Tombstone stood, scraping his chair away from the table. He motioned to Yuri. "Lab Rat's right, Batman," he said quietly. "It's not my ship anymore."
I started to protest, then fell silent. With a nod, Tombstone steered Yuri gently out of the compartment. Lab Rat waited until they were gone, then shut the heavy steel door behind them.
I turned to him. "So what's all this cloak-and-dagger stuff about, Lab Rat?" My voice was a little bit harsher than I'd like, but the guy had inadvertently been the last in a long line of people who'd pissed me off that afternoon. "What's so damn secret you can't say it in front of Tombstone?"
Lab Rat sighed, and I was surprised to hear a quaver in the exhalation of breath. "I don't know, Admiral," he said quietly. He pointed at a chair. "You might like to sit down ― this might take some time."
I planted my old ass in that chair, and sat there and listened to my Intelligence Officer outline his concerns.
"First off, let me say that I believe there's no real cause for concern," Lab Rat began. "But still, until we verify some of this information, I have to treat it as a possible compromise to our national security. Please, Admiral, don't misunderstand me ― this is my duty." There was a pleading quality in Lab Rat's voice that bothered me almost as much as his words.
I nodded slowly. "Go on."
"Admiral, Admiral Magruder was involved in a series of almost inexplicable coincidences while he was on the ground," Lab Rat continued. "In particular, his encounter with the Ukrainian forces seems almost too coincidental to believe. How likely is his travels in the jungle, that a contingent of renegade Vietnamese officers agreed to stage an unprovoked attack on Jefferson as a cover story for something they hoped we would do ― mind you, they had no clear indication that we'd agree to take on that supposed nuclear facility ― and risk taking losses of their own?"
I slumped back in my chair, shocked beyond words.
"Until I know otherwise, I have to view this relationship between Admiral Magruder and Commander Kursk with some concern," Lab Rat continued. "Remember, this is the same man who tried to kill him when he was still on board Jefferson. And now they are working together?" Lab Rat shook his head slowly. "Tell me I have a nasty, paranoid mind, Admiral. Reassure me that there's nothing to this, that I'm not going to get my ass blasted by D.C. for divulging classified information to a senior officer who may be compromised."
"Compromised." I spat the word out, tasting its foulness in my mouth. "Are you accusing Tombstone Magruder of being a spy?"
Lab Rat spoke quickly now. "Not intentionally, Admiral. It's possible that his drive to seek his father has led him to make arrangements that the United States might view with some alarm."
"Cut the bullshit, Lab Rat. Do you seriously believe that Tombstone Magruder would betray his country in any way? That he would release classified information without proper authorization? Particularly to them?"
"He's got you convinced we need to make a bombing run on the interior of Vietnam, based on the same associations," Lab Rat pointed out. "Admiral, please ― understand my position. I'm not accusing Admiral Magruder of being a spy. I'm just saying that there's something questionable about this entire association, this sequence of events. Frankly, I don't want to take the chance. Can you honestly say that you do? Putting aside your personal friendship with Admiral Magruder ― and remember, Chief Warrant Officer Walker also had personal friends in his command ― are you completely and professionally satisfied with this entire situation?"
I was so angry I almost couldn't think straight. I stood, and started to scream at Lab Rat and chew his neck to a bloody, red froth. Then it hit me, the unsettling feeling that circled around the pit of my stomach whenever I was about to make a fool of myself. I sat back down heavily.
Perhaps there was something to what he was saying. No, not that Tombstone would ever betray his country ― that I simply could not believe. But the circumstances ― yes, there was a lot left to be desired in them. Now that I reviewed them, Tombstone's explanation sounded all the more lame. That the leader of his group had mysteriously disappeared, that he'd fled the fire and had a chance encounter with the one Ukrainian he had reason to hate most of all in the world, then gone with that man voluntarily to conduct surveillance on a secret Chinese weapons-production facility ― now that I ran through the facts again, it sounded more and more bizarre. Bizarre ― but true. Had it been anyone else except Admiral Magruder, who I'd known so long and so well, I would have wondered about it. But coming from him…
And that was exactly Lab Rat's point. I couldn't let my personal friendship with Tombstone cloud my judgment in this matter. Not with what we were about to undertake. Really, the only reason I was completely convinced at that point was that both stories backed up Lab Rat's national-asset data about a possible nuclear plant deep in the jungle of Vietnam. Whoever it belonged to ― Chinese, Vietnamese, or even Ukrainian ― it needed to be put out of business. That they were up to no good was evident by the care they'd taken to conceal their activities.
