away from Batman. Tombstone liked the guy, but he could certainly get on a fellow's nerves with his super fighter jock routine.
Tombstone leaned far back in his chair and scratched himself comfortably.
Yes, Batman could bang his stews until he was blue in the face… or wherever. For Tombstone, the jungles of the exotic Golden Triangle might be just the vacation he needed.
CHAPTER 6
'Now hear this! Now hear this! Lieutenant Commander Magruder, report to the admiral's office on the double!'
Tombstone turned as the voice blared from the 5-MC speaker mounted high on the island above the flight deck. 'Now what the hell…?'
Chief Bob Smith looked up from the maintenance reports he'd been reviewing with Tombstone. 'What the shit you been up to, Commander?'
'Beats me, Smitty,' Tombstone said, handing another stack of maintenance forms to the bearded senior chief. 'But it sounds like I'd better find out.'
He started down the line of aircraft parked along the edge of the flight deck, their tails hanging out over the water like gigantic, roosting birds.
Across the deck, green-jerseyed handlers were working around an SH-3D Sea King helicopter which had arrived on board Jefferson twenty minutes earlier.
Tombstone had seen the landing but not the passengers. He wondered if the helo's arrival had something to do with his summons to see his uncle.
At a doorway leading into the island he nearly collided with Batman, who was just coming out onto the roof. 'Hey, Stoney! You hear?'
'I heard.'
'You up for a lecture from your uncle or what?'
Tombstone pulled off his cranial and his floater ? the helmet and life jacket worn while working on the flight deck ? and shoved them at Batman's gut.
'Whatever it is, it'll beat the hell out of listening to any more of your stories!'
Batman laughed. 'Aw, you're just jealous, Stoney!' Breakfast in the Dirty Shirt Wardroom that morning had been made entertaining by Batman's tales of his rendezvous in Bangkok the night before with a gorgeous blond stewardess named Becky. 'You oughta come into town with me tonight! Becky's bringing a friend!'
'Not tonight,' Tombstone said, grinning. 'Too much paperwork to do.'
He made his way down gray steel corridors, then trotted up a succession of zigzagging ship's ladders up through the heart of the island. Minutes later, he arrived at the admiral's outer office on the 0–9 deck level and opened the door. A yeoman first class looked up from a steel desk and nodded.
'Mr. Magruder! You're to go right in, sir.'
The inner sanctum looked more like an executive's office than something on board ship, with wood-paneled bulkheads and oil paintings of sailing ships and Navy aircraft. The deck was carpeted, and the furniture would not have been out of place in a men's club. Only the round, steel-framed portholes along one bulkhead proved that they were still aboard ship.
Tombstone had always been troubled by the protocol of having a two-star admiral for an uncle. Navy custom and common sense both dictated that he play it conservatively and pretend he didn't know the guy… at least until they were alone and discussing nonmilitary subjects. It was easier this time, though. The admiral was not alone. Captain Fitzgerald stood by the bulkhead, looking out a porthole, and there were three civilians seated in chairs in front of the admiral's desk.
He realized that these must have been the passengers who had arrived earlier aboard the Sea King. Two were men, one small with owlish-looking glasses and a crumpled suit, the second taller and brawnier and wearing a loud print shirt and a handlebar mustache. The third civilian was a woman.
She was lovely, wearing a conservative gray skirt and jacket which seemed out of place with the disarray of her blond hair ? the result, Tombstone decided, of the cranial she'd worn during the helo flight to the carrier. Her eyes were a pale, ice blue.
'I'm Pamela Drake, Commander,' she said in a crisp, businesslike tone as she rose. It was clear immediately that she was the one in charge of the trio. 'American Cable Network. This is my cameraman, Bob Griffith. My soundman, Hugh Baughman.'
He shook hands with the two in turn. Griffith was the tall, mustached man, Baughman the one with glasses.
Tombstone exchanged a brief glance with the admiral. 'Welcome to our boat, Miss Drake,' he said.
'Pleased to meet you, Commander.' She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at the admiral. 'But I don't care to be patronized. I may be a civilian, but I know you call something this large a 'ship,' not a 'boat.''
'Actually, he's quite correct, ma'am,' Fitzgerald said. 'Aviators always call their carrier a 'boat.' God knows why. Even when you get too old to fly, like me or the admiral here.'
'Mind your manners, Captain,' the admiral said. As Pamela resumed her seat, he turned to Tombstone. 'It seems that you're something of a celebrity, son. Miss Drake here has come out to the Jefferson to get some film clips for a news program special she's doing. When she found out you were aboard, well…'
'I don't understand.'
'Ever hear of a news program called World Focus?'
'Yes, sir.' World Focus was a popular nightly program Stateside, with a news-magazine format and aired by ACN. Mildly liberal, sharply critical of the current administration and its foreign policy, the show had never appealed enough to Tombstone for him to follow it much when he was in the States. 'I haven't seen it since we were Stateside last, of course.'
'It's a one-hour program,' Pamela said. 'Five nights a week, covering current news topics. The closing fifteen-minute slot each evening is a segment we call Up Close. Generally, we run with a single topic five nights in a row, examining it from every side, featuring in-depth interviews, that sort of thing.'
'But what does that have to do with me?' Tombstone asked. He felt uneasy. Pamela Drake's direct manner, her no-nonsense tone of voice made him feel like she had him on camera.
She pursed her lips. 'Next week we will be presenting an Up Close series on Navy carriers, whether they're necessary in today's world. We'll be linking it to the World Focus pieces we'll be airing at the same time on the trouble in Thailand… whether we should be here, what danger there might be in our getting involved in Thailand, that sort of thing.'
'And you want Tombstone here for an interview,' Fitzgerald said.
'That's right.' She gave Tombstone a sidelong look. ''The Hero of Wonsan,' the press was calling him a few weeks back. I think we should feature him in an interview which we'll work into the carrier piece. Who is he? What was it like shooting down six North Koreans? What did he feel about that?'
'Just a damn minute,' Tombstone said. 'I didn't do it for fun…'
'No one said you did, Commander. But now you're here in Thailand, presumably carrying out our government's foreign policy. What are you doing?
How do you see the situation?' She smiled suddenly. 'I think you'd have a lot to contribute, Commander.'
'Our instructions are to cooperate with you, Miss Drake.' the admiral said. 'You can make arrangements with the Captain here for any shooting you want to do on board the Jefferson.'
'I'll do that, thank you. As long as my crew and I are here now, can we begin with a tour of your ship?' She smiled again, a dazzling display of perfectly white teeth. 'I mean your boat!'
'I don't see why not,' Fitzgerald said. 'Tombstone? Would you care to show the lady and her people around?'
He did not care to, but one did not tell the Captain that. 'Of course, sir.'
