Castle Bravo

by Karna Small Bodman

  She stopped and gazed up at him. “Oh Tripp. I was wrong. I was wrong to blame you. I was wrong to say all those awful things. It wasn’t your fault. I can see that now. Yes, I was upset. In fact, when you called from over there and said that he had died, that the pacemaker had failed, I was absolutely destroyed. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to blame someone for taking him away from me. But now I realize that I was only thinking about myself. I wasn’t thinking about you and all you had been through. I wasn’t thinking about him, about how much this trip meant to him. About how much he enjoyed being with you.”

  “He said that?”

  “Well, I didn’t read you that part. But Tripp, really, all of this and then all these weeks, it’s been so awful, so hard, so …”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her into an embrace. “Honey, listen. I know how bad it was. I was a mess. I couldn’t believe it had happened, and I dreaded making that call. All I could think about was that it really was my fault for taking him with me.”

  “No! Don’t you see?” she protested. “It was his idea, and you know what? Ideas have consequences. Good ideas. Bad ideas. They matter. They really do. And when I got the letter, I realized that he took responsibility for his decision, and I have to accept that.”

  He kept his arms around her, pulled her head against his shoulder and inhaled her scent. Vanilla. Must be her shampoo. It felt so good to have her here. Right here in his arms. He tipped her chin up. She met his gaze and angled her head. He couldn’t hold back, he lowered his mouth to hers. He was gentle, almost tentative. But she opened to him and he began to taste and touch and feel her body pressed against his.

  When she finally came up for air, she realized that a tender touch can be as erotic as a wild seduction. And this one was tender, even tentative. “Does this mean you forgive me?” she whispered softly.

  “Is there any question in your mind?” he asked, playing with her hair. “I’ve missed you Samantha.”

  “Really?”

  “You have no idea,” he replied moving his hand away and reaching for his wine glass. “I knew how you felt, and then I saw the whole threat scenario played out in the news, and it all hit me. You must have been through hell these last weeks. The warning by that kid from UCLA. Pete somebody. The planned attack. The Navy. The new radar system. Cameron Talbot.” He waved his arm toward the papers on the table. “It’s all there. Well, of course you know that. But I didn’t know that until a few days ago. There have been follow-up reports every day now. It’s unbelievable. You must have been a wreck.” He touched her cheek. “Well, I don’t mean a wreck. You never look like a wreck. I just mean …”

  “I know what you mean. And you’re right. It all happened so quickly, right after your call. But I don’t want to rehash all of that right now. What I want to do is just tell you I’m sorry and I hope we could maybe, I mean, perhaps we could …”

  “Get back together?” he finished her sentence. “I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday night. For starters anyway.”

  He refilled both their wine glasses and stood up. He checked his watch. “We could grab dinner somewhere, if you don’t have any other plans.”

  “Plans? Nope. No plans.”

  “It’s still a little early for dinner so what say we take our wine into the other room for a while.”

  “Which room?” she asked, giving him a coy smile.

  He pulled her up from the couch and said, “Bring your glass and follow me.” He led her down the hallway, past a modern kitchen filled with Miele stainless steel ovens, a cooktop, microwave and Sub-Zero refrigerator. She knew he didn’t cook much, but she remembered many a great evening when she had spent time in that kitchen, broiling steaks or poaching some salmon. After those dinners together, they usually had gone back to the bedroom and made love.

  She hadn’t brought any food with her tonight, only the wine. And she had no idea why she was thinking about cooking at a time like this. Maybe she was just hungry for him. She walked into the bedroom where she again saw the view of the bridge and the city from the sliding glass doors that led out onto a balcony. Tripp walked over and slid them open.

  “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t open these,” he said. “I know how you feel about heights.”

