Hellfire

marking above it and was relieved to see the numbers matched what she remembered. This time, however, a radiation trefoil had been added to the door.

Seeing her glance at it, the PIO smiled grimly. “Nothing to worry about. If you like, I can get you a dosimeter.”

“How much radiation is there?” she asked.

“It’s about like being on the beach on a sunny day.” He waited patiently for her to make up her mind. Finally, she nodded.

He clicked in the numbers on the cipher lock and shoved the door open. There was no one inside the compartment. He stepped aside to let Pamela and her cameraman go in first, then followed. He turned and secured the door behind them.

It was just as she remembered it, sleek and deadly. The bright blue crystal at one end was dull. Lab Rat had explained that when the laser was operated, the crystal would glow. If it were in operation, she wouldn’t be able to touch it.

“We’ll shoot video from all angles,” she said. “That way, we can cut in whichever views we need. And then some stills, both with me and without me.” She glanced over at her cameraman. “Want to shoot an intro in front of it?”

“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “Be great if we could get the admiral in, too. You mind asking him?” asked the PIO.

The officer paled a bit. “I do not think that would be possible. And as for me, I would prefer not to be in any photographs. I really have nothing to do with it other than providing briefings for visitors such as you.”

That confirms it. A PIO who doesn’t want his picture in the paper. Either they’re a lot more shy than their American counterparts, or he’s got other reasons for not wanting his face in the limelight, and I’m betting on the latter.

But then again, Pamela, you’re not exactly what you appear to be either, are you?

She nodded sympatheticly. “Cause problems with your mates, would it?”

“They might think I was being — well — self-promoting, I think.” He gave her a chuckle that sounded remarkably genuine. “And I’m not really sure how my wife would react to it. We’re out at sea for a couple of months, then she sees a picture of me with a — well — I do hope I won’t offend, Miss Drake, but my wife has a wide jealous streak.”

Good move. Flattering me, are you? But you’re a bit too young for me, sonny.

“I understand. But think about the positive side of it. You’d become known as someone who contributed to world peace, you know. It could stand in good stead if you ever have a political career after the navy. That wouldn’t be entirely bad, both in your country and in mine.”

If I get home. She was certain that he did not want anyone in the United States studying his picture. Particularly not anyone who might be associated with the CIA. Or the State Department.

“Very kind,” he murmured. “But I think not.”

“Let me get to it,” her cameraman said. He hoisted his camera to his shoulder. A red light came on. He moved slowly around the laser, shooting from every angle. As she watched, she could see the lens refocus slightly as he picked up the consoles along the bulkhead on one pass, the laser on the next. He moved in a slow, surefooted way, the camera remarkably steady. Then he shot from above, and from below, carefully traversing the entire length of the laser. She noticed that the PIO found reasons to move around the compartment, evading the camera’s eye.

“That’ll do it for now,” the cameraman said finally. “Stills now. Color and black and white, you think?”

“Yep. Let’s get everything we can,” she answered. She moved over to stand behind the laser column and let her hands rest easily on it. “This okay?”

He studied his light meter for a moment, the shook his head. “Won’t do. Hold on, I’ll fix it.” He dipped into his bag and extracted a small, powerful strobe. He mounted it high on the bulkhead with some temporary double-sided tape, and then ran the cord to his other hand. “Ready.”

She pasted a bright smile on her face, then held her arms out to give some perspective to the length of the laser. “Serious face now,” he ordered. He was in charge at this moment, not her. Drake obligingly assumed a serious expression. A suspicion started to grow in her mind and she could feel it reflected in her face.

“Good, good — look down, now. Like you’re studying it. The look you used in Cuba, you know. That made some good shots, really good. That time when you were outside worked best, I thought.” He was chatting now, unusual for him since his normal mode of communication was grunted commands and terse orders. She didn’t have to ask. Now she was certain.

She tensed, ready. “Okay, here we go,” he said. She dropped her hand down low on the laser, ready to move.

He glanced back at the political officer and said, “Now!” Her fingers shot into her pocket and she grabbed the fake crystal. At that moment, the light mounted on the bulkhead flashed in blinding light, so bright it seemed to burn through her closed eyelids and scorch her skin.

Intent on watching her, the information officer let out a sharp yelp. He spat out a few words that had to be curses. Then the light flashed again, and again, the strobe bursts coming so close together that it seemed to be one continuous blast of light.

Drake moved quickly, her nimble fingers flying over the laser, popping the catch, extracting the crystal, and slipping the other one into its place. Metal against metal as it slid home, a grating noise. She coughed to cover the noise.

She need not have bothered. Moving quickly, her cameraman jammed a cloth over the information officer’s face. He went down almost immediately, dead weight. The cameraman lowered him easily to the floor. Then, extracting a roll of duct tape from his pack, he quickly bound the other man hand and foot, then slapped a strip of tape across his mouth. He dragged him into a corner and propped him up against a wall.

Drake watched, stunned. She could not believe what she was seeing. Who was this commando that looked like her cameraman?

He glanced up at her. “You okay?” She nodded dumbly. “Then let’s get moving. We’ll lock the hatch behind us and head for the flight deck. You remember the way?”

“I think so.”

“Between the two of us, we can find it. Now move!”

He detached the light from the bulkhead and slipped it into his bag, then led the way out of the compartment. He waited until she had left, then pulled the door shut and spun the lock dial. He tried it and saw that it was locked. “Act confident.”

They strode down the passageway, acting as though they had every right in the world to be wandering around a Russian warship unescorted. Pamela greeted the few sailors who met her gaze as they made their way back to a ladder they both remembered. They went up and emerged onto the flight deck.

As soon as they stepped into view, their helicopter’s rotors started turning. They moved across the deck purposefully, not running, but not loitering either. With any luck at all, it would take the Russians a few moments to tumble to what was happening.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Drake said, fastening her harness. She was surprised to see her fingers starting to shake. “The faster, the better.”

Pamela Drake was no stranger to fear, but this was entirely different. There was nothing she could do, nowhere to run. The helo’s top speed wouldn’t have kept a fighter aircraft airborne, and the pilot couldn’t even use that, for fear of generating suspicion.

So she was obliged to sit in the back and say nothing, sweating inside the harness that held her in her seat, the crystal, in her hand, in her front pocket. The forced inactivity made everything worse.

“Seahawk One, Home Plate,” a voice said over her headset. She was tuned into the tactical chatter on the net. “Condition red — Russian cruiser has activated targeting radar. Be advised that all indications are that they are about to launch on you.”

“They’re what?” the pilot shouted in disbelief. “They can’t do that.”

“That’s what we told them, Seahawk. But they seem to believe that you have something in your possession