"Tombstone isn't compromised," I said finally, my voice sounding weak and quiet even to my own ears. "It's not possible."
Lab Rat nodded. "I tend to agree with you, Admiral. But as I said ― it's not a matter of what we think or feel. It's a matter of what the facts are ― and what our duty requires us to do."
"I don't believe it," I said finally. "I won't."
It was Lab Rat's turn to stand, and he paced angrily in the small confined space. He appeared to be at war with himself, struggling with some decision he knew he must make. Finally he turned to me, a harsh expression on his face. "Admiral, I've reviewed everything I can think of concerning security clearances. Of course, you have the absolute right to grant a clearance to anyone you wish, if you follow the regulations listed in the manual for granting interim ones. I know those rules cold ― and so do you, I suspect."
"So what are you saying?" I asked.
"Admiral, Admiral Magruder is a visitor aboard this ship. Technically, you must formally authorize his access to classified material from my shop. As I said, it is your sole decision ― but it's normally one made with the concurrence of the top-secret control officer. That would be me."
I felt my jaw drop as I contemplated where this young officer was about to go. He wouldn't dare. He couldn't- He did.
"I do not concur with any decisions to authorize Admiral Magruder access to classified material," Lab Rat said firmly. "Furthermore ― and understand, this is not a threat, I am merely complying with regulations ― if you do grant him access to classified material, I will be forced to file a report with the National Security Group in Hawaii, indicating my concern that classified material may be compromised by your actions." A strange, almost pleading look swept over Lab Rat's face. "I don't want to do this, Admiral Wayne. But I don't have any choice."
I sighed heavily, dumbstruck. "If you pull his clearance, you realize he's grounded," I said quietly.
Lab Rat nodded. "I know that. And truly, if I saw any other way, I wouldn't do it."
As much as I hated it I saw Lab Rat's point. Had it been anyone else, I would 'have done as he suggested in a heartbeat.
"All right," I said, the words heavy in my throat. "I'm not convinced, for what it's worth. But I agree. I'll tell him myself."
Lab Rat took a step closer to me. "But not until after I've debriefed him thoroughly," he said quietly. "I Want a straight story, his first story, Admiral. Not one based on any suspicions that you may raise in him."
"Suspicions?" I was on my feet too now, outraged again. "How dare you-" I bit my words off in mid-sentence as I saw the look on Lab Rat's face.
There are many forms of courage, but one of the most difficult to measure is moral courage. It is that strange conviction that drives a man to do what is right, not what is convenient or attractive. It requires standing up to superior officers when they are in the wrong, taking a moral stand whenever possible. In that instant, I saw those qualities in Lab Rat's face.
"I apologiz
e," I said, my voice quiet now. "You're absolutely right. I won't tell him ― not until you tell me to. In the meantime, we'll shield him from all classified material. How is that?"
A vast look of relief washed over Lab Rat's face. "Thank you, sir. I think we can resolve this quickly."
I nodded. "So do I, Lab Rat. So do I."
I opened the outer door, and motioned Tombstone back into the room. I forced a hearty, relaxed expression onto my face. "Your turn, amigo."
Tombstone shot me a quizzical look. "I don't know how long this'll take, but could you have someone hunt me down a bed? I'm about out on my feet ― I suspect I need about ten hours in the rack before I even start to sound coherent again." He chuckled, and pointed at Lab Rat. "I pity him, trying to have to piece this story together the way I'm feeling right now."
