faux-neoclassical grandeur and Stalinist utilitarianism: large, ugly,
and shabby. In some ways, it was like an American shopping mall, with
hard currency shops and cafes. There were several tennis courts and
swimming pools, amenities not normally associated with Russian hotels,
and over twelve hundred rooms, most with their own plumbing and most
wired for cable TV.
But it also showed the decay touching everything that once had been part
of the Soviet system. Furniture was worn, mismatched, and dirty; the
chandeliers were missing many of their crystal ornaments; the carpets
were faded and showed worn tracks along the routes of heaviest traffic;
and the clerks at the big front desk were conspicuously absent, though
several guests were obviously waiting–clamoring, even–for attention.
The place, Tombstone reflected, was probably busier today than it had
been for some time, with the entire UN contingent quartered here, as
well as, no doubt, the Russian security people assigned to keep track of
them.
As Tombstone stepped into the main lobby near the elevators, his
attention was immediately caught by a group of people in the sitting
area, next to a scraggly collection of potted palms. Joyce–Commander
Flynn–was standing there in full uniform, bathed in the glare of a pair
of hand-held camera lights. A man with a shoulder-held minicam bearing
the ACN logo was filming her and another woman, who held a microphone to
her face. The second woman’s back was to him, but Tombstone recognized
immediately her blond hair and slim figure. With only the slightest
hesitation, he started walking toward the brightly lit tableau.
“And what’s it like,” the reporter was asking Tomboy, “being one of a
few hundred women living with five thousand men aboard a nuclear-powered
aircraft carrier?”
“It’s actually not much different from being stationed on a Navy base
ashore,” Tomboy said. “You just can’t go into town when you want to.”
“And what do you think of the Crimea?”
“Well, we really haven’t had much chance to see a lot of it yet. It’s
exciting being here, though. Kind of like history in the making.”
Pamela Drake turned from Tomboy and nodded at the cameraman. “That’s a
take,” she said. She smiled at Tomboy. “Thank you, Commander. That was
great.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“Hello, Pamela,” Tombstone said, walking up behind the reporter. “You’re
certainly a long way from home.”
Pamela turned sharply, eyes wide, blond hair swirling past her ears.
“Matt! What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Actually, I’m supposed to be here as the Navy’s liaison
with the news media. Care to do some serious liaising?”
“I. ..” She stopped, then glanced at her cameraman. “Let’s take a break,
Phil.”
He grinned at her. “Sure thing, Ms. Drake. Whatever you say.”
She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “I hadn’t really expected
to find you here, Matt.”
“No?” She didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him. Damn.
“I thought you were on the Jefferson.”
“You knew we were deployed to the Black Sea, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I also knew the battle group was coming to the Crimea. I guess I
just, well. .. I just didn’t expect you to come ashore.”
“You don’t sound that happy to see me.”
“Of course I am.” But the look in her eyes said otherwise. “You just
caught me by surprise, is all.” She looked at her watch. “Listen, I’ve
got a meeting to attend, but maybe we can get together a little later,
huh?”
“Certainly.” Why was she being so cool? Was she still mad at him? It
wasn’t like her to hold a grudge. He knew that everything wasn’t right
between them, but right now he had the impression she’d have rather he’d
not shown up at all. “Dinner, maybe?”
“That would be nice. Meet you here in the lobby? About six?”
“Eighteen hundred hours.”
She made a face at the militarism. “Whatever.”
He was pretty sure that she was still upset about his staying in the
Navy. Damn it, why couldn’t she see that he had a career, just as she
had? They’d had this argument over and over again during the past three
or four years, and it seemed like she could never see his side of
things. He never squawked when she went gallivanting all over the world