CARRIER 2: VIPER STRIKE By Keith Douglass

make a note to drop the references to the medal … but that’s not the

real problem, is it?”

“Not really. It’s this whole glory-game image.”

“Which you are stuck with, no matter what’s on the tape.” She reached

out, impulsively, and laid her hand on his knee. “Ruining my project

isn’t going to help you, Matt.”

He looked away. “I hadn’t really thought of it as … ruining it.”

“What is it, Matt?” She leaned closer, dropping her voice. “Someone

giving you trouble about your hero status? About me?” He looked away,

uncomfortable, and she had her answer. “You’re one hell of a guy,

Matt,” she said. “I meant what I said the other day. I wouldn’t want

you to change.”

He turned back suddenly, so close now that their lips nearly met. Pamela

reached out … and then she was in his arms, drawing his head down to

hers.

Much later, she disentangled herself enough to murmur, “You’ll stay

tonight, won’t you?”

He looked into her eyes for a time, until she was afraid he would answer

no. But he nodded, smiled, and then they kissed again.

After a long time, he pulled back and, rather unromantically, checked

his watch. “Can I use your phone?”

“Sure.” She got up so that he could move. “Over there, by the window.”

He picked up the receiver and spoke briefly to the hotel operator.

“Calling your ship?” she asked.

“I’m square with them,” he replied, holding the receiver to his ear as

he waited for the call to go through. “Long as I’m back on board by

0800 tomorrow. No, someone else I saw tonight was going to arrange for

a place for me to stay in Bangkok. If I don’t let him know, we’ll be

interrupted by …

yes? Hello? You speak English? Good. This is Lieutenant Commander

Magruder, U.S. Navy. Put me through to Colonel Kriangsak, please. He

gave me this number. Yes, I’ll wait.”

Pamela left Tombstone to finish his phone call and went into the suite’s

bedroom. She was ready for him by the time he entered.

2325 hours, 18 January

Dusit Thani Hotel, Bangkok

It was the noise that woke him.

At least, he thought it had been a noise, one of those sharp, metallic

clicks one hears in a strange room in the middle of the night and can

never identify. He lay there in the darkness for a long moment,

listening.

Nothing. Or perhaps someone had dropped something, upstairs or in the

hallway outside the suite.

No matter. He needed to use the bathroom anyway. Taking care not to

waken Pamela, he disentangled his arm from beneath her pillow, then

swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. The air in the room,

though stirred by the large ceiling fan, still retained the musky scent

of their lovemaking.

Pamela. He could just make out her sleeping form on the bed by his

side, see the rise and fall of her breasts by the hint of reflected

moonlight spilling through the open door from the next room.

Tombstone felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that their relationship

had changed again. He’d not told her everything. He couldn’t. The

word that a Navy aviator and his RIO had been lost over northern

Thailand was still classified, and any officer leaking that tidbit to

the news media would be roasted over a slow fire by Admiral Magruder,

nephew or no nephew.

And the pain he’d been feeling that evening was due at least as much to

the fact that Malibu and Batman were missing as to Bayerly or anything

else.

If it had just been Bayerly’s accusations, well … Tombstone could

live with those.

But Batman and Malibu had gone down while flying his mission … while

he had been assigned to look pretty for the camera and answer Pamela

Drake’s questions. He’d never been one to claim that the universe was

fair, but this put a new twist to the way God seemed to be running

things that left a distinctly bitter taste in his mouth.

Part of the change in his relationship with Pamela was a new desire to

tell her about his friends, about his feelings at their loss. It would

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