The sailor regarded her levelly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The movements of senior officials are always classified.”
“Yes, but I saw him in the terminal.”
“If you’d proceed to board, ma’am.”
Frustrated, she started toward the ramp and paused to let Cary Winston and the cameraman precede her. She trotted back to her luggage, as though she’d forgotten something, and took a quick look around the airfield. Sure enough, about four hundred feet away, she saw Tombstone climbing up the boarding ladder and into the cockpit of a Tomcat. She turned back to the crewman who had refused to answer her questions, a grin on her face. As he started for her, she waved to Tombstone, and then trotted back to the COD’s ramp. “Sorry. I forgot my book.”
“Maybe he’s taking the later flight,” Winston said, disappointment in her voice.
“Maybe,” Drake said. She fastened the restraining harness, tightened the straps, and opened her book.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy Greene asked, pointing across the tarmac. Tombstone, halfway up the boarding ladder, twisted around to see Drake’s familiar figure standing near the COD.
It made no sense at all, the intrusive train of thought that started every time he saw her. Pamela was not responsible for Tomboy being gone. He knew that, kept repeating it to himself. Yet every time he saw his former fiancee, he felt a completely irrational flash of rage that she was here, dogging his footsteps, and Tomboy wasn’t. Tombstone looked down at Greene, who had already completed his preflight and was strapped into his ejection seat. “Ignore her.”
“Civilian, right? Maybe we’ll see her on the boat.”
“Maybe you ought to be a RIO instead of a pilot,” Tombstone said. “You didn’t recognize her?”
“I don’t wear glasses,” Greene said hotly. Then he remembered exactly who was in the front seat. Retired or not, you had to be polite to an admiral.
“That, my friend, was the esteemed Pamela Drake. And when we get on board, you’ll say nothing to her. Not a word. Zip. Nada.” The plane captain who had followed Tombstone up the boarding ladder double-checked Tombstone’s straps then pulled the safeties that kept the ejection seat from firing on the ground and held them up for Tombstone’s inspection. Tombstone counted them out loud, as was his habit, and then nodded.
“I’m not a RIO, I’m a pilot,” Greene grumbled. “And speaking of being a pilot—”
“You’re not current, are you?” Tombstone said calmly. “If you had been in shape to fly, you could have gotten your quals out of the way yesterday. I told you I’d make sure you’d get more stick time.”
“A touch of the flu,” Greene muttered. Not exactly true, since the alcohol he’d consumed the night before had killed off any germs.
“Right. Pre-start checklist,” Tombstone said, and opened his flight manual to begin to run through it. “Ready?”
With a sigh, Greene opened his own manual. He knew Tombstone did not believe him, and he couldn’t blame him. Yes, he should have gotten his quals taken care of yesterday, but what the heck? After all, there would be time on the boat, wouldn’t there?
Responding automatically to Tombstone’s questions as he completed the backseat pre-flight actions, Jeremy mulled that thought over for a moment.
Technically, Jeremy Greene was not on active duty. When he agreed to become part of the small, highly specialized special operations group that Tombstone and his uncle headed up, he had been discharged from the Navy and offered a civilian contract with the company. True, should he leave Advanced Analysis, as their Beltway front was known, he would immediately be recalled to active duty. But technically, at least, he was a civilian right now, wasn’t he?
Technically.
So how did Tombstone figure he was entitled to tell Jeremy who he could and couldn’t talk to? Pamela Drake — of course, he knew who she was. And he knew her history with Tombstone as well. It wasn’t like he had a romantic interest in her, was it? Hell no. But that chick he’d seen with Drake in the terminal, now that was a different matter. Maybe her secretary or something. He’d find out once they got on the boat. There were no secrets there.
“Pre-fight complete,” Tombstone announced.
“Complete,” Jeremy agreed.
Tombstone started the Tomcat’s engines, increasing power as they rumbled to life. Inside the cockpit, Jeremy felt the familiar vibrations of a Tomcat on the ground radiate through the fuselage, up the frame of his seat, and resonate in his bones. It was a warm, welcoming sound, as though the aircraft had missed them and was eager to be airborne.
“Tower, 101, ready to roll,” Greene announced, taking over the communications. The tower granted them clearance ahead of the COD and they rolled out smoothly past her, paused for a moment at the beginning of the runway for final checks, and then began their final roll out. Tombstone applied power smoothly, quickly taking her up to speed, then rotated at slightly over the minimum distance. He put the Tomcat into a steep climb, carefully following the tower’s vectors to clear the area. The area around San Diego was busy, and he was careful to stay out of commercial air control areas.
“Better than the COD,” Greene said. “Although I’m not sure why we needed a full weapon loadout.”
“Always take weapons if they’re offered,” Tombstone said. “Besides, you never know when you’ll need them.”
“Are we? Likely to need them right away, I mean.”
Tombstone didn’t answer.
It was a source of continuing frustration to Jeremy that Tombstone and his uncle played their cards close to their respective chests.
“Okay, just so I know to stay awake,” Jeremy said. Not like he could sleep in the back of a Tomcat, anyway. Not after what happened last time he’d dozed off. He slept through an engagement, and it had taken Tombstone shouting at him to wake him up.
“There’s no specific threat to know about, Jeremy,” Tombstone said, evidently reading his backseater’s mind. “But it just makes sense to be heads up. You can’t believe everything you read in the newspapers or hear on the air. Particularly not,” he continued, animosity in his voice, “when Pamela Drake is involved. Just keep that in mind.”
“I will. But once we get closer to the carrier—”
“Some fighters from
“You never know,” Jeremy echoed. He glanced down at his radarscope. “Looks like they’re airborne. Where do you want to stay?”
“High and forwards,” Tombstone said promptly, evidently having already considered the issue. “We’ll be in the data link, but I want my own radar taking a look ahead as well. Just in case.”
Jeremy sighed. “I have a feeling I’m going to get real tired of hearing that phrase.”
