Hellfire

The helicopter was shut down, but just barely. Drake knew from prior experience that he could be turning and at rotation speed in a matter of moments. She waved a casual goodbye and turned to face her Russian escort.

The public information officer was waiting for them. Although his face was professionally pleasant, there was none of the warm friendliness that she’d seen before. Were they suspicious? Maybe. But if they knew her, they knew enough to know that she would go after any story anywhere anytime. She was hoping her reputation would help her pull this off.

“Welcome back, Miss Drake,” the public information officer said. “We’re flattered at your interest in our ship.”

He’s not cool with this. Ill at ease.

“Thank you. It’s nice to be back,” she said casually. “I appreciate your hospitality. Perhaps if we can go inside, I can fill you in on what’s happened so far.”

The two officers glanced at each other, then the public information officer nodded. Not for the first time, Drake wondered who he really was.

He led the way back into the ship, and via a different route, to what was obviously a senior officers’ mess. “A bit more privacy here,” he explained when he saw her glance around. “I suspect not everyone should hear what you have to say.”

Drake nodded. “You may have noticed that my last report got a lot of attention. High-level, too. The military and the politicians are crawling all over my boss’s back. And this whole thing about the lasers — well, I don’t have to tell you it’s a political hot potato.”

“So I have heard,” the information officer responded. “I imagine that at some level, politicians are all the same.”

“You got that right. Anyway, like I said, it’s caused a real stir. From what I can tell, there’s a lot of people rethinking their position. This laser stuff — yes, it sounds fine. But not if it puts us in another Cold War arms race, you know? The people that are in power now, they remember that. It wasn’t so long ago that we were practicing air raid drills and building bomb shelters. And nowadays, when you’ve got laser-guided missiles and such, everybody feels pretty defenseless. I think, with a little pushing, that this can all go away and we can get down to the business of disarmament.”

“And what would be your interest in this matter, Miss Drake?” he asked. “Simply that it is news?”

Drake looked down, feigning embarrassment. “There’s that, of course. As you probably know, I’ve been around for a while. I’ve seen a lot of the world, and a lot of what happens when nations go to war.” She looked up, and forced a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You may laugh, but what I’ve seen makes me believe that disarmament must start now. And start with us. The world is too small anymore. There’s no room for nuclear weapons, not now that we know what they can do. The ozone layer, the potential for fallout — just look at Chernobyl. You people know better than I do what happens when nuclear power goes wrong.”

“And what happened to your journalistic neutrality?” he asked.

“Who can be neutral in something like this?” she shot back. “When there’s a chance that I can do something that will help stop this madness? No,” she said, shaking her head, “maybe at one time I was. But now, after everything I’ve seen — well, it has to stop. And if reporting the stories the way they really are helps that, then all the better.”

“An admirable sentiment,” he murmured politely, and Drake could see that he wanted to believe her. “My family lived north of Chernobyl. Any shift in the wind and they would have been seriously at risk. But what can we do for you now?”

“The main thing we’re missing right now is a hammer,” she said bluntly. “Half the people I talk to don’t believe your laser can possibly work. The other half are spread out across the spectrum. I need to crush this insane American superiority complex, show them that we’re not the only nation in the world that can build a system that works. I’d like to get another look at the laser, and this time take some pictures. Any technical data you can release—” She held up one hand to forestall comment. “I’m not asking for military secrets. But if there’s anything I can show them to prove that your laser works as advertised, maybe they’ll believe we’re headed for another Cold War arms race. Please,” she put a note of pleading in her voice, “can’t we just stop this madness?”

For some reason, Rodney King’s anguished and oft-parodied plea ran through her mind: Can’t we all just get along?

The two officers looked uncertain now, as though they believed her but were not entirely sure of what to say. Or what they could say. Finally, the public information officer spoke. “I’ll have to confer with the admiral, of course. But there’s great merit in your arguments. We, too, would like a peaceful world.” He stood, and smoothed out his tunic as he did. “Please wait here. We can provide refreshments while I talk to the admiral.”

Intell. He’s got to be — and a lot more senior than he lets on.

“Some coffee?” her escort asked. “Or perhaps a sandwich?”

“Tea would be fine,” Pamela murmured, remembering the last cup of coffee she had on board a Russian ship.

“A sandwich sounds great,” her cameraman said enthusiastically. He let his bags slump onto the couch and came forward eagerly.

A few minutes stretched into half an hour. They were fed, given freshly brewed tea, and the escort made polite conversation. She shifted the talk away from her to his family. He had a wife and two boys. His mother lived with them. Like most officers, he was worried about providing for his family, but was fiercely proud of the work he did.

Finally, the PIO returned, with the admiral following him. He stepped aside and allowed the admiral to approach Pamela.

The admiral studied her from under his bushy eyebrows. He was of a different generation than the other two officers, one who remembered the glories of the Soviet Union and the uncertainties of the Cold War. Her proposal would be tempting to him, but he would be even more deeply suspicious of her then the younger officers. “We provide you data. And you may take pictures,” he said abruptly. “Some information we cannot tell. Pictures, basic information — yes. Take it to your people, the ones who do not believe that Russia is capable of this. Show them that if they continue this madness, we will match everything they do.”

Unable to resist, Drake asked, “Admiral, you have been remarkably candid with us. How do you view the American development of this weapon?”

He glared at her. “It is an act of aggression,” he snapped. “The United States seeks to disrupt the balance that has kept the world stable. Once her missile shield is in place, what is to prevent her from attacking us first?”

“There are those who would say the U.S. will never fire the first shot,” Drake said.

The admiral snorted. “The United States has used nuclear weapons before. Japan, yes? Russia has never done this. Only the United States. And I will—”

The PIO stepped forward smoothly, catching the admiral’s attention. “The admiral has given me explicit instructions on what you may and may not see, Miss Drake. We hope that it will be sufficient to contribute to your efforts for peace. If you would come this way.”

Arrogant — so arrogant. You would never see an American officer cutting off an admiral that way. She glanced back at the older man, and saw him deflate, a balloon from which the air had been let out. Just who is this guy anyway?

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly just a little bit sorry for the admiral. He was a warrior, a military man, yet this weasely little politician had him under his thumb. He had not gone to confer with the admiral — he’d gone to the admiral as an equal.

“This way,” the PIO said. He led them down the same passageways as before — or, at least Pamela thought he did. Some of it looked familiar, but she knew all too well how easy it was to get lost in the passageways on a large ship. She glanced back at her cameraman and saw him nod slightly. He was keeping track of where they were going, too.

And does he have a plan for getting us out of here? What am I supposed to do, drop some bread crumbs along the way?

They arrived at a hatch that they’d seen before, or at least it looked like the same one. She glanced at the