His fists clenched. God damn you, Amanda, I’m not holding back for your sake! I’m holding back for mine! Because I’m an old fool who’s performed the cardinal sin of falling in love with you and I can’t make myself throw your life away!
MacIntyre stood rigid with the biting self-confession.
He loved Amanda Garrett. He’d loved her for some time now, all without a touch of her hand or a solitary kiss or the slightest hint of reciprocation on her part.
He acknowledged all of the clumsy attempts at self-rationalization, the childish anger he had felt when he had seen Amanda with Harconan. His recall of feelings he’d thought lost forever with the death of his wife…
What did the name Amanda mean? Worthy of being loved, wasn’t that it? He had never expected to find anyone like that in his world again. He had told himself he was content with his children and his duty and that was all he needed.
He looked around at the picture of the amber-haired little girl and the toy boat on the cabin bulkhead. That little girl had grown up and had shown him he was a liar.
And suddenly, with the confession, there also came clarity of thought, as if a pressure had been released, allowing a subtle distortion to snap out of his worldview.
He loved Amanda Garrett. Live with it. Work with it. Stop mully-gutsing over the fact, accept it, and get on with your job.
In his mind, Amanda still stood before him, only now she smiled, that wry, knowing smile MacIntyre had come to know and treasure. If I’m giving you problems, Elliot, imagine what I’m doing to Harconan, the poor devil.
MacIntyre’s fists unclenched.
Deliberately, MacIntyre recalled the way Harconan had studied Amanda the times he had seen them together. He considered the ways Harconan had used to gather her in — the way he was keeping her near him now. He imagined how any man might feel having lain beside her even for a single night.
His eyes narrowed and he smiled back at Amanda’s specter, as understanding came.
Execution, my ass! You aren’t a hostage, my dear. You’re a prize!
Turning, MacIntyre crossed to the pitcher of ice water on the cabin sideboard and drank two glasses with deliberate relish. Refreshed, he sank into the chair behind the desk. He started to boot up the computer terminal, then impatiently passed on the notion. Rummaging through a drawer, he found an unused notebook and a pen. Flipping the notebook open, he began to jot down the initial parameters of an operations plan.
MacIntyre grinned as he wrote. He wouldn’t be throwing Amanda’s life away, merely his own career. He found that a trade worth making.
Twenty pages of the notebook had been filled when a light knock sounded on the door. MacIntyre glanced up and found a sunrise flaming in the cabin portholes.
“Enter.”
Christine Rendino entered the office space. Her eyes were reddened with crying and shadowed with sleeplessness, but the new wash khakis she wore were pressed and immaculate, as was the parade rest she assumed as she stood before the desk. For one of the few times MacIntyre could remember, she looked every inch the naval officer.
“Sir,” she said crisply, “request permission to speak freely with the Admiral.”
MacIntyre set his pen aside and nodded. “Granted, Commander.”
Christine moistened her lips. “Sir, I’d like to talk to you about the operations group coming up this morning. There’s a factor that might be a little hard to go into in the open planning session.”
“What factor is that, Chris?”
“It relates to Captain Garrett’s hostage status and how it must not be taken into consideration except as a subject for a rescue operation. I have reason to believe her life may not be as much at risk as Harconan is claiming. However, I also believe that any negotiated release will also be impossible.”
Christine’s stiff-spine discipline began to weaken with the growing intensity of her words. “Admiral, we have to get her out before Harconan can do a vanishing act with her. Once he gets her off New Guinea and out into the ten thousand hiding places he has in the archipelago, we’re never going see her again. For… various reasons, he’s not going to let her go — ever.”
“And that’s your professional assessment, Commander?”
Christine took an unsteady breath. “Yes, sir, it is. My assessment is that Harconan does not intend to release Amanda. For Harconan, there are personal factors involved beyond Amanda’s hostage value. Her life, as she has known it, is going to end if we don’t get her our of there. What happens to her next, whatever you want to call it — captivity, slavery, a forced, bonded relationship, hell, marriage, I don’t know — is not going to be in any kind of her best interests.”
MacIntyre tilted his chair back, studying the intel. “Chris, I think I understand the grounds for your assessment. It so happens I agree with them fully and I’ve already taken them into consideration. There’s just one final question I need answered before we proceed beyond this point. I need it answered by Amanda’s closest friend, and I need to ask it as someone who isn’t her commanding officer.”
Christine smiled faintly. “Understood, Admiral, sir.”
“Think about this one carefully, Chris. What about the possibility that Amanda might want her life, as she and we have known it, to end. Is there any chance she might not want us to get her out?”
Christine looked startled “You mean, like she’s turned? That she might actually want to stay with Harconan?”
“As the saying goes, ‘Could she have been seduced by the dark side of the Force?’ It has to be asked, Chris. And I have to ask it of you.”
The intel looked away. MacIntyre said nothing, giving her a chance to work on it. When she turned back, her mouth was set. “Admiral, for as long as I’ve known Amanda Garrett, the job and her people have always come first and she’s put herself second — her wants, her needs, what’s best for her, all secondary. The thing is, that’s been the way she’s wanted it. Makara Harconan could offer her an awful lot. But it would all be for her and to hell with the rest of the world. Amanda doesn’t work that way. She never has. She never could.”
MacIntyre smiled. “We concur again, Chris. I just wanted to make sure.”
“We’re going in after her, sir? We’re going to get her out?”
“Too damn right we are.” MacIntyre tapped his notepad. “We’re going to collect Amanda and that damn satellite both. And, as your generation puts it, we are going to kick some serious pirate butt while we’re about it.”
Christine looked away again, but only for a few seconds. When she looked back, her eyes were wet. “Sir, can I ask you to do something very irregular for a junior officer.”
“Why not?” MacIntyre mused. “Compared to what we’re going to do, it couldn’t be all that strange.”
“Then stand up a second, sir.”
MacIntyre did, puzzled. Christine circled the desk and slipped her arms around his neck, locking him up in a fierce hug, brushing away a tear on the front of his shirt.
MacIntyre patted her lightly on the back as he would his daughter. “It’s all right, Chris. I understand. Go give the mess steward a call and order us a breakfast. A big one.”
The meal was delivered and eaten at the desk while the intel and the admiral started walking through yet another tactical assessment.
“Beyond our knowledge of the existence of Crab’s Claw, Harconan’s infatuation with Amanda is possibly our one greatest advantage,” MacIntyre commented, finishing a last piece of toast.