“Lastly,” Maloney continued without missing a beat, “care must be taken to protect the immunity of noncombatants; I assume that would be done. In summary, Mr. Woods, I think St. Thomas Aquinas would not consider your cause unjust. These are just preliminary you under—”
“Unbelievable!” Woods said, standing up suddenly. “How can Congress not do this? I’ll tell the congressman you endorsed it.”
Maloney was startled. “I haven’t endorsed anything.”
Woods fixed him with a gaze the chaplain had never seen before. “Not willing to put your ass on the line a little?” Woods let the silence linger for a few seconds. “That’s what being a Naval officer is all about. You make decisions, things happen. You live with them. We don’t usually get to study them forever, or argue about them with our colleagues for a decade while we sip tea. We decide based on the information we have. Can you do that?” He looked at the paper Maloney was carrying. “Will you let me send that to my congressman?”
Maloney handed him the paper. Beads of sweat were visible on his temples. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”
“Oh, yeah,” Big said sarcastically. “Congress always knows exactly what they’re doing. I for one have all the confidence in the world—”
“Can I send it?” Woods asked Maloney again, not allowing him an ambiguous ending.
Maloney hesitated, then nodded.
“Thanks, Padre,” Woods said, smiling. “I’ll let you have a copy of the letter I send out. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”
“Thank you,” Father Maloney said. “This is a very unusual thing. I hope we can learn from this.”
Woods turned to Rayburn. “Would you be willing to write a memo that says what you just told me?”
Rayburn hesitated. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t want to give a legal opinion to Congress without my superiors knowing about it. I don’t think it would make them very happy.”
Woods looked back at the chaplain. “What are you going to do, Padre, when Congressman Brown proposes this on the floor and cites you as his justification?”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Maloney said, feeling trapped.
“Let’s hope it does. I think Brown will be on national television within two weeks. You’d better be ready.”
“You’re dreaming,” Big said.
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Father Maloney said to Woods. “I think you are overestimating one person’s ability to affect things. Or at least political things.”
“Ideas have power of their own.”
“Who said that?” asked Big.
“I did. One way or another, this country will take care of Vialli.”
Father Maloney and Lieutenant Rayburn got up, ready to head out.
“Thanks for your help, you guys,” Woods said.
“Sure,” they both replied. “We’ll see what happens,” Rayburn added. “You never know.”
“Exactly,” Woods said, closing the door behind them. He took a deep breath and tried to decide what do to next.
Big interrupted his thoughts. “Does it matter to you?”
“What?”
“Whether it would be right to attack these guys, as in moral.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this talk about Thomas Aquinas… does it make any real difference to you? ’Cause I get the feeling you’re just using this stuff as an angle. To get what you want.”
“What’s got you stirred up?” Woods asked.
Big opened his closet and started putting on his flight suit. “I was listening to you pin the poor chaplain to the wall, and making that Navy lawyer-puke feel uncomfortable. You were working them. I just wonder if what they’re saying matters to you or if you’re just using them.”
“You’re worried about me misusing Aquinas?”
“Nope. Don’t even know that much about him. So, does it matter? What they’re saying?”
Woods considered Big’s question. Big had a way of asking questions that made him squirm. “Yeah, it does. We’ve let the whole thing slide to the President, and he decides when and where we go to war. It’s all wrong. My father fought in Vietnam—”
“I know—”
“ — in an undeclared war. I think it delegitimized the whole thing. It may have been one of the things that caused the public to lose faith in it. Congress never voted for it.”
“Come on—”
“No, you asked,” Woods said, getting it off his chest. “So we don’t operate like we should anymore. I think we should get back to that. Where we don’t have to sit out here planning a strike against some guy, or group, just because the President says so. That’s what a king would do. I’m willing to go to war, but I want it to be something the country supports. I don’t want to come home and have people spitting on me like they did my father.”
“Sorry I asked.”
“I’m not. It’s important.”
Big smiled. “Maybe one day somebody will listen to you.”
“Yeah, like today. I’m going to get this e-mail out tonight. I’m going to retype the padre’s memo and put his name on it, and mention Rayburn, and send it to Admiral Brown.”
“Admiral who?” Big asked, concerned Woods had decided to try for a truly momentous jump over the chain of command.
“Brown. My congressman. Retired Vice Admiral Lionel Brown. You know.”
“Oh, yeah — “ The phone on the bulkhead rang, startling both of them. Big reached over his head and pressed the button that released the handset and kept it from falling during high seas. “Lieutenant McMack, Ready Room Ten,” he said. He listened, then frowned. “Aw, no,” he said, closing his eyes momentarily. “When?”
He glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. “They find anything?” He waited, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at Woods, who was waiting expectantly for some indication of what had happened. Big sighed. “Gator just flew into the water.”
“The F-18 guy?”
“Yeah. Their LSO. On approach, half a mile out. Just kept descending and didn’t pull up. The LSOs were screaming at him. He just flew right into the water. Perfect attitude, perfect rate of descent, right into the water. Hit like a pancake. Didn’t even try to eject.”
Woods couldn’t believe it. Most cruises resulted in one or two accidents, maybe one death. This cruise was snakebit.
“His wife is waiting for him in Piraeus. We pull in tomorrow and nobody knows how to get ahold of her.”
16
Sami stopped his Nissan in front of Cunningham’s townhouse. It was in one of those condo complexes where it required GPS or perfect directions to find someone’s condo. All the buildings looked the same, all the stairways and doorways looked the same: the same colors, the same decorative plants, the same cars in front — junkers for those who just moved in, and the BMWs for those about to move out.
Sami leaned over and peered up the stairway for Cunningham. He checked the clock on the dash, which, much to his annoyance, continued to work and kept more accurate time than his three-hundred-dollar wristwatch. Finally Cunningham came bounding down the stairs carrying his briefcase.
Opening the car door, he slid into the front passenger seat.
“Sorry,” Cunningham said.
“No problem,” Sami replied, backing out into the deserted, small street that looped the entire complex. He drove off quickly. “What do you think of Kinkaid?”
“What?” Cunningham said, looking over toward Sami for the first time.
“Kinkaid.”
“Too early.”
“What do you think of him?”
Cunningham watched the traffic on the street they were turning on to. They never talked when they carpooled. He didn’t like to think this early. “What about him?”