own ships. The second team will move quickly up to the bridge, taking
control of the people there. With those two areas secured, we will have
enough leverage to do whatever we wish. Do you think the American troops
would risk their admiral? Especially when we do no serious harm to their
vessel or their crew.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said, not looking fully satisfied at the answer.
“But as you said–getting on board an aircraft carrier is no easy matter.
The flight deck stands thirty feet above the ocean, and even when they are
lowered, the elevators are not much closer. How will we-?”
Rogov cut him off. “That is the simplest part of the entire matter.
The Americans themselves will take us there.”
CHAPTER 11
Thursday, 29 December
1400 Local
USS Coronado
“And just how long am I supposed to stay here?” Pamela asked coldly.
She made a short, curt motion to indicate the spartan stateroom. “It’s bad
enough you’ve got me held in here under armed guard–what’s wrong, doesn’t
this ship have a brig on it? Run out of handcuffs?”
Tombstone studied her gravely. Anger had forced high color into her
face, and it was obvious she sat motionless on the narrow single bed only
through sheer force of will. Miss Pamela Drake, ACN star correspondent,
was used to having her own way. And that most definitely did not include
being placed under armed Marine guard in a tiny stateroom, on board the
ship while her colleagues covered a fast-breaking story.
What had he ever seen in her? he wondered, regret and nostalgia
coloring his memories of her as strongly as the wild, passionate physical
response they’d always had to each other. Back then, when he’d been a
young lieutenant commander, she’d seemed the most glamorous, out-of-reach
woman he’d ever seen in his life. During the years that followed, he
learned that she possessed a drive and mind equal to his own. Somewhere
along the line, he’d believed that would be enough to let them mold their
two diverse lifestyles into one strong, satisfying life together.
But it hadn’t been. Last cruise, when they’d finally agreed to break
their engagement, he’d thought he’d never get over her. Now, on opposite
sides of the room–and with battle lines clearly drawn–he wondered how
he’d thought he could ever trust her. Her drive to succeed, to beat every
correspondent on the globe in breaking the most sensational story, had
pitted them against each other. He wondered if she’d given their
relationship a single thought as she planned this daring–and he had to
admit it had been that–assault on his amphibious ship. Had she thought at
all about what her antics would cause, how difficult it would be for him?
No, he saw, studying her carefully. She’d known what price he would pay,
and she’d gone ahead with it anyway.
“Yes,” he said finally, “there is a brig on the ship. Normally,
however, an officer would be confined to his stateroom for something like
this. I’m giving you the courtesy of treating you on the same terms,
although I doubt you deserve it.”
She shook her head angrily. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“No,” he said with finality. “And neither do you.”
1420 Local
Seahawk 601
800 feet, Vicinity of Aflu
The SH-60F helicopter approached the island slowly. Five miles out,
the pilot executed a turn to the west and began a slow circuit around it.
The weather had cleared sufficiently to enable the pilot, ATO–Airborne
Tactical Officer–and SO–Sensor Operator–to see the bare outlines of the
island, but not much more.
“How are we supposed to see anything from here?” the copilot grumbled.
“The whole landscape is one white blur. They could have a battalion of
troops there in winter gear and we’d never know it.”
“You fancy going in a little closer?” the pilot asked. “Weren’t you
paying attention at the brief? They’ve got Stingers on that damned
island.” He stopped talking and concentrated on maintaining level flight.
Airflow over the land mass, probably from the rocky outcropping to the
east, rocked the helicopter gently in the air. No cause for alarm, but
after spending the last thirty minutes staring at the water below while it