Inwardly, I winced. Tombstone had no idea of what had transpired, and it would soon be my sad duty to tell him his clearance was pulled. And that he was grounded, since the entire interior of the Tomcat is classified. I wasn't looking forward to it, any more than Lab Rat had wanted to talk to me about it. But it had to be done ― and I'd done it.
I left Yuri in the care of two Intelligence Specialists who were obviously chomping at the bit to ask him questions, but were under strict orders from Lab Rat to leave him alone until Lab Rat himself could debrief the Ukrainian. After making sure that he was comfortable and promising to find him a rack as well, I headed back to my cabin. The walk back took far longer than the trip to CVIC had in the first place.
13
Lieutenant Commander "Bird Dog"
Robinson 30 September
USS Jefferson
I went down to Medical to see how Gator was doing, but the corpsmen wouldn't even let me in the door until I'd had a shower. They damned near grabbed me and pitched me in one right there, claiming I posed a health hazard to the entire ship. I gave up trying to get in and went back to my stateroom to hunt down a clean pair of skivvies. My roommate was blessedly absent ― I didn't feel like doing any explaining. Not after the last week.
I showered quickly, soaping up and washing down three times before I finally felt clean. I scratched my head, wondering if anything had taken root in it during my time in the jungle.
I was getting sleepy now that I was clean, but there was one last task I had to perform. Donning clean skivvies and a flight suit, as well as the blessed comfort of clean socks, I headed back down to Medical. The corpsman almost didn't recognize me. He did a double take, then motioned me into the ward.
"How is he?" I asked.
The corpsman nodded with satisfaction. "He's gonna be just fine, sir. We shot him full of antibiotics and put him to bed. He's out cold now." He gave me an assessing glance. "Something you ought to consider doing yourself."
"I want to see him," I said, ignoring the suggestion that was sounding better and better each minute. "Just for a minute."
The corpsman led me over to the private curtained-off area where Gator was. He had some color back in his face, and he looked better now that he was clean. His shoulder and knee had been bandaged, and I saw an IV line running into his right arm. I patted him on the arm and said, "You're gonna be fine, buddy. These guys are doing a good job. You're gonna be just fine."
As I left, I cornered the first doctor I saw and asked, "How about the knee? Is he going to be able to fly again?"
The doctor's face was guarded. "It's too soon to tell," he finally admitted. He glanced back at the curtain, as though making sure Gator couldn't hear. "There's been a lot of damage. He'll need surgery, obviously. After that, we'll see how it goes."
"He can't fly now, though, right?" I asked. It was a very, very stupid question, given the condition of his knee as I'd last seen it. Another indication that I badly needed sleep and food, not necessarily in that order.
The doctor's face was worried as well. He took me by the arm, leading me over to another treatment cubicle. "You're cleaned up, right?" he asked. "Here, let me check you over."
"No, I just came down to see how Gator was doing," I protested. "I'm fine."
The doctor shook his head. "I doubt it. Let me have a look at you. I'll make it an order, if I have to."
Silently, I shrugged out of my flight suit and stood there in clean skivvies and socks. "On the examining table," the doctor ordered. "On your back."
I shrugged and complied. Might as well get it over with. Then I could get back to my rack.
The doctor ran his hands over me, asked a few questions about how I felt and when I'd last eaten, then finally nodded. "You're exhausted, of course," he said. "When were you planning on getting some sleep?"
"In a little while," I said. I had been planning on going straight back to my stateroom, but I hated being pushed around by doctors. They seemed to think they had absolute control over everyone's life, and I wasn't about to let him tell me I needed some sleep.
"I see." The doctor looked thoughtful. "Well, I want to run a few lab tests ― no, no, I insist. No telling what sort of nasty blood toxins you could have picked up down there." He disappeared out of the treatment cubicle for a moment, then returned with a syringe and a couple of vials. "Make a fist," he ordered.
I started to comply, then felt a sudden sting in my upper arm. I turned my head to look at him. "Hey! Since when do you take blood out of my shoulder?"
