I shucked off my clothes down to my skivvies and slid into the luxurious king-size bed. I set my alarm, granting myself twenty minutes, and immediately dozed off.
It's a skill you learn at sea, the ability to catnap on demand, grabbing precious sleep whenever and wherever the opportunity presents itself.
As always, the alarm startled me slightly. I came immediately awake, ready to deal with whatever situation was at hand. There had been too many times at sea when this was exactly how I first learned of the crisis, of the loss of aviators at sea, or some new, hostile move made by adversaries.
But this time, there were not the familiar background noises of the carrier. Only silence. Thick drapes muffled the sounds of the airstrip two miles away. It was deadly silent.
After a few minutes, I allowed myself the luxury of enjoying the warm sheets, letting my level of consciousness drift back down to a doze.
Only a few moments. I shoved the bedclothes away and rolled into a sitting position. My toes dug into the deep, plush carpet, felt thick padding under the soles of my feet. I wondered how many of the Russian people knew how their ruling class lived.
They came to escort me to the dinner precisely at 7 P.m. I was ready and waiting, outfitted in my dress whites. Broad swaths of gold gleamed on my shoulders, broken only by the three silver stars indicating my rank and the insignia indicating I was a line officer.
The short dash between my quarters and the limousine was brutal. The winds had picked up as a front moved south, and I could feel the blood congealing in my cheeks and other exposed skin, even under my heavy winter coat. Warm air billowed out of the open limousine door, condensing immediately into fog. I slipped gratefully into the backseat.
Admiral Ilanovich was already waiting for me. 'Everything is satisfactory?' he said, once we'd exchanged greetings.
'Quite. Please express my appreciation to the commander of the base.'
'I will, of course. You can tell him yourself this evening if you wish.' The admiral shot me a sly, sidewise glance. 'And his superiors, as well. At this stage in his career, it could only help.' 'I thought that's what I was doing.'
The admiral laughed, true amusement in his voice. 'No, Captain First Rank Chelnov does not report to me. He has other, more demanding masters.'
I mulled that over for a few moments before replying. When dealing with the Russians, one must assume that everything is said for a purpose.
They make the same assumption in dealing with us, which is a mistake on their part. American naval officers are not so well schooled in the intricate games of political intrigue.
What did the admiral mean by that? A few possibilities came to mind.
Perhaps it was a warning, one aviator to another. Possible, but not probable. There was undoubtedly some more subtle agenda at work. Finally, I asked, 'What masters?'
That was a reasonable reaction for an American officer, one that the admiral probably expected. It would place the ball back in his court, giving him the opportunity to explain or further confuse me.
The admiral was silent for a moment. Although his eyes reflected nothing but good cheer, I knew that he was spinning this turn in the conversation around in his mind.
'Russia has always been a strange place for Americans,' he said finally. 'You have never understood our interlocking directories, the functional structure of our chains of command. You assume we are like you are, with command related to specific task force or functional area of platforms.'
'Not me. I know better than to make those assumptions, I think.' I tried to make my voice and tone match his. We were having a conversation on several levels, or at least I thought so. Either way, I was intrigued by his evasions. Why had he brought up the chain of command? I had to assume it was for a reason.
But maybe that in itself was a mistake. The complicated game of guessing and double-guessing the meaning of each other's remarks generated the labyrinth of meaning. Perhaps he was counting on speaking with a guileless American officer, not one of his own. His comment on the chain of command was then nothing more than a simple professional statement, one intended to educate a foreign officer not familiar with Russia.
Or to prepare me for something that would happen later that evening?
On the other hand, it could be that he knew how well I thought I understood Russian psychology. He might be playing to that, counting on my ability to discern his hidden agenda without stating it openly. A far more flattering interpretation, and he might be counting on that as well, that I would interpret to my own favor.
Chain of command ? this complicated multileveled discussion had all been generated by my simple remark about my quarters. If this were any indication of what I would face tonight, I would have to be particularly careful with my conversation.
The reception hall was a series of connecting rooms immediately to the right of the officers club. This time, the limousine had stopped just a few feet away from the entrance, which was an enclosed walkway. It was cold, but the bitter wind blowing out of the north was cut off. faces familiar from at the air base. I greeted those whose names I could remember, silently bemoaning the fact that I had not brought an American aide with me. He or she would've been at my side, slightly behind me, coaching me on names, easing the crowd along.
I managed as best I could, committing some social errors no doubt, but surviving. A glass of vodka was thrust into my hands. I held it by my fingertips, feeling the cold reach out to me through the thick glass.
Russian liquor is like its weather ? it's made me wonder why the English still drink warm beer.
'You would care for champagne instead?' the admiral asked, obviously noting the fact that I had not immediately bolted down the vodka. 'Or perhaps American liquor?'
'It looks to be a pleasant evening,' I said mildly. 'My capacity for liquor does not match that of the average Russian.' At once I regretted the remark, hearing in it the possibility of insult, implying that Russians were drunkards.
To my relief, the admiral laughed heartily. 'We know that about Americans,' he boomed. 'That is why I insisted on a supply of your own liquor as well.'
I demurred to that as well, and turned my attention to the crowd.
They were still milling around, obviously waiting for a chance to greet me.
I had my own reasons for wanting to meet at least one of them.
There seemed to be at least three hundred people packed into the room.
An hour later, my hand felt like it had shaken hands with all of them at least twice. There was still no sign of a contact ? no meaningful glances, no whispered request to speak later in private. I began to doubt. How could he ever arrange it under the scrutiny of all these military and civilian officials?
Just then, a man drifted out of the crowd and stood before me. Muscle corded his arms, and I had a sense of easy, lazy grace, controlled power that could explode into motion upon provocation. He held out his hand and said in passable English, 'Good evening, Admiral. Vladimir Vylchek. I am in charge of the sports programs for this district. The athletic teams, conditioning for new pilots ? all phases of it. I understand you are a runner?'
I nodded, containing my curiosity. Now, just where had he gotten that piece of information? Yes, I often took advantage of clear weather and no flight operations to work out on the flight deck, but I was purely in the class of most amateur athletes. I ran because it was good for me.
'I notice for your schedule that there is some time free tomorrow morning. I, too, am a runner. Perhaps you would care to join me for an early workout?' he asked.
Was this my contact? I had hoped Brent would be in view when it happened and be able to give me some subtle signal. Nevertheless, the offer seemed just too much of an opportunity to pass up. 'I would. Thank you for the invitation.'
Vladimir looked pleased. 'A few additional precautions you may wish to take,' he said. 'The weather is much colder than you are used to.
Gloves and a face mask are helpful. If you do not have them, I will be happy to loan you an extra set of mine.' I continued smiling, stifling the groan crowding in the back of my throat. Just the thought of exercise in this weather was more than I wanted to contemplate. 'Good suggestions,' I agreed. 'Fortunately, I have my own equipment. What time shall I be ready?'
'Will five o'clock be too early?'
'Come now, Vladimir,' the admiral broke in. 'Surely you are not proposing to take our guest on a three-mile