  She looked out at the twinkling lights eighteen floors down. Then she looked back at him. “You know, now that I’m with you, it seems that those old fears are fading away.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Tripp said. “My feelings for you never faded away.” He took their glasses and set them down on a bedside table. He yanked the navy comforter toward the foot of the king size bed, turned and pulled her into his arms once again. This time his kiss was hot, deep, and urgent. She wound her arms around his neck and explored the inside of his mouth with her tongue. He stroked her hair, and when he broke the kiss, he pulled her down onto the white sheets. She kicked off her shoes, and he began unbuttoning her blouse. Carefully, one button at a time as he continued to gaze into her eyes.

  “You are so beautiful, Sam. I want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks. Couldn’t get you out of my mind. In fact, guess I should admit that when you said that you never wanted to see me again, I was … well … let’s just say I was torn apart. Until … until the doorbell rang tonight. And when I saw you, all I wanted to do was grab you and …” he added with a slow grin, “haul you in here. But I want to take my time with you now”

  “I’d like that, Samantha said. “And to be honest with you, all these weeks, I’ve been torn too. Not just about work, but about you.” She touched his face and looked at him with eyes that shown with anticipation. She began undoing her belt and slipping out of her slacks. She lay back on the feather pillows as he shed his shoes, pants, pulled his Polo shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. She tugged at his briefs and then it was his turn to get rid of hers. He unfastened her bra and took her in his arms.

  He said he wanted her. She wanted him too. So much. He was running his fingers through her hair, nuzzling her neck, teasing her senses with each touch, each caress. When he kissed her, it felt like the first grace note in a symphony of sensation. He lingered. She shivered. Even as heat spread through her. She stroked his hair and captured his mouth once more. He murmured, “Relax, sweetheart. Let me make love to you.”

  The wet heat of his tongue moved over her body, touching, tasting. His fingers played along her thighs, gently nudging them open, gently stroking. She reveled in the feeling, the erotic build-up of need surging through her. He raised his head and kissed her again, this time deeply as his fingers continued to travel from her legs up to the center of her passion. He began a slow circling motion as he watched her face. Her eyes were closed. She was straining now, arching up for more. She wanted more.

  “I need you,” she murmured and reached down to touch him. He was ready.

  “Not yet, baby. Another minute.” Then he crushed her mouth with his but kept up the exquisite pressure. Her body tensed and the sensations radiated until she cried out, “Please now.”

  When he covered her body with his, she felt covered by a tapestry of emotions. As they moved together, the feeling, the friction increased. Once more and she felt her body careening, spinning and finally exploding like fireworks, sending waves of sparkling energy over every inch of her skin. She clung to him, reveled in the almost ethereal feeling of release and then the sense of floating slowly down from a great height. And he was right there, carefully carrying her down, down to a place where she could breathe once more.

  “You are fantastic,” she whispered, running her fingers down his back.

  “Can you feel my heartbeat?” he moaned. “Trying to slow it down.”

  Her mouth curved into a smile, and she murmured, “Take it easy. That was quite a performance.”

  He let out a breath and rolled to one side, keeping his arms around her. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. In my world! You know that?”

  “No,” she answered coyly. “But what
I do know is that we have to make up for lost time.”

  “How much time have you got?”

  She looked deep into his eyes. Eyes that reminded her of dark chocolate. And suddenly she was very hungry. “As much time as you’ll give me. But maybe you could feed me first.”

  “Thought I just did that.”

  EPILOGUE

  A young man and woman stepped out of a taxi and walked up to the door of a white frame farm house. It was a well-kept place with neatly trimmed bushes in front and a large fenced in yard out back. A golden retriever ran up to the fence when the taxi drove away. He started to bark at the strangers. The couple stepped up onto the porch, and the young man rang the bell.

  After a few minutes, an elderly gentleman with shocks of gray hair framing a lined, friendly face opened the door. He was wearing a checkered work shirt and blue jeans along with a pair of sturdy boots. He gave the couple a questioning look and said, “May I help you?”

  “Yes sir,” the young man said. “My name is Pete Kalani and this is my wife, Zhanar. I believe I have something that belongs to you. May we come in?”

