on your desk in one hour.”
“Make it thirty minutes.” Batman suddenly felt fatigue flood his
body.
The next few hours-hell, the next few days were going to be an
unmitigated public circus. He’d rather be taking five night traps in a
row in a gale-force wind than face the media storm that was about to
erupt. Had erupted, he corrected as he glanced back at the television
set. ACN commentators were already clamoring for attention, asking
pointed questions that were really snide comments on the ability of the
U.S. military to control its forces.
“Nobody talks on this nobody but me and the PAO,” Batman said grimly.
“Everybody understand? I mean no cellular calls home, no talking to
anybody.”
Around the large conference table, heads bobbed.
Submerged in his own misery. Bird Dog barely heard the words. He
remembered Thor all too well, and the possibility that he’d done
something to endanger the man’s life was all but intolerable. Pilots
supported each other, worked as a team, not as loose cannons with their
own agendas. Maybe Gator was right. He was rusty and dangerous in the
air.
1230 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base “There’s nothing more I can tell
you, Jim,” she said. She was on live feed to the noonday news,
answering questions from the ACN anchor back in New York. She glanced
at something pointedly off camera, then turned back to face the anchor
she could not see. “I’m informed that we’ve spent too long in this
location. We’ll have to leave. To stay any longer would compromise my
safety, and, quite frankly” the rueful grin appeared again”I’ve had
enough of that for one day. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have
more details.”
“Thank you, Pamela,” the anchor said sanctimoniously.
“Do make sure that you” The rest of his words were cut off as Pamela
signaled to the cameraman to terminate the feed. Headquarters had a
tendency to try to micromanage every breaking story. And while the
missile attack on the fishing boat might not be the big story she was
sure she’d eventually report, it would do for the time being.
She turned to Santana and asked, “Where are we now?”
It had been dark, the sun at least thirty minutes from rising when
they’d come ashore. There’d been a ride in a truck, bumping along
concealed in the back of a deuce-and a-half army vehicle, then a
hurried trot into this building. She’d tried to look around when they
arrived, but her hosts had kept her moving too quickly for her to
absorb more than the vaguest details of the area around her, which was
shrouded in predawn gloom. “I’d like to know.” She made her voice
insistent.
“You agreed to be covered by our operational security rules,” Santana
said shortly. He turned away from her and walked toward the door,
moving quickly. “One of our first rules is that people know only what
they need to know. If you are captured or when you are returned to the
United States you will not be able to divulge this location if you
don’t know it.”
“I’ve been here since six a.m” she snapped. “Trapped in one building
with no windows. Do you think it would compromise your ‘operational
security’ if you gave me something to eat?”
Santana stopped at the door and gestured to an aide. “Get her some
food. Keep her here.” He shot one look at her, a small expression of
minor annoyance, then left the room, banging the door shut behind
him.
Pamela heard a bolt slide home as he left.
She turned back to the other freedom fighter her guard, she now
realized. She forced her face to relax and produced a friendly
smile.
“Any choices on the menu? I’m a pretty fair cook, if you’ve got the
raw ingredients. I’ll bet you’re hungry now, too.”
The guard stared impassively at her, no expression of understanding on
his face.
“You do speak English, don’t you?” she pressed. She took two steps
toward him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody if you commit a fatal
sin by having some lunch with me.” She smiled prettily. “I do so hate