responsibility to his son as well. Who knows? At this point, I’m just grateful we’ve got an asset in place.”
Batman shook his head, wondering. With the very latest ESM equipment, radars, and other highly classified sensor systems on board the carrier, in the end, the first detection had been made the way it had been for centuries: by a man on the ground.
Tombstone hung up the receiver thoughtfully. Was it possible, he wondered, that the same man would still be in place after all these years? He shook his head, deciding that it didn’t matter. Barring the outside chance that this was a deception operation in some way, he was inclined to trust the radio report. Though Batman had been doubtful, he’d agreed to send the SEAL team in to investigate. And now it looked like that had been the right move.
“Admiral,” Captain Craig said, poking his head around the corner into Tombstone’s cabin. “Problem, sir.”
“How did you hear-?” Tombstone broke off suddenly. The chief of staff hadn’t been present while Tombstone was talking to Batman. He couldn’t know about the debris the SEALs had found blowing in the wind. It must be something else. “What is it?” he asked, motioning the man to come into the room. “Dinner reservations screwed up again?”
“I wish it were that simple,” the chief of staff said. “No, Admiral, it’s an air distress signal. We’re getting seven-seven-seven-seven blasting all over the place on IFF. Evidently it’s a civilian helicopter experiencing mechanical problems about two miles from us.”
“How serious?”
“Serious enough that they don’t think that they can make it back to land. And there’s no question of them ditching in these waters, of course. They’re requesting permission to land on the ship.”
“A civilian?” Tombstone frowned. What in hell’s name would a civilian helicopter be doing in this area?
The chief of staff shook his head. “According to the transponder, it’s a commercial craft. The pilot said they were out trying to do some spotting for a fishing boat when they started having problems. They’re headed this way out of Juneau, they said.” Captain Craig shot him a doubtful look. “The radar track doesn’t jive with that, though. The only way it makes sense is if they’re coming out of Adak.”
“Adak? What the-” Tombstone cut the thought off abruptly. As soon as the chief of staff had announced the discrepancy in the flight’s track, the conviction that Pamela Drake was behind this had hit him. It had to be — there was no other explanation.
Over the years, he’d watched Pamela’s determination to get in the middle of every fast-breaking story, marveling sometimes at the lengths to which she would go to ferret out the smallest bit of information. As a more junior officer, he’d rarely been on the receiving end of her drive to be the best reporter on any network, bar none. However, since he’d added stars to his collar, the issue of their relationship and Pamela’s profession had become increasingly problematic. Where does one draw the line? he wondered. While he might not be entirely certain of the answer himself, there was one thing he was sure of — with an ACN helicopter inbound, it was somewhere different than from where Pamela did.
“Admiral?” the chief of staff said, snapping him back to reality.
“I take it the pilot’s declared an emergency, then?” Tombstone asked.
“Yes, sir — about five minutes ago.” The chief of staff sucked in his breath as he saw the cold fire settle over Tombstone’s face. He’d expected some reaction from his boss, but not this one.
“Let them land,” Tombstone said coldly. “As soon as they’re on deck, I want to see them all in my cabin. Immediately.”
The chief of staff turned to execute the orders, feeling a fleeting pity for the civilians in the helicopter. They had no idea of what they were in for. “And COS? One other thing.” The chief of staff turned back to his boss. “Sir?”
“Get the senior JAG officer on board up here ASAP. Let those civilian idiots cool their heels in the conference room while I talk to him. And tell him to bring up his Dictaphone and any other recording equipment he might need. If this is what I think it is, I’m going to want criminal charges filed against every person on that helicopter.”
As the chief of staff left the compartment, someone tapped softly on the door between his conference room and his cabin. “Come in,” he said roughly, struggling to get his temper back under control.
The door opened quickly, and Tomboy’s red-topped head peeked around the corner. “Good afternoon, Admiral,” she said formally. “I was in TFCC, and I heard about the helo.” She let the unspoken question hang in the air.
Inwardly, Tombstone groaned. The last thing he needed on top of the tactical situation and Pamela Drake’s surreptitious arrival on his ship was Tomboy’s questioning.
“You have a problem with that, Commander Flynn?” he asked coldly, immediately regretting the words. He saw Tomboy’s face settle into an icy mask, not unlike the one he saw every morning in the mirror when shaving.
She drew herself up, seeming to add a few inches to her height. “None at all, Admiral,” she responded in the same tone. “I just wanted to make sure you were properly briefed. With your permission-” she finished, drawing back as though ready to leave.
“Tomboy! Get in here,” Tombstone said roughly. She stopped in mid-stride. “Yes, Admiral?” she said.
“We have communications with this helicopter, right? Did you hear what they said?”
She regarded him gravely, a bland, professional look in her eyes. “Yes, Admiral, I did in fact hear the entire transmission. Would the admiral care for me to repeat it to him?”
Something in the back of Tombstone’s mind started insisting that this was a very, very, very bad idea. “Yes,” Tombstone said, ignoring it. “What is the nature of their problem?”
“Icing, Admiral. And there are specific requests for your assistance,” she added thoughtfully, staring at a spot somewhere behind his head. “In fact, the actual request was, ‘Ask Stoney if I can put this bird down on his precious boat,’” Tomboy said, her voice level. “The speaker identified herself as Miss Pamela Drake.”
“Aircraft,” Sikes snapped into the radio. “Everybody freeze.” The phrase struck him as oddly absurd in this environment, but it was a fact that movement would draw the aircraft’s attention faster than anything else. As long as they stood still, clad in their white arctic gear against a solid white background, there was a good chance they wouldn’t be observed.
The lookout and the other patrol team rogered up, and Sikes watched the man in front of him hunker down on the ice. Sikes elected to remain standing, one hand reflexively going to the trigger of his weapon.
The deep-throated growl of a large aircraft was now clearly audible. Sikes schooled himself to keep his face down, not daring to risk exposing his tanned face to any observer overhead. He heard a change in the doppler effect, indicating the aircraft was turning, and waited. If the aircraft decided to orbit overhead, he was going to have to think of something fast. Under these conditions, remaining still could be deadly.
Three minutes later, he heard the sound of the engine shift downward, indicating that the aircraft had turned away from them. He let out a gasp of air, unaware that he’d been holding his breath. He gave it thirty seconds, then risked an upward glance.
The ass end of the Soviet transport aircraft disappeared over the line of the mountains. But far more worrisome was what it left in its wake. A cluster of parachutes was already visible in the overcast, and more were streaming out of the aircraft. He made the mental calculations swiftly. The nearest one would be only fifty yards away from them. Remaining where they were had become completely unacceptable. He raised the radio to his lips. “Move out.”
Rogov wedged one heavily gloved hand into a crack in the ice and leaned forward against the belaying line. Perched near the top of a cliff, hidden from below by the jagged spikes, his position was somewhat precarious. The wind gusted harder at this altitude, and the surface of the ice was smooth, offering few footholds. Without the rappelling team, they could not have made it up to this site.
Yet, for all the difficulty in reaching it, it was perfect. He had a clear field of vision of the area below, including the prospective weapons station. Abandoning the ice cave as soon as they heard the boat approach, the Spetsnaz and Rogov had quickly availed themselves of their prearranged routes to the peaks. From their vantage points they saw the boat approach, do a careful survey of the western end of the island, and then moor to the far end. While the two teams had been difficult to see against the landscape, the night vision goggles made the job easier.
