by Bob Finley
One absentmindedly reached for her phone, cradling it automatically while she continued to type.
"Yeah, Peterson."
The telephone continued to ring. She took the phone from her shoulder and frowned at it. It was still ringing. She'd started to put it back to her ear when she realized where the sound was really coming from. Both of them looked at the other at the same moment. The other woman recovered more quickly, jumping up from her desk and almost running to the telephone across the room. She snatched it up and avoided putting it to her ear just in time, as a shrill, penetrating signal carried all the way across the room to the other who had just hung up her own telephone. The one who'd answered the ringing phone dropped it back in its cradle as if it were hot, whirled and punched the power button on the television monitor connected to the recorder. It was the "instant-on" type and suddenly, there he was.
"Sheila, get Keith! He's just down the hall. Hurry!" She punched up the sound and stepped back.
In thirty seconds, Keith Presnell stumbled into the brightly-lit room, squinting against the glare and looking like death warmed over after less than three hours of sleep on the cot crammed into a hall closet. He was pale and sank slowly into a chair in front of the monitor. But he never took his eyes from the screen.
"How long ago?" he rasped through a dry throat and thick tongue.
"Couple of minutes," Britta answered without looking at him.
"Did we get it all?"
"I think so. Probably, yeah."
"...and in case anyone questions the origin of this broadcast," the terrorist who called himself Bereel Jambou was saying to them, "then consider where else a live picture of the United States aircraft carrier George Washington could come from other than here." The camera left the head and shoulders shot of the man and blurred and jerked its way to a fuzzy image of what was obviously an aircraft carrier viewed through an extremely long lens. After a few seconds, the image of the ship zoomed out and the erratic blur returned. Finally, what they all recognized as automatic focus went from fuzzy to clear and back three or four times before returning to a reasonable image of Jambou.
"I will present my demands once more: I want a communications channel, both audio and video, opened between myself and the George Washington. I want it to remain open at all times, no matter what the hour, in case I choose to make an announcement. I want all negotiations to be transacted over that video channel. And I want the reporter from CNN who landed on the George Washington last evening to be the negotiator...the only negotiator I speak with. No one else. That is not negotiable. And I want anything we say or do to be simultaneously broadcast to the news network, live. This will assure me that the world is hearing what I want it to hear, and that the military is not plotting some treasonous act against me without the public's knowledge. I'm sure that the state of electronics on such a formidable warship will allow it to contact me on this channel. I will expect to be contacted...by the reporter, from aboard the ship...within one hour. That's all for now."
The picture flicked and disappeared.
Chapter 74
The tap on the door was subdued but sustained just long enough to be official. That's the part that surprised her. She glanced at her wristwatch. It wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning, though her breakfast tray had been delivered to her ‘cell’ at 0-dark-6:30. She slid the partitioned aluminum tray aside and slipped off the bed. She glanced in the metal wall mirror on her way to the door, fluffed ineffectively at her mussed hair and gave up.
"Yes?" she said shortly to the lieutenant who stood there in his crisp khakis. He was clearly uncomfortable.
"Good, he's uncomfortable," she thought. "So am I!"
"Ma’am, the Captain sends his regards and would like me to escort you to the bridge."
"He would."
"Yes, ma’am."
"Like this?" She looked down, drawing the young officer's gaze down with hers. She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on yesterday, blood stains and all.
"Ma’am?"
"If either you or your Captain think I'm going out in public like...this..." she tugged at her blouse, "...you're both out of your minds." She glared at him. The MP behind the young lieutenant slowly turned his face away from them.
"Ma’am, I..."
"Lieutenant." He stopped.
"You are a lieutenant, aren't you?" He looked uncertain, then managed to bob his head.
"Yes, ma’am."
"How old are you?"
His face registered alarm. This wasn't going at all the way it was supposed to. "Uh, ma’am, I don't think that..."
She cut him off. "How old?" she demanded with a scowl, and a in a tone of voice he usually heard from his superior officers.
"Uh...twenty-three, ma’am, but..."