  This is awfully strange, the old man thought. He’s got something of mine? I’ve never seen these people before in my life. They don’t look like Jehova’s Witnesses or bill collectors. And how could these people have something of mine? At least they look harmless enough, especially the pretty girl. Wonder where she’s from. Looks foreign. Don’t get too many foreigners in this part of Iowa.

  “Uh, you said you have something of mine? That sounds a bit strange. May I ask what it is?”

  “Well, it’s kind of a long story, and we’ve come a long way. Do you think we could come in and explain it to you?”

  The old man hesitated for a moment and then looked at the woman who gave him a wide smile. “Uh, yes, I suppose so. Come right this way.” He motioned for them to come into his living room and sit down on one of the brown leather couches. “I just came in from the garden. Weeds getting the best of me, it seems. I was making up a batch of lemonade. Would you like some?”

  “That would be delightful,” Zhanar said. “Can I help you?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll just be a minute.”

  He hustled out to the small kitchen and put the pitcher and three glasses on a tray along with a handful of paper napkins. “Here you go,” he said, laying the tray on a coffee table in front of the sofa.

  When they all had their drinks, he settled into his own leather Barcalounger and said, “Now what’s this about your having something of mine?”

  Pete fished in his pocket and took out a gold class ring. He held it out. “I believe this once belonged to you.”

  The man grabbed the ring, a look of astonishment on his face. “Where in the world did you get this?” He adjusted his glasses and peered at the initials inside the gold band. “Yep. This was mine. Was it on eBay or something? No, wait a minute, if you bought it somewhere, how did you ever figure out it was mine?”

  Pete leaned forward and pointed to the tiny initials. “Those initials, P.V.C. Those are your initials, Peter Van Cleve.”

  “Yes, of course they’re mine. And you know my name?”

  “Well, they’re mine too. You see, my full name is Peter Van Cleve Kalani. My dad was Hawaiian, but my mom was from the Marshall Islands, and she named me for,” he hesitated and stared at the old man and took a deep breath, “she named me for my grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather?” The old man could hardly believe his ears. This young man, could he be? Could he really be?

  “Let me explain,” Pete said. “My grandmother’s name was Maelynn.”

  “My Maelynn?” the man almost shouted. “My Maelynn was your grandmother?” He jumped up and rushed over to the fireplace where he picked up a photo from the mantle. “Look at this. Look. See this girl? See how gorgeous she was?” He handed over a framed black and white picture of a native girl with long black hair, sitting on a beach with palm trees in the background. That’s Maelynn. My Maelynn.”

  Pete stood up, grabbed it and studied the photo. He handed it to Zhanar. “She’s really lovely,” Zhanar said. “I can certainly see why you fell in love with her.”

  The old man took a step toward Pete and held out his arms. “You’re really … you’re really my grandson?” he asked, tears welling up in his eyes.

  Pete nodded and stepped forward, extending his hand.

  The man took it, and then pulled Pete into a bear hug. When he released him, he said in a halting voice, “We have to sit down again. I have to take all this in. This is so amazing. You see, I had given Maelynn that ring when I found out she was going to have a baby. I couldn’t take her with me because I was in the Navy. We had been sent out there to her island of Rongelap to set up equipment to monitor the effects of some tests, and when they were over, we had to leave. Then when I got out of the Navy, I went back. I went back to Rongelap, but I couldn’t find her. I heard that many of the families had gone to other islands. I can’t tell you how many islands I went to. I looked everywhere. I asked everyone, but nobody seemed to know where she was.”

  “She went to Hawaii,” Pete said. “That’s where she had my mom.”

  “Then what happened to her?”

  “A while after that, she died. We all believe it was from the effects of one of those tests.”

  “Oh my God!” the old man said. He buried his face in his hands. “My Maelynn. My precious Maelynn.”