The doctor smiled gently. "Ever since I want to make sure a hardheaded pilot gets some sleep before he becomes a danger to himself. Consider yourself grounded for two days ― longer, if you don't do what I tell you to do."
The world was fading around me, becoming gray and fuzzy. I protested, I tried to struggle up into a sitting position, but there was no use fighting it. Whatever he jabbed into my shoulder was a lot stronger than I was at that point.
I was still trying to climb off the bed and onto my feet when darkness washed over me completely. I went down hard for the count.
This time, the admiral briefed us himself. That wasn't usually done. Under normal circumstances, you get jammed into the CVIC briefing room with the other guys flying the same mission and you get your data dump from Lab Rat or one of his assistants. But it wasn't every day that we went to war without a full-scale buildup, Air Force tanker support and careful testing of the civilian waters by the politicians back home.
Or that we faced a target that scared the shit out of all of us.
Nuclear weapons take warfare to a whole new level of pucker factor. With a target like this, ringed with SAM sites and shoulder-mounted Stingers, you got to take life seriously. The admiral knew that ― down deep, he was still one of us, even though he was carrying around a hell of a lot of metal on his collars. He wouldn't be in the air with us ― at least not physically. But from what I'd seen of the J-TARPS, it was the next best thing to being there.
I expected him to start off with a pep talk. You know, the God-and-country routine.
Bastard surprised me again. I hate it when that happens.
The lights dimmed and a photo flashed up on the wall. I sucked in a hard breath. Not something tactical, a copy of the flight plan, or much of anything else relevant to the mission. No, this one was a beauty.
It was an aerial view. Burnt jungle surrounded by those overwhelming patches of green wilderness. Smoke still curled up from some areas. Down in the lower left-hand corner, a picture of raw dirt. An excavation, maybe. It looked like…
"No," I said involuntarily. "It can't be."
Even in the dim light, the admiral's eyes seemed to find me. I was staring, feeling like a catfish that someone had started gutting, trying to breathe but feeling panicky.
"Next slide," the admiral said as if he was briefing us on the weather.
A closer view now. I could see figures running away from the excavation, heading toward the sheltering jungle.
Running might have been too strong a word for what we had been doing right then. I had Gator half over one shoulder, and was stumbling along trying to keep him off the ground and moving in
the right direction. I remembered the fear, the feeling of dirt caving in on me, the sheer impossibility of thinking about anything else except being out of the cave we'd almost died in.
"You saw us," I said, the words spilling out barely under control. "My God, you saw us!"
The admiral nodded. "We didn't know who it was at first. Took a while to get the picture cleaned up enough to make out the details. Once we did, we realized it could be our people. By then, you and Gator had disappeared."
I slumped back down in my chair, reliving the nightmare. A hand clamped down on my arm, startling me. "Get over it." Two calm, green eyes looked back at me. "You weren't there."
"You aren't there. So listen up and pay attention to what you can do something about."
Lieutenant Commander Julie Karnes ― the name to match the face popped into my mind. "What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.
"Paying attention to the brief. Like you ought to be doing," she answered, no more perturbed than a turtle sunning on a rock.
It wasn't an answer, but it was a good suggestion. I turned back to the screen, and tried to concentrate on what the admiral was saying.
"You've all already heard the stories," Admiral Wayne said. "About Bird Dog and Gator. This is where it happened. Next slide, please."
Some damned photo dog had been lying in wait for us when we'd come off that helo from being in country. He must have been using a zoom lens, because what we saw now was a full-face close-up of the three of us straggling off the SAR helo. Hell, I damned near didn't recognize myself, as battered and filthy as I was in that picture.
"I could tell you how important this target is," the admiral continued. "But you already know that. I could tell you what the effects will be if we don't take it out now, that we'll be seeing these weapons everywhere in the world in the next year if we don't stop it now. And I could tell you the dirtiest secret of all ― that the government wants us to take care of this problem now. Quietly, efficiently, and now. There's no time for foreign policy consultations, for diplomatic dickering and horse trading. And all of that would be true."
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