CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

Magruder looked around, already choosing his words for a firm refusal to add anything to the President’s statements. He believed in a free press but was less than enthusiastic about the persistence with which that press sometimes pursued their duties.

Then his eyes widened. He knew the woman.

She was tall and attractive, with shoulder-length blond hair and dark eyes that seemed to mirror some inner worry. A portable tape recorder was clutched in one hand, and she wore her press badge and White House admission ID pinned to the lapel of a smartly tailored beige business suit. “Admiral Magruder? Do you remember me?”

“Certainly, Miss Drake,” he said, smiling. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

She flashed a smile, though her eyes still held a dark and haunted look. Pamela Drake, a reporter for ACN News, had been a guest aboard the Jefferson two months before, while she was covering the political unrest in Thailand. Magruder’s nephew had become involved with her there. Admiral Magruder had known Pamela was in Washington. He’d seen her often enough on the ACN Evening News.

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Keith Douglass

But Washington was a big city. He’d not expected to run into her in person.

Matt had written once since Magruder had been transferred to Washington. In the letter, he’d mentioned the possibility of marrying the woman. Looking at her now, Magruder could certainly understand Matt’s feelings.

For a moment, Magruder thought that Pamela was following her reporter’s instincts and was about to ask him something relating to the press conference. The question she did ask caught him by surprise. “Admiral, have you heard anything from Matt? Do you know if he’s all right?”

Magruder managed a grin. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard a thing, but that’s no cause for alarm. He’s not much of a letter writer. At least, not to old SOBs like me.”

She smiled back. “He won’t tell me a thing either. Did you know we might be getting married?”

Magruder nodded. “He said something about it.”

“Then you can understand why I want to know. Is … is the crisis over there as bad as everyone’s making out? Will there be a war?”

He wondered if, after all, she was questioning him as a reporter rather than as his nephew’s fiancee. No, he decided, looking into her eyes. The worry, \hepain there had nothing to do with her career.

“Pamela, there’s really nothing more I can tell you. There’s danger, certainly. Matt’s in a dangerous profession. You know that. As to any extra danger … I guess we all just have to wait and see.”

“I … know, Admiral. I’ll tell you the truth, I’ve been worried sick about Matt ever since Bangkok. I’m afraid I’ve been pushing him to leave the service.”

Magruder’s mouth tightened as he thought how best to reply. “Well, that’ll have to be his decision, won’t it?”

“Our decision, Admiral.”

“Hmm.” He hesitated, trapped by an abrupt and unaccountable anger. He suddenly found himself comparing the Drake woman to his sister-in-law Kathy, Matt’s mother. His brother Sam had not come back from a Navy raid over a Hanoi bridge in 1968. He remembered the look on Kathy’s face when she learned that her son had been accepted as a Navy aviator

ARMAGEDDON MODE

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candidate. There’d been pain and fear, yes … but also a burning and enormous pride.

He forced the anger back. The girl had no way of putting things in perspective . . . and maybe that was to be expected. “Miss Drake, I don’t want to dampen the flames of true love, but you ought to remember that there are over six thousand other men on the Jefferson besides Matt. Counting our supply ships and the attack sub assigned to CBG-14, there’s another twenty-eight hundred men in the rest of the carrier group, every one of them with a wife or a girlfriend or a fiancee or a mother . . . someone who cares for them and is scared to death that they’re not coming back. What makes you so special?”

She stiffened. “As I said, Admiral, it’s our decision. Our life. I … I’m sorry I troubled you.”

A twinge of conscience twisted in him. He opened his mouth to say something soothing, but Pamela Drake had already gone.

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