"You got sisters, lieutenant?"
His mouth went slack and his eyes darted around, looking for the trap he knew had to be there. "No, ma’am. Just two brothers. One's..."
"You got a mother? I know you've got a mother. Or at least had one. Am I right?"
"Uh, yes, ma’am, my mom's...uh..."
"Lieutenant, would your mother go out in public looking like this? Dirty? Stringy hair? With blood on her clothes, for Pete’s sake? From yesterday, already?! Would she?!"
He just stared at her, speechless. Nobody'd warned him about this civilian...person.
"No, she wouldn't, I can tell you. And neither would I! Neither will I! If your Captain wants my company, he can send me some clothes! Do you understand me, lieutenant?" Without waiting for an answer, she stepped back and shut the door in his face.
"Let'em chew on that for a while," she thought. Then she stopped. What did they want with her, anyway? She walked over and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking furiously. "What's happened? What am I missing? First I'm a prisoner, now I've got a flunky lieutenant slidin' around on his belly, wantin' something from me. What do they want?" She went back to the mirror and took a long, critical look. She'd hardly noticed last night, "...probably in shock after that crash landing..." but now remembered having some kind of toilet kit thrust at her just before her ‘incarceration’. She dug a hair brush out of it and started damage control on her hair, brushing it out to its shoulder length and working carefully on the tangles around the sutures they'd patched her up with along her left temple. She probed with two fingers and winced.
"Ouch! That ought to be worth a purple heart!" she said out loud, exploring the extent of the tenderness with two fingers. She'd had worse in the line of duty, she thought, but not much worse. She'd had time this morning to reflect on just how lucky they were that they'd been near enough to a ship, any ship, to be rescued at all. And to have come down on this floating city when they could have just as easily...
She stepped back and appraised her work. The fluorescent lighting did strange things to her fiery red hair but... There was a staccato tap on the door. "That was quick," she thought.
It wasn't the lieutenant. It was another woman. And she was smiling. Things were looking up.
"Good morning. You the lady in lock-up who ordered clothes?" She wore jeans, had an eagle and stripes on her sleeve, and couldn't have been more than a size eight herself.
"How many women do you keep locked up on this ship?" Jackie asked rhetorically. Her visitor chuckled and swept past her into the small room. Jackie closed the door.
"I'm afraid your choices are a bit limited," the young woman said, dropping her bundle on the bed and grabbing the top garment, which turned out to be a pair of bright orange, lightweight coveralls. She held them up in front of her and looked from them to Jackie, sizing them up. "Yep, they'll fit. But then, what potato sack wouldn't?" she added. She tossed it back on the bed and grabbed a small stack of white items that had been under the coveralls. She briefly held up the stack. "Skivvies," she said, tossing them back on the bed as well.
"'Skivvies'?" Jackie parroted.
"Navy underwear," the other girl laughed. Then she stepped forward, offeri
ng her hand. Jackie took it.
"Susan Stoffer," the girl said by way of introduction. "Suzie's good. Quartermaster, second class. I'm glad to meet you. No, actually, I'm honored to meet you. In person, I mean. We don't get many celebrities this far below decks."
Jackie nodded and returned the firm, no-nonsense handshake. She'd already decided she liked this young woman. "Seaman? Seawoman? Seaperson?" She decided she'd stick with Susan. "Jackie Darlington," she acknowledged, smiling.
"I know," Susan countered. "You have no idea how many lives I had to threaten to get to be the one who brought you those clothes."
Jackie inclined her head to one side and gave it a little shake. "I don't understand," she said.
"Hey, you're famous! We see you on T.V. all the time. Everybody was fighting over who was coming down here."
"And how did it happen to be you?"
Susan barked a little laugh. "Well, being an E-5 didn't hurt. And being a woman was a big help..." she pulled a face, "...as much as being a woman can help. And...I kinda had to make a little promise to somebody having to do with certain activities on our next shore leave, but..."
It was Jackie's turn to laugh. "I hope you didn't give away anything important on my account," she said. "'Cause if I'm the prize, you most likely paid too much."
