chief of staff kept it out of his reach and handed it to the chief of naval operations, who suddenly looked ten years older than he had just moments before. He took the message and started scanning, but did not object when Tombstone walked around behind the desk to read over his shoulder.
The cold details, devoid of all emotion, made
The minesweeper had done the best it could, but they missed one.
Shipyard level — not something they could handle on their own. Batman was telling them that the carrier was not currently capable of flight operations — and might never be again.
“It would have happened whether you’d been there or not, Stony. Batman made the same decisions you would have.”
“No, he didn’t.” Tombstone’s voice was filled with fury. “Damaged or not, I would have had that cruiser in front of us. The submarine, too, if I had to. Without the carrier, there is no battle group. None.”
“There’s the
For a moment, Tombstone didn’t understand what he was saying. Then it hit him — his uncle meant to replace
Tombstone turned on him. “You’re going to give up on her? Just like that. After all
“No, she doesn’t. The ship isn’t the battle group — neither are the aircraft. It’s the men and women who sail in her, the ones who make the tough decisions just like Batman made.”
“We don’t yet know how bad it is. We won’t know until we get back to the states.”
“Yes, we do. Read it again. You know what Batman’s saying.”
Tombstone scanned the message again, and saw that’s exactly what Batman was recommending. It was unthinkable — the ship he’d spent most of his career on, now mortally wounded. He longed to be at sea with her, as if somehow his very presence could hold back the future he saw rushing inexorably toward her.
How many battle groups had she carried to every part of the world, how many countless times had she gone into harm’s way to protect their national interests? It couldn’t be that serious… it couldn’t, it simply couldn’t.
“Sir.” There was another rap on the door, and a radioman chief came in, holding another message. “The casualty list, sir.”
Casualties — of course, there would be casualties. Men and women trapped in compartments below the waterline, those thrown overboard by the impact, mostly enlisted technicians serving their time in the Navy deep below the surface of the ocean. How could he have forgotten them, even with the excuse that he’d been concentrating on
His uncle took the message, scanned the pages, and his face turned pale. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
Tombstone felt a new surge of horror. He reached for the message, but his uncle held it away. It was someone they knew — it had to be.
“Who is it?” Tombstone demanded. “Who?”
“Sit down, Stony,” his uncle said, his voice thick.
And in that instant Tombstone knew. Knew irrevocably, knew it as certainly as though his own arm had been severed.
“It’s Tomboy… she’s dead.”
THIRTY
Even before they pulled up to the private entrance to the United Nations, Wexler could see that chaos reigned on the sidewalk outside. Perhaps two dozen men clad in nondescript clothes were moving about purposefully. They had no particular uniform. Some were in conservative suits, others wore blue jeans and T-shirts. They had one thing in common, however — a purposeful look in their eyes that kept everyone away from them.
And weapons. Their choices seem to be about equally divided between automatic weapons and handguns. There was an air of menace around them, and for just a moment she quailed. Had they come this far only to be trapped right outside their own building?
Then she saw that Brad was right in the thick of it, clearly in charge. She breathed a sigh of relief.
T’ing shot her a thoughtful look. “He is very well-organized,” was all he said.
As their car approached the area, they were immediately surrounded by the armed men. Sarah rolled down the window, and Brad rushed over. “You’re okay?” he asked, a hard note in his voice.
“Yes. It has been… it has been interesting.” She laid one hand on his forearm. “But my friend took care of things.” She saw the light of slight surprise in T’ing’s eyes, as though he had not expected her to publicly acknowledge what he’d done.
A group of men quickly formed up behind him, and Brad helped her out of the car. She was immediately surrounded by them, shielded completely by their bodies. She turned back to the car. “Are you coming?”
“Madam Ambassador, we don’t have—” Brad started.
She cut him off. “The ambassador has been most generous with his resources. We will reciprocate.” There was steel in her voice, and she noticed Brad blinked.
“Of course.” He made a motion, and additional men formed a separate protective group.
T’ing waved them off. “Thank you. I appreciate very much the offer of assistance. However, given the events of the last few hours, I suspect that I have some matters to resolve.” A brief, but bloodthirsty look flashed in his eyes. “I will call upon you when I return, if I may.”
“What are you going to do?” she demanded. “Who were they, and what did they want with me?”
But T’ing only shook his head. “I’m sure you can answer part of that — and as for the final act in this sequence of events, I must decline to share the details with you. Perhaps some later date.” The window rolled up, T’ing spoke quietly to the driver, and the car pulled away.
“Now, Madam Ambassador,” Brad said firmly, and it was clear from his voice that he would brook no further delays. “I want to get you to a place of safety immediately.” She had a suspicion that whatever T’ing planned to do would accomplish more toward that end than surrounding her with armed guards.
She let Brad’s men sweep her into the building, forming a solid shield of human flesh around her. When they reached the elevators, another group had already secured them, and no one else was allowed on. She crowded in with six of Brad’s men and they went to her floor.
Never had she been so grateful as she was at that moment to walk into her office. The secretarial administrative staff, as well as the two assistants, all had a shocked, stunned look on their faces. They rushed to her immediately.
Brad waved them off. “The ambassador has had a difficult day. Later, please.” With that, he ushered her into her own office and shut the door behind them.
Wexler sat on the couch, leaned back against the armrest, swung her feet up on the couch, and kicked off her heels. She cut her eyes toward Brad, then let them drift closed. “I suppose tea is out of the question.”
For moment, she saw a flash of her old aide, the cheerful, genial, confident man who kept things running so smoothly. Then it disappeared, replaced by the new, harder man. “Of course it’s not out of the question,” he said easily. “I still remember how to make it.”
