? just ask the Chinese, or the Ukrainians, or any one of a number of assholes around the world that he's put down recently ? but if you're one of his, you know he'll come after you.
As the admiral walked toward me, silent shapes rose out of the bushes around me. Strangers, not Vietnamese ? Russians or Asians of some sort, judging by their faces. But their appearance didn't worry me half as much as the knives I saw in their hands.
Before I knew it, Gator and I were hustled into a large diesel truck and headed back out toward civilization. The admiral told us to go, said he had something else to take care of. I didn't try to pump him ? by then, I was too worried about Gator to do anything else but be thankful that we were alive.
When they finally drove back into camp, Admiral Magruder's face was as scary as I have ever seen it. Something had pissed him off and bad. All I knew was I wouldn't be on the receiving end of whatever he had planned.
He was traveling with the Russian-looking guy, the one I'd seen on Jefferson last time we were in the Med. Not Russian ? Ukrainian, I remembered. The details came flooding back in. Hadn't he been the asshole who'd planted the bomb next to Tombstone's cabin? And if so, what was the admiral doing cozied up to him?
And just what were the two of them doing in Vietnam? I knew why the admiral was here. That story had made the mess decks intelligence circuit two seconds after he'd arrived on board. It was a hell of a thing, going after your dad in the jungle, and more than one of us admired him more than we could ever say.
Still, this combination seemed pretty strange. Was there any possibility-?
No. I swore at myself for even thinking it. But stories of the Walker spy scandal kept coming back to haunt me. Now there was a man that the Navy had trusted, had trusted completely. He had access to the most classified material around. He'd had security checks, polygraphs, and every other security measure that the armed forces could dream up to safeguard their classified material.
Yet he'd been a spy. A damned good one, from what I could hear.
Details of other cases nagged me too. The CIA guy that got caught, Longtree the Marine. What about them? Was there any possibility, however slight, that Admiral Magruder could be involved in something like that? Even unwittingly ? hell, it would have to be unwittingly.
But what could possibly have pushed him to those limits? There was only one thing that I knew of ? if the bad guys got a hold of Tomboy. Even then, I wasn't certain he would do it.
Could they have Tomboy? It was possible, I guess. We'd all been flying back-to-back missions, the skipper included. She wouldn't have wanted to be left out of that, and if she'd been flying combat missions, there was every chance she'd been shot down. Shot down, captured, and once they realized who she was, turned into the most heinous sort of bargaining chip. Had that happened?
I studied the admiral for a moment, looking at how intense he was. It was possible ? what else could bring that look to his face?
Finally, I arrived at a decision. Gator wasn't any help ? he was still out cold, although he was getting medical attention now.
I would keep an eye on Admiral Magruder, at least for the time being. At least until we got back to the boat and I was certain that there was no funny business going on. I'd probably have a chat with Lab Rat as well, maybe not tell him directly what worried me, but at least let him know what I'd seen and heard.
Tombstone came in to have a look at Gator. He crouched down next to the cot and put one hand on my backseater's good shoulder. 'How you doing, Gator?' he asked softly.
Gator moaned, and his eyelids flickered. 'Admiral?' The voice was a weak, hoarse whisper. 'I feel like shit, if you want to know the truth.'
Tombstone smiled, something I hadn't seen him do very often. 'I bet you do. We're headed back to the ship in a couple hours, Gator. You hang on ? you're all right now, and you're gonna be fine.'
He patted my backseater's shoulder again, then glanced over at me. 'Tell me what happened.'
I ran back through the parts I could remember, the last battle with the MiG and Gator command-ejecting us. Then General Hue, the guy I thought of as Fred, and the surprisingly easy time we had of it at first. And the dirt cave ? what it was like in there, the bombing, and the providential crack in the dirt ceiling that had finally led to freedom.
I glossed over the time in the jungle, not remembering a lot of it. It didn't make any difference anyway ? what mattered was that we were here now. I concluded with 'So we're headed back to the boat, Admiral?'
He nodded. His expression had gotten markedly somber when I talked about the cave-ins and the cave, and now he looked angry. 'You bet your ass we are,' he said softly. 'I've got some things to check out.' He glanced around, making certain there was no one else in the room with us. I edged a bit closer to him.
'Listen, Bird Dog, pay attention. This is important. On the off chance that one of us doesn't make it out, you've got to get word back to Admiral Wayne. Or to Lab Rat, or to any other senior official you can find. It's important ? so important, that if it comes down to sticking with me and Gator or getting off on your own and getting the information out, you've got to go. It's more important than either of our lives. You understand that?'
I started to protest, and Tombstone grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me. 'No arguments here, mister. There's more to fighting wars than killing MiGs. If this doesn't get back to the right people, more people are going to die than you ever thought possible in one war.'
'What's this about, sir?' I asked. I'd go along with it for now, make my own decision when I heard what the admiral had to say.
So he told me. All of it. Everything from finding his father's Horace Greeley inscription scratched on a prison camp wall to the dosimeter he'd seen pinned to the uniform of the Chinese soldier in the last camp. When he finished, I didn't know what to say.
'Will you promise me, Bird Dog?' he asked. 'Swear that you'll do everything you can to get this stuff outta here. Swear it!'
'I swear, Admiral.' A heavy, dark feeling settled over my gut. The idea of abandoning Gator anywhere, even in the care of the admiral, was so utterly repulsive that I could barely stand to think about it. We'd been through so much together, almost died together too many times. He counted on me just like I counted on him ? it was something that went beyond mere trust. But this was important ? too important. The admiral was right.
If he was telling the truth, one part of my mind said nastily. He could also be part of it, asshole. He's trying to mislead you, use you. There's something going on here that you don't understand.
I ignored the voice. If you couldn't trust your admiral and your backseater, who could you trust then? And without that, then life wasn't worth a whole lot.
Tombstone seemed satisfied by what he saw in my face, so he nodded and looked relieved. 'I know I can count on you. Now, let's see how good these people are at keeping their word.' He stood, brushed off his jungle garb, and left.
I took his place beside Gator, watching carefully to see how he was doing. His fever seemed to be abating some, and his breathing was slow and steady. The knee was an ugly, swollen mass of purple and red, probably dislocated or permanently injured. Could he make it back to flight status?
I wasn't sure, but his knee looked bad. I'd seen people permanently grounded for less.
The arm was a problem too, although probably it could be fixed easier than the knee. That is, if they got ahead of the angry red infection I saw streaking in his skin now.
All in all, Gator wasn't out of the woods yet. Or the jungle.
Whatever else you can say for them, the Ukrainians had some decent communications gear. Tombstone later told me that they had a list posted on one wall in the radio shack of the clear circuits ? the ones without crypto gear on them ? that Jefferson used. It was a matter of just a few minutes to go out over military air distress frequencies to them, coordinate a change of frequencies, and then get Admiral Wayne on the other end.
Jefferson's good, as good as they come. An hour and a half later, a CH-46 escorted by two F-14s was overhead, looking anxiously down at the landing zone and checking for wind and rotor clearance. There wasn't much space to spare, but the pilot made it. I know if I'd been in his shoes, nothing in the world would have kept me from getting on the ground.
The admiral helped me carry Gator out to the helo. The Ukrainians had him on a stretcher, but I wasn't willing to trust them with this part of it ? Gator was my responsibility, mine alone. The admiral might have felt differently, but I knew he'd understand.