Susan giggled. "He doesn't know it, but I had plans for him anyway." They looked at each other for a moment.
"Susan, what's going on?" She watched the young woman's face. And saw the change.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, thirty minutes ago I was a prisoner. Now, I yell in some lieutenant's face and I'm suddenly getting dressed up for the Cinderella ball. Why?" The girl turned and walked over to the bed. She turned and shrugged.
"Got me," she said.
"Come on, Susan. I make my living doing this. Something's up. What is it?"
The young woman shook her head. "I really couldn't say."
"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"
Second class petty officer Susan Stoffer seemed to study her closely before deciding to answer. "Doesn't really matter. If I did know anything, I couldn't tell you. Try to remember where you are. And that you're a civilian."
"And you're not," Jackie finished for her. The young sailor tipped her head and nodded slightly. Jackie thought about that for a moment. "Okay," she finally conceded. "I can respect that."
"Thank you," Susan smiled, obviously relieved.
"Alright," Jackie chided lightly to relieve the tension, "give me that feed sack you brought me and let's see what I can do with it."
The young petty officer went to a neutral corner of the room while Jackie got out of her civvies and into the hot orange coverall. Zipping it up the front, she slipped her shoes back on and, turning back, said, "What exactly is this I'm wearing, anyway?"
Susan smiled. "That's what one of the flight deck crew wears when they're launching aircraft. I don't remember which one. But it sure ought to show up good in front of a camera."
The look on the girl's face the instant she'd said it left no doubt in Jackie's mind that it was a monumental slip on her part and that, whatever she wasn't supposed to have said, there was more truth than rumor to it. But now she had to help her informant, however innocent, recover her anonymity. And salve her conscience as well. She had an inviolable rule: protect her sources...even from themselves, if necessary. So she pretended not to have noticed the slip.
"Well," she quipped with half-way believable enthusiasm, "if I ever get sprung from this here jailhouse, Marshall, and get back in front of a camera, maybe I'll just give this color some serious consideration. In the meantime, I strongly suspect this particular set of threads was provided by somebody who wants to make sure that even if I do happen to make a run for it, there's nowhere for me to hide."
The smile on Susan's face was tentative, but she was willing to buy into the deception that she didn't really mean what she'd said...that it was just a figure of speech. Her relief was so real that Jackie was almost embarrassed for her. She was sure at that moment that she'd pursue the matter no further.
"Well, what's next?" she exhaled noisily, to change the subject.
"I guess they'll send somebody for you. Maybe that cute lieutenant?" She giggled again. "Anyway, all I was supposed to do was get you presentable so you could go see the Captain." She rolled her eyes so that Jackie laughed out loud.
"Well, I hope all your conniving to get down here was worth it," she said to the young woman with a warm smile. "I do appreciate what you brought. I should fit right in up on the...flight deck? I do hope this color doesn't clash with my red hair, though." She primped in front of the mirror and they both laughed.
"Whatever you do on the flight deck, or wherever it is you do it, I can promise you that, with your fit, you won't fit in. And you will make a difference." This time, as she said the words, she did so very deliberately and never took her eyes from Jackie's. And, though the words were neutral, the message wasn't. "Good luck. We'll catch you on the tube."
"You'll be watching?"
"We'll all be watching. The whole world will be watching." Susan turned to the door.
"Wait a minute," Jackie said on impulse. She quickly crossed to the bloody blouse she'd discarded and removed her CNN logo pin, concealing it in her palm. She went back to the waiting sailor and, with a flourish, pinned it to her dungaree pocket.
"Not much of a souvenir, but you're welcome to it." The girl's face lit up and she unexpectedly and enthusiastically leaned over and hugged her benefactor.
"Thanks!" she said exuberantly.
"Thank you!" Jackie smiled, unexpectedly caught with her guard down. She closed the door and smiled again, this time to herself. "Oh, to be young again!"
Her reverie lasted all of twenty seconds. There was another knock on the door. This one was familiar. Sure enough, the same lieutenant was there. The stern look on his face said it all. This time, he was in charge.
