Hellfire

gravitated toward the left side of the bridge, leaving him alone. Gradually, the normal comments and orders of the watch team began flowing around him again.

Phillips stared out at the ocean, thinking. First the collision and now this. How was he supposed to make it through this without falling on his sword, much less causing an international incident? It was like if they said anything, they would be admitting they were at fault or were trying to hide something. Everybody who worked in search and rescue knew that if they were going to find something, they would have found it by now. There was no point, other than political appearances, in continuing.

But like too many things, this was one instance where the truth simply could not be told. To the rest of the world, they had to maintain an optimistic front, continue to search, wasting man hours and fuel on what was surely a pipe dream. But it wasn’t something you could say out loud.

The moon was almost full and seemed unusually bright tonight. The reflected light shone down on the waves, illuminating the shadows between the troughs and casting a silvery glow over the ocean. It should have been quiet, peaceful, calm. But to Jack Phillips, it was anything but.

USS Jefferson

Starboard Passageway

0410 local (GMT-9)

The cameraman could feel Winston’s barely suppressed glee. He tried to ignore it. It wasn’t really his job, was it? A cameraman shot when he was told to, got the best visuals he could, and tried to fit them to the story. It wasn’t up to him to decide what the story was, or how to tell it.

Was it?

Winston should have known better. It was her first time on a ship — hell, her first time covering a major story — and now she was playing with the big boys. From what he’d seen so far, she didn’t understand that the rules had changed.

And where was Drake? How come she hadn’t taken the kid under her wing, set her straight on the way things were? Drake would have never pulled anything like that on the bridge. First off, she would not have ignored the requirement to ask permission to come on the bridge. And if Winston had done that, everyone would have known she was there. But instead they had crept on like thieves waiting to ambush somebody. And he’d let it happen, knowing it was wrong.

Even if Drake had sneaked onto the bridge and gotten Jack Phillips’s comment, she would never, ever use it. Because even if what he said was true, even though no one had said the magic words “off the record,” she would have known that to use that comment would be to permanently close off that source of information. And the truth was that although the stories changed, the players didn’t.

This captain, for instance. If he played his cards right, he’d end up commander of a battle group, then maybe even higher than that. There’d be another time, another place, when he’d be at the center of the story. And if Winston used this ambush quote now, she could forget about ever being able to talk to him again. It was a question of long-term benefit vs. short-term.

It wasn’t just about Winston’s career, either. What she’d done reflected on all of them, ACN and all the networks. All of them. If she screwed the pooch on this one, they would all take the heat for it.

“Can you get an uplink?” she asked.

“Probably. The conditions look pretty clear.”

“Good. Let’s do it, then. Just a short update segment.”

Jeff shifted uneasily. “What does Drake think about it?” he asked tentatively, knowing that Drake had no idea this was going on.

“There’s no need to bother her about this,” Winston said levelly. “It’s just an update. Besides, it’s not like they’ll go live with it. If Control doesn’t like it, they’ll kill it.”

Well, she was right about that. There were other controls in place other than the good sense of a reporter. Still, he felt pretty uneasy with the idea of doing this without Drake knowing. They might be having their own pissing contest, but when it came down to it, they were all on the same side, weren’t they?

“Come on,” she said. She led the way down the passageway to a sponson, an open-air enclosed area low on the ship. “Power up.”

Jeff positioned the satellite dish, clamped it down, and waited for the tone. It came quickly, indicating he had a solid lock on the satellite. “Don’t know how long this will last. You’d better get it first take.”

“In five, four…” He counted down the remaining three numbers with his fingers, and pointed at her. Winston instantly aimed an expression of measured intensity at the camera.

“This is Cary Winston, on board the USS Jefferson. We have just learned that the situation is by no means as straightforward as was originally briefed. The captain of this carrier has just admitted that the attack on the Montego Bay might have been the result of a mistake on the American battle group’s part, not the Russians. This has a profound impact on the search-and-rescue efforts under way. Despite the public face of confidence that there are more observers to be found, the captain of the Jefferson expressed great doubts about the wisdom of continuing the search. He said,” she consulted her notes, “that if anyone was out here, they would have found them by now. Continuing the search now is merely a political maneuver, since the United States cannot justify terminating search efforts before the Russians do, particularly when the United States may be at fault.” Winston paused for a moment to let her damning words sink in. “This concern over politics may lead some to wonder just how sincere the rescue efforts are. If survivors are found, will they tell a story markedly at odds with the official United States Navy version of what happened?” She shook her head, looking grave. “At this point, it is a question of whether politics can be put aside long enough to save lives. Cary Winston, on board the USS Jefferson.”

She held her earnest expression a few seconds longer, until she saw the red transmit light blink off on the camera, and then relaxed. “How did I sound?”

“Pretty good.” Jeff was feeling even more uneasy, but she seemed to take the words as high praise. She smiled happily.

“That ought to shake things up a bit. Okay, let’s get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” Looking satisfied with herself, Winston led the way back into the ship and headed toward the stateroom she shared with Drake. Jeff watched her go, a sick feeling starting in his gut.

USS Jefferson Stateroom

0445 local (GMT-9)

“Ouch!” Winston’s voice snapped Drake awake. Unused to maneuvering in cramped quarters in the dark, her roommate had stumbled over a chair on the way to her bed.

“What are you doing?” Drake demanded, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Just went to the bathroom,” Winston said. But the younger reporter’s voice was far too awake for that. Drake snapped on the small reading lamp over her bed. Its illumination revealed that Winston was fully dressed, not in a bathrobe, and carrying her recorder and notebook.

“Where have you been!” Drake was fully awake now and swinging her feet out onto the cold tile floor. “I told you, no solos.”

“I wasn’t alone. Jeff was with me.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“So be more specific next time. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some sleep.” Winston quickly shucked her clothes, flinging them over the chair she’d run into, and climbed into the top bunk.

Drake stood, and as the younger woman settled down in her rack, she grabbed her by her nightshirt and pulled her to the edge of the bed. “Who did you talk to?”

Winston let out a yelp of protest. “Just getting some background information and update on the rescue attempts.”

Drake took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. When she spoke, her voice was a model of murderous reasonability. “I am going to give you one more chance. Level with me now or I’ll see you get your young ass packed off this ship as fast as possible.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Want to bet?”

There was a long moment of silence, then Winston spoke sullenly. “We went up to the bridge to watch the