CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

“That’s not what worries me, COS. Sure, we need to make every effort

we can to find any survivors. People survive under the damnedest

conditions, and if those men and women have the guts to hold out in a life

raft, I’ll do my damnedest to find them. But what worries me even more is

why they sank in the first place.”

COS shrugged. “Sounds like a massive engineering casualty to me.”

Batman looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe. Or they could have even

struck a submerged iceberg. All of those are possible explanations. But

we don’t get paid the big bucks to think of the easy solutions. I want to

make sure we’re all thinking on the same wavelength.”

“You think they were attacked? By who, a coalition of angry fishermen

who want to kill whales?”

Batman shook his head. “I don’t know, COS. And that’s what worries

me. Until we have some evidence of what happened to them, I’m going to

assume they wandered into harm’s way. And I want everybody on this ship

thinking the same way.”

0800 Local

Adak

Tombstone heard a light rap at his door. He looked up and saw Pamela

Drake framed by the doorway.

“Do you have a moment for me, Admiral?” she asked politely.

“Only if you’re not going to rake me over the coals,” Tombstone

answered. “After yesterday, I’m not up to any more surprises.”

She walked across the room and settled into the chair in front of his

desk with that too-familiar combination of easy grace and sensuality. She

crossed her legs, not bothering to yank her skirt down when it rode up over

her thighs. “Off the record, Stoney–can I still call you that?”

He nodded. “There’s a lot of history between us, Pamela. I wouldn’t

change a bit of it.”

“Not even the way it ended?”

He shook his head. “Neither of us was willing to compromise. I won’t

quit flying; you won’t quit hop-scotching around the world in search of the

hottest story. It was inevitable. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Still, it’s good to see you

again.”

“And you as well. Now,” he continued briskly, “what’s on your mind?

Still off the record.”

She looked troubled. “This Greenpeace boat. It’s a tragedy, of

course. There are several million of my colleagues out interviewing family

members as we speak.” She grimaced, as though disgusted with the

inevitable state of how-does-it-feel-to-lose-your-husband questions that

were sure to be posed to the surviving families. “And as bad as it is for

the men and women who were on that boat, I’m not sure why you’re mobilizing

the entire ALASKCOM and a U.S. carrier battle group to look for survivors.

As your operations officer said, there’s little chance that the men are

alive.”

“Men and women,” Tombstone corrected. “Two years ago, you would have

chided me for making that mistake.”

“Okay, men and women. But still-”

“Why are we mobilizing a full-scale SAR exercise when we’re fairly

certain that no one survived?” He let his eyes rest on hers, and studied

the sea-green eyes flecked with gold. There had been a time when just

looking at her brought a thrill of anticipation to him, a tightening and

hardening he’d never been able to control.

Now, seeing her here, he was surprised to find he still had the same

reaction. Muted, perhaps, the edges smoothed away by his fascination with

Tomboy, but the echoes of their long relationship still sang in his body.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to pull her toward him, run his hand

over the smooth curves and sleek skin, feel her body warm to his touch and

respond to him. He shook his head and tried to push the image of Pamela

naked on the bed beside him out of his head. “A short lesson on

governmental politics is in order,” he said, aware that his voice had

softened and become more intimate.

Pamela caught the change. “It’s still there, isn’t it?” she said

softly. “Me, too, Stoney.”

He sighed. “And the more senior each of us gets, the less likely

we’ll do anything about it. For now, let me see if I can bore us both for

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