"Lieutenant."
"Yes, ma’am. Now, if you'll please follow me, ma’am." He turned and marched away. Four paces. Her voice reached him from the doorway, from which she had not moved.
"Lieutenant." He dropped like a shot rabbit and spun around. She wasn't sure which had the greatest grip on him, fear of failure or being made to look foolish again in the presence of the Marine guard at the door. Who, by the way, was being very careful to avoid making eye contact with anybody. The young officer's frustration was evident in the time it took him to close the distance between them once more.
"Ma’am, I really must ask you..."
"Lieutenant..." He stopped in mid-sentence. "...are you an officer and a gentleman?"
"Ma’am? I mean, yes ma’am! I mean..." he took a deep breath and looked at the floor before continuing. "Ma’am, exactly what is it that you're asking?"
Jackie almost lost it. But she put on her best Scarlett O'Hara face and said, "If you are a gentleman, then you will understand that I can go nowhere with a strange man whose name I don't even know." She stood looking over his shoulder with imperial impatience. The young officer stared at her as if he couldn't believe his ears. He started to say something but quickly bit it off. Finally, he took a deep breath and, in an even voice, said, "Ma’am, my name is Lieutenant Gerald Farmington, United States Navy. And I have been instructed by the Captain of this ship to bring you to him on the bridge. Which I intend to do without further delay. Is there anything else you wish to say, or are you prepared to go with me now?"
Jackie looked at him reproachfully. "Well, of course I am. You don't have to get hostile." His mouth opened, his neck flushed red, but he stoically turned on his heel and marched away. She followed close on his heels, but couldn't resist looking back once at the Marine corporal on guard and winking. She was rewarded with a surprised grin, though nothing else in his stance changed one iota.
The trip to the bridge was totally confusing, with its twists and turns and multi-levels and she was lost inside a minute. But, finally, she was delivered to t
he bridge by Lieutenant Gerald Farmington, United States Navy, who, having done his duty, beat an immediate and hasty retreat into the nether bowels of the ship.
A few moments after she'd been abandoned, she was startled by a voice behind her that stridently announced, "Attention on deck! The Captain is on the bridge!" She involuntarily turned toward the voice, in time to hear the words "As you were," and to see the man who spoke them.
He appeared to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. A close-cropped band of salt-and-pepper hair encircled his head but gave way on top to what would have been wisps of gray, had they been long enough. A hundred and seventy pounds sat sparely on his angular, six-one frame. He looked like he might run endless laps around the flight deck when not engaged in some momentary world crisis. There were creases at the corners of his eyes from squinting into four decades of sunlit sea. But the creases at the corners of his mouth were a good sign that he might have a human side as well. She hoped.
"Ms. Darlington. Thank you for coming. Captain Carruthers." His handshake was firm and quick. No lingering or malingering with this man.
"Forgive me if I seem to whine, Captain, but it was my understanding that my being here constitutes an audience with you, not to be confused with a social event. Though, I must admit, even this is a welcome change from the four walls to which I've been confined up until now." She smiled to take the edge off. She quickly saw that she needn't have bothered.
His smile was cool and perfunctory. His message was a broadside.
"Ms. Darlington, so that there is no misunderstanding, please allow me to speak as...directly...as yourself. You are aboard my ship because I took personal responsibility in allowing you and your...companions...to land your aircraft on my deck, at considerable peril to the men and women under my command. Your presence here is against regulations and I gave the order to allow you to land entirely for humanitarian reasons. I will as readily welcome your departure and will do everything possible to expedite that event. It is the time in between your arrival and your departure with which I must now deal. Quite frankly, if I had a choice, you and your companions would remain in protective custody below decks until your departure. Unfortunately, certain...recent events...have changed the complexion of the situation and I now find it necessary to do certain things that are against my better judgment, but which others with higher authority have deemed necessary." He turned and took two paces away from her. Then he turned back to face her. She saw his mouth open but beat him to it.