwash. Amanda returned her cranial helmet and life jacket to the crew chief and disembarked, ducking low to keep well clear of the still-spinning rotor blades.
A naval officer in now dust-stained Blue Bakers waited for her at the edge of the helipad. “Commander Garrett?” he called over the fading howl of the helicopter’s turbines. I’m Lieutenant Kravin, NAVSPECFORCE Atlantic Operations. Commander Koletter’s compliments. We’ve been expecting you, ma’am.”
“What’s the situation?” Amanda asked.
“Can’t say exactly, Commander. All I can say is that Eddie Mac — that is, Admiral Macintyre — wants you on a secure line ASAP. The scuttlebutt is that there’s big trouble with the U.N. mission in Africa.”
They started across from the landing site to the Operations Center. Located in the heart of the largest naval base in the Western world, the masts of the in-port elements of the 2nd Fleet could be seen rising beyond the low windowless concrete building. Even escorted by a staff officer, it required both Amanda’s identification card and a voice-print authentication to get past the steel entry doors and alert Marine sentries. From there, a short elevator ride delivered them two levels down to the underground bunker-within-a-bunker of Atlantic Fleet Signals.
A few minutes more and Amanda found herself seated alone in a small briefing room, facing the glowing screen of a live videocom link.
“Admiral Macintyre is on line, Commander,” a crisply professional voice spoke seemingly out of midair. “The channel is secure, and we are putting you through now.”
The Atlantic Fleet Command test pattern on the wall screen snapped over to the grim visage of the NAVSPECFORCE C.O. From the curved bulkhead behind him Amanda surmised that he was speaking from the communications bay of his personal command-and-control aircraft. Also given the way his eyes met hers, she too was visible on a reverse visual link. Amanda became acutely aware of the frayed casualness of her jeans and sweater, and of how her hair was bound back in a shaggy amber ponytail.
Macintyre, on the other hand, seemed to pay no note at all. “Good morning, Commander Garrett. I’m sorry I had to interrupt your leave.”
“No problem, sir. I apologize for being out of uniform. I came in directly from my boat, and I haven’t had the opportunity to change.”
Macintyre waved the point away. “Lord knows that’s the least of my problems, Commander, or yours.”
Amanda noted that the Admiral, who usually gave the impression of being as imperturbable and durable as an oaken dock piling, looked tired, a haze of unshaven beard darkening his squared jaw. “What’s going on, sir?” she inquired, concerned.
“I’m speaking to you from the tarmac here at the U.N. base in Conakry. We’ve just had the hell shot out of us by the West African Union. We’ve taken casualties.”
Amanda’s heart froze in her chest. Christine! The Admiral knew full well that she and the little blond intel were close. And given the way Macintyre worked, it would be very possible that he would make a death notification himself.
He must have read her expression. “Your friend Commander Rendino is all right,” he said. “She was with me during the attack, and she only picked up a few cuts and bruises. Outside of that, she’s fine.”
Macintyre gave Amanda a second or two to digest the welcome information before continuing. “Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Captain Emberly, our Tactical Action Group commander. He was killed in last night’s mortar barrage, and his loss threatens to knock this whole damn UNAFIN operation into a cocked hat. We need a replacement for him, fast. How would you like the job?”
Amanda’s heart skipped another beat. “Me, sir?” she floundered, momentarily at a loss for words. “But this UNAFIN job is a littoral operation, coastal work. I’m blue water.”
Macintyre tilted back the S.0.’s chair he was occupying. “You’ve had some interdiction experience working with the Coast Guard, and God knows you took the Cunningham in close during the China operation. Anyhow, that isn’t my primary concern. And as the TACBOSS for our inshore patrol operation, I can promise that you’ll be commanding all sorts of very smart and very capable young hands who can push all of the right buttons. They can teach you everything you’ll need to know about any of the new technologies involved.”