  “And then, you see, I heard the stories about how she had been in love with a sailor with the name Peter Van Cleve and how he had lived in a town with the funny name, Maquoketa, in Iowa. My mom knew all about it, and that’s why she gave me this name. I came to the states to study at UCLA, and then we went back to Hawaii to get married. That’s when she gave me the ring. As a wedding present. So I did an internet search, hoping that you had come back to your home town.” He exchanged a glance with Zhanar, and they both broke into big smiles. “And we found you,” he said triumphantly.

  The man looked up at Pete and Zhanar once again and sighed. “After all these years. After all these years I have a grandson. And a good looking boy to boot.” He beamed at Pete, glanced at the photograph once more that Pete had set up on the table next to the lemonade pitcher. “We have so much catching up to do. So much to learn. So many stories to tell.” He got up again, went over to a bookshelf and pulled down a scrapbook. He came back and sat next to Pete and Zhanar and started leafing through the book. He pointed to old, grainy photos of ships, officers and sailors.

  “You see, when I was sent to Rongelap, we were all working to set up the largest hydrogen bomb test that the United States ever conducted. It was on Bikini Atoll but we had those testing stations and weather monitors on lots of other islands. It was all hush-hush at the time, of course. I took these photos later when we got back to port. But now everything we did has been declassified, and I can tell you all about it. The code name for that hydrogen bomb test was Castle Bravo.

  True indeed.

  *****

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The inspiration for this story came from an enlightening and frightening conversation I had with General “Trey” Obering, former director of our country’s Missile Defense Agency. He told me that one reason it is so imperative for us to have an excellent and widely deployed missile defense system was to protect us against an EMP attack. I knew that we had a commission preparing reports and warnings on the issue, and I want to praise Dr. William Graham and his colleagues for their great work, their warnings and their testimony before committees of the Congress. But alas, their reports were filed away, the budget ran out for their commission staffs and here we are, putting off preparing ourselves for one of the greatest threats to our national security yet. At least that’s the way I see it, which is why I wrote this story.

  In creating the characters, the settings and the dialogue, I do want to thank ambassador Beth Jones who served as the US ambassador to Kazakhstan and shared Christopher Robbins’ wond
erful book, In Search of Kazakhstan.” Other valuable resources included the story of Kazakhstan’s Nuclear Disarmament featuring Senators Sam Nunn and Richard Lugar, research from The Heritage Foundation, and especially diaries I found of Marshall Island survivors telling heart-breaking tales of their endurance during the nuclear testing of the 50’s and 60’s.

  A number of friends also contributed ideas, so thanks to Jim Langdon, Richard Fairbanks, John Kubricky, Gene Lawson, Kirt Anderson, and Andy Weber among others. Thanks to you all for your thoughts and support as I endeavored to tell the story of Castle Bravo. I hope you will also enjoy my first three political thrillers, Checkmate, Gambit and Final Finesse.

  ---------------- And now … turn the page for a preview of ----------------

  TRUST BUT VERIFY

  BY

  KARNA SMALL BODMAN

  Coming soon – Visit www.karnabodman.com for details

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

  Samantha Reid fought the impulse to pull her cell out of her evening bag and check for any updates from the Situation Room. She felt anxious about slipping out of D.C. when there were so many threat scenarios crowding her inbox.

  Sure, senior officials were entitled to a little time off once in a while, and her boss had okayed this short weekend trip. But as director of the White House Office of Homeland Security, she felt guilty about leaving a stack of problems on her deputy’s desk.

  In spite of her apprehension, she had to smile when a valet opened the car door and she heard him mutter, “If she were any better looking, she’d need a bodyguard.”

  The invitation from Tripp Adams to fly down to Naples, Florida, to visit his parents and attend a charity ball had been a welcome, if unexpected, diversion after a particularly hectic week. She had been dating him off and on for a while, but his travel schedule coupled with her long hours and increased responsibilities meant they weren’t able to see each other often. Yet, now he wanted her to spend time with his folks. Did that mean he was finally getting serious? She had no idea.