not one for nightlife, and he didn’t feel the driving need to bed and
boast that seemed to animate the others. Batman, perhaps, was more
typical in that respect. At least he followed the aviator’s party line.
Well, he could have his stewardesses, and welcome. Tombstone was eager
to see something of a mystic land that was more fairy tale than fact.
One thing was certain. His assignment to U Feng was going to give him a
week away from the ship. A week away from Batman. Tombstone liked the
guy, but he could certainly get on a fellow’s nerves with his super
fighter jock routine.
Tombstone leaned far back in his chair and scratched himself
comfortably.
Yes, Batman could bang his stews until he was blue in the face … or
wherever. For Tombstone, the jungles of the exotic Golden Triangle
might be just the vacation he needed.
CHAPTER 6
0930 hours, 15 January
Flight Deck, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
“Now hear this! Now hear this! Lieutenant Commander Magruder, report
to the admiral’s office on the double!”
Tombstone turned as the voice blared from the 5-MC speaker mounted high
on the island above the flight deck. “Now what the hell …?”
Chief Bob Smith looked up from the maintenance reports he’d been
reviewing with Tombstone. “What the shit you been up to, Commander?”
“Beats me, Smitty,” Tombstone said, handing another stack of maintenance
forms to the bearded senior chief. “But it sounds like I’d better find
out.”
He started down the line of aircraft parked along the edge of the flight
deck, their tails hanging out over the water like gigantic, roosting
birds.
Across the deck, green-jerseyed handlers were working around an SH-3D
Sea King helicopter which had arrived on board Jefferson twenty minutes
earlier.
Tombstone had seen the landing but not the passengers. He wondered if
the helo’s arrival had something to do with his summons to see his
uncle.
At a doorway leading into the island he nearly collided with Batman, who
was just coming out onto the roof. “Hey, Stoney! You hear?”
“I heard.”
“You up for a lecture from your uncle or what?”
Tombstone pulled off his cranial and his floater–the helmet and life
jacket worn while working on the flight deck–and shoved them at
Batman’s gut.
“Whatever it is, it’ll beat the hell out of listening to any more of
your stories!”
Batman laughed. “Aw, you’re just jealous, Stoney!” Breakfast in the
Dirty Shirt Wardroom that morning had been made entertaining by Batman’s
tales of his rendezvous in Bangkok the night before with a gorgeous
blond stewardess named Becky. “You oughta come into town with me
tonight! Becky’s bringing a friend!”
“Not tonight,” Tombstone said, grinning. “Too much paperwork to do.”
He made his way down gray steel corridors, then trotted up a succession
of zigzagging ship’s ladders up through the heart of the island. Minutes
later, he arrived at the admiral’s outer office on the 0-9 deck level
and opened the door. A yeoman first class looked up from a steel desk
and nodded.
“Mr. Magruder! You’re to go right in, sir.”
The inner sanctum looked more like an executive’s office than something
on board ship, with wood-paneled bulkheads and oil paintings of sailing
ships and Navy aircraft. The deck was carpeted, and the furniture would
not have been out of place in a men’s club. Only the round,
steel-framed portholes along one bulkhead proved that they were still
aboard ship.
Tombstone had always been troubled by the protocol of having a two-star
admiral for an uncle. Navy custom and common sense both dictated that
he play it conservatively and pretend he didn’t know the guy … at
least until they were alone and discussing nonmilitary subjects. It was
easier this time, though. The admiral was not alone. Captain
Fitzgerald stood by the bulkhead, looking out a porthole, and there were
three civilians seated in chairs in front of the admiral’s desk.
He realized that these must have been the passengers who had arrived
earlier aboard the Sea King. Two were men, one small with
owlish-looking glasses and a crumpled suit, the second taller and
brawnier and wearing a loud print shirt and a handlebar mustache. The