Woods and Big were surprised by the loud knock on their stateroom door. It was after midnight.
Bark stormed in, closing the door loudly behind him.
Woods stood up as Big jumped down from his rack.
“Hey, Skipper.”
Bark looked at them without speaking. Finally he said, “Can I sit?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“So, I need to get the straight story.”
“What straight story?” Woods asked.
“You know exactly what story I’m talking about.”
“The Syria thing?”
“Right. Talk to me.”
Woods and Big eyed each other, wondering who was going to go first. Then Woods spoke. “What is there to say?”
Bark was not impressed. He wanted this to be easy, not something he would have to work for. “Guess what I’ve been doing?”
Woods felt a chill race through him. “What?”
“I’ve been watching the PLAT films from the day of the attack.”
Big tried to look casual. “What for?”
“One thing that has puzzled me. If anyone was involved in the attack, it had to be you, now that they’ve given us a time when this supposedly happened. But I couldn’t figure out how you could have returned to the ship with all your missiles. I was checking for that.”
“We had all our missiles.”
“That’s right.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You know how when you shoot a Sidewinder it leaves carbon deposits on the missile rails?”
Woods tried not to look away from Bark’s intrusive stare. “Sure.”
“Can you explain to me how it is that each of you had missile exhaust on your Sidewinder rails coming aboard the ship that day?”
Woods felt trapped. He wanted to confess, to brag, to tell Bark everything. He knew Bark would understand. But he also knew Bark would do his duty. And that meant Leavenworth. “That’s impossible, Skipper. Can’t have missiles and exhaust at the same time. Unless the exhaust is old.”
Bark shrugged. “That’s what I still can’t figure out… Well, I thought I’d just stop by and see if you guys had any ideas.” He had great respect for his two Lieutenants, but he knew they were capable of a lot of things. “Either of you have anything to say?”
“Not me,” Woods said.
“The exhaust could be from the missile shoot at Roosevelt Roads.” Big said. “We shot a lot of Sidewinders there.”
“You think so?” Bark asked.
“Sure,” Big said. “Probably was.”
Bark’s eyes focused on Big. “Except the two Sidewinder shooters at Rosy Roads were 200 and 201. I checked.”
“Oh,” Big said, feeling exposed.
“And I went down to the hangar bay and looked at your two airplanes. You know what? You can still see some faint missile exhaust marks on the rails. It’s still there.”
“How can that be?” Woods asked.
“I was hoping you two could tell me. Anything else you want to say?”
“About what?”
Bark frowned. “About anything.”
Woods couldn’t speak. Anything he would say could imply something. Finally he said, “Not really.”
Bark waited, then stood up, opening the door. “See you in the morning.” The door slammed behind him.
Woods waited and heard Bark’s footsteps on the tile as he strode quickly down the passageway toward the ready room