this carrier into port in the Crimean Peninsula than we are-“
Words finally failed him, lost in the red haze of his outrage. “You understand that one of those men could have been responsible for the bomb planted on my ship?”
“And you would have us turn over custody of our ship to them?” Batman asked, his voice a dangerous, low growl. “I ought to have you shot.”
Tiltfelt recoiled slightly. “You misunderstand, Admiral. There would be no ‘turning over,’ as you said, at all. We would simply make use of some superb shipyard facilities to determine whether or not your catapult is as damaged as you think it is. The Ukrainian workers will be accompanied by American sailors every step of the way. They will not be permitted below-decks, except under escort to inspect and test certain portions of the catapult.”
Tiltfelt frowned for a moment, marshaling the facts he’d been briefed on only fifteen minutes earlier. “As I understand, you’re concerned about two things. First, the structural integrity of the shuttle and its adjoining mechanisms. Second, whether or not the explosion warped the deck sufficiently to throw it off straight and true. This doesn’t sound like it necessitates invasive testing. Not at all. Merely a correct truing and faring gear to ascertain the true extent of the damage.”
“But in Ukraine!” Tombstone still sounded adamant. “For all we know, they were behind the bomb.”
“I doubt it. It was most probably the Turks. After all, they’re the ones who attacked La Salle in the first place.”
Batman’s face crumpled slightly. “I don’t know, Admiral.”
He shook his head, reluctantly conceding a small point. “With La Salle out of commission, we could have a hell of a lot to handle in this part of the world. If that waist cat is okay, I’d sure like to know it. It wouldn’t take long?maybe eight hours.”
He turned and studied his old lead carefully. “Maybe we should talk about this alone.”
Tiltfelt stood. “I will be glad to excuse myself,” he said stiffly. “But before you arrive at a decision, you should understand this?that I have little doubt that both of our superiors back in the United States will agree with this, at least in principle.”
He turned to Tombstone. “Your uncle because he needs every ounce of combat capability in this part of the world, or at least so he feels. And my superiors will see it for what it truly is?-an era of unprecedented cooperation between Ukraine and the United States. If we turn this generous offer down because of old, outmoded hostilities, we lose the possibility of having extensive landing rights in Ukraine.”
Tiltfelt’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the possibilities. “Suppose your fears are true and there is someday a resurgence of Russian nationalism? What if you have to fight them again? Wouldn’t Ukraine be a perfect staging area? Long airfields, the Black Sea as an entry point for an amphibious force, flat plains to accommodate tanks and other equipment in a dash north?doesn’t that sound appealing?”
Tiltfelt tried to keep the disgust out of his voice as he delicately dangled the bait. “In short, would you throw away a superb strategic staging point just south of Russia based on something you can’t even prove?that the Ukrainians were behind this bombing?”
He was quietly pleased when he saw Batman and Tombstone exchange a telling look, and felt the thrill of earlier exhilaration surge back through him. He was on a roll, riding the crest of his own superb abilities, and there was no way that the two admirals seated in front of him could withstand it. None at all.
“We’ll talk about it,” Tombstone said finally. He turned his back on the State Department representative as though dismissing him. He looked back over his shoulder at Tiltfelt. “And let you know. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
Tombstone pointed at the door.
8
I’ve lost it?I know I have. For the first time in years, I’m in the right place and there’s nothing to report. This is it?Istanbul?I can feel it!
But there’s nothing happening.
Pamela Drake stared out at the horizon, so frustrated she could spit.
It was an article of faith that her instinct was infallible, all-knowing, and at least twenty-four hours ahead of any other reporter’s. It had never failed her, not in any part of the world. From the Aleutian Islands to the South China Sea, from Norway to the tip of India, Pamela Drake had been there. Been there first, been there in the middle, and reported via ACN the best stories of any news network in the world.
But after four days in Istanbul, rumors were starting to fly that the famed Pamela Drake was merely a reporter who got lucky sometimes.
Sometimes. As if that were even close to the truth. She’d been right every time, been there before all of them. But did they remember?
More importantly, did her editor?
She shook her head, the unfairness of it raging through her. All they remembered was the last story. What have you done for me lately?
Where is the story this week?
There was never any recognition of the fact that she’d been right every single other time in the past. Screw up once and you’re history. That was how it was, and she knew it.
But it was here, of that she was certain. She leaned on the quay wall and stared out at the sea, silently demanding that something happen.
Something, anything?hell, at this point she’d settle for two fishing boats colliding.
The story was here. She could feel it in the way the small hairs on the back of her neck prickled, in the uneasy tightness in her gut. Whether or not it was hers alone now was the problem. Every network kept track of her movements, she knew. They had their spies, their scouts in the major airlines as well as in her own bureau, no doubt. As soon as Pamela landed and established a presence in a particular theater, everyone played catchup. Regardless of whether or not they knew what the story was, regardless of how absurd her destination seemed, everybody followed.
She grimaced. That was the problem with Istanbul right now?everybody else was also here. If a story did break, she’d just be one among the masses chasing after it. Someone might even scoop her. No, that would be entirely unacceptable. No, it wouldn’t happen here, and it had never happened.
But where the hell was everybody?
The line to an old song ran through her head?something about giving a war and nobody coming. “I wonder if I should call the Navy and tell them they’re missing something,” she said aloud.
The cameraman turned toward her with a weary, bored expression on his face. “What?”
She wheeled to face him down. “The story. There’s one here, you know.”
The cameraman nodded. “You’ve been telling me that. But where is it?”
She glared at him. “I don’t know. But it’ll be here soon. We just don’t know where to look right this second.”
The cameraman’s face suddenly took on a degree of animation. He pointed out at the horizon behind her and said, “Maybe we should try out there.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. There’s something happening out there, and I don’t know what it is yet.”
The cameraman began shaking his head violently from side to side, fumbling with the camera bag at his side without ever taking his eyes off the horizon. “No, I mean it’s there?right there.”
He pointed again at the horizon, taking his eyes off it to dig out a new lens.
Pamela whirled and stared at the horizon. It was there?the pieces were starting to fall into place.
Right at the boundary between water and sky, a dark gray smudge broke the clean line of the ocean. She recognized it immediately, having seen it too many times from too many different angles not to. It was the USS
