indeed.
'Matt, it's good to see you,' she said as she opened the door. 'Come in.'
He entered, wearing civilian clothes and an expression which could have been hiding almost anything. 'Hello, Pam. Sorry to catch you by surprise.
Did I interrupt something?'
'Not at all.'
'Are you… I mean, are the guys in your crew here?'
'We are quite alone, Matt! I was going over some script revisions, is all. Can I get you something to drink?' The hotel suite had a small bar and a refrigerator.
'No, thanks.'
'Have you eaten? I could call room service.'
'Pamela, I've got to talk to you.' It sounded as though he'd been saving the words for a long time, holding them for the moment. 'It's about your story… the interview.'
'What about it?'
'Look, I know this isn't fair, for you or for your show. But I've been having second thoughts about my part in the thing. I was wondering if you had enough that you could do your series without me.'
'You're damned right it's not fair. Do you have any idea how much money has been spent on this project already?'
'No.'
'Neither do I. That's Accounting's problem. But it would be my problem if it all came apart now. So why don't you want me to use your interviews?'
'It's this whole hero bit… the way you were building me up. I really don't think I can go through with that.'
Pamela felt the anger welling up within, but she held it sternly in check. She'd not reached her current position with the ACN network by losing her temper with recalcitrant subjects.
Or with friends.
She gestured toward the sofa. 'Sit down, Matt.' He did so, and she watched his face as she joined him. 'Look,' she said after a moment's uncomfortable silence. 'You signed a release form, and that pretty much makes those film clips our property. But maybe if you explained why you wanted them killed…'
'It's kind of hard to explain.'
'You can be quite persuasive, Matt. That's one of the reasons I wanted to use you. This series could be just another hunt for the dirt under the Pentagon's carpets… but you believe in the Navy and the Navy's mission.
You believe in that floating airport anchored down at Sattahip, and that comes across in the interviews, so much so that you make a very good case for your side of the argument. And you want me to drop all that?' Something new occurred to her and she frowned. Was there some form of censorship at work here? 'Matt, no one's put you up to this, have they? Someone in Washington?
Your uncle?'
Tombstone bit off a low, sharp curse. 'No, it's not my uncle. I'm here on my own.'
'Well something's happened to put you into a spin, Matt. Want to tell me what?'
He sighed. 'I guess I'm not feeling very much like a hero, right now.'
'Hero? That's just a word, Matt. How is a hero supposed to feel?'
'I don't know. Not like he owes everything to his uncle.'
'Ahhh,' she said. 'Maybe we're hitting the root of it now. You think the admiral has been paving the way for you? Making you out to be a hero for promotion and honor, that sort of thing?'
'No, you've been making me out to be the hero.' His mouth quirked in a near-smile. 'But he may have been making the opportunities.'
He began talking about Wonsan, just as he had during several of the interviews. The battle had unfolded with appalling swiftness, with little time to think or act the part of hero. He'd responded according to his training, and only later, when there'd been time to think, had he felt the fear. He'd won the Navy Cross primarily for his refusal to eject when his RIO had been too badly hurt to leave the damaged aircraft.
'But don't you see?' Tombstone said at last. 'I was simply doing my job.
I was in the right place at the right time.' He was not looking at her, but kept his eyes fixed to a framed abstract print hanging on the far wall of the suite. 'That damned medal could have been won by anybody.'
'But it was you who responded the way you did.'
'Bullshit. Any of us could have ? would have ? done the same.' His scowl deepened. 'You said the other day that I surprised you by not being a typical arrogant aviator. It's true. I'm not… demonstrative. Outgoing. I tend to keep to myself. Half the people on my boat are convinced I have my rank and the choice assignments because of my uncle.'
'That sounds like an exaggeration to me, Matt.'
The half-smile played at his lips again. 'Maybe. But not by much.'
She considered for a moment. 'The tape still has to be edited. I could make a note to drop the references to the medal… but that's not the real problem, is it?'
'Not really. It's this whole glory-game image.'
'Which you are stuck with, no matter what's on the tape.' She reached out, impulsively, and laid her hand on his knee. 'Ruining my project isn't going to help you, Matt.'
He looked away. 'I hadn't really thought of it as… ruining it.'
'What is it, Matt?' She leaned closer, dropping her voice. 'Someone giving you trouble about your hero status? About me?' He looked away, uncomfortable, and she had her answer. 'You're one hell of a guy, Matt,' she said. 'I meant what I said the other day. I wouldn't want you to change.'
He turned back suddenly, so close now that their lips nearly met. Pamela reached out… and then she was in his arms, drawing his head down to hers.
Much later, she disentangled herself enough to murmur, 'You'll stay tonight, won't you?'
He looked into her eyes for a time, until she was afraid he would answer no. But he nodded, smiled, and then they kissed again.
After a long time, he pulled back and, rather unromantically, checked his watch. 'Can I use your phone?'
'Sure.' She got up so that he could move. 'Over there, by the window.'
He picked up the receiver and spoke briefly to the hotel operator.
'Calling your ship?' she asked.
'I'm square with them,' he replied, holding the receiver to his ear as he waited for the call to go through. 'Long as I'm back on board by 0800 tomorrow. No, someone else I saw tonight was going to arrange for a place for me to stay in Bangkok. If I don't let him know, we'll be interrupted by…
yes? Hello? You speak English? Good. This is Lieutenant Commander Magruder, U.S. Navy. Put me through to Colonel Kriangsak, please. He gave me this number. Yes, I'll wait.'
Pamela left Tombstone to finish his phone call and went into the suite's bedroom. She was ready for him by the time he entered.
It was the noise that woke him.
At least, he thought it had been a noise, one of those sharp, metallic clicks one hears in a strange room in the middle of the night and can never identify. He lay there in the darkness for a long moment, listening.
Nothing. Or perhaps someone had dropped something, upstairs or in the hallway outside the suite.
No matter. He needed to use the bathroom anyway. Taking care not to waken Pamela, he disentangled his arm from beneath her pillow, then swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. The air in the room, though stirred by the large ceiling fan, still retained the musky scent of their lovemaking.
Pamela. He could just make out her sleeping form on the bed by his side, see the rise and fall of her breasts by the hint of reflected moonlight spilling through the open door from the next room.
Tombstone felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that their relationship had changed again. He'd not told her everything. He couldn't. The word that a Navy aviator and his RIO had been lost over northern Thailand was still classified, and any officer leaking that tidbit to the news media would be roasted over a slow fire by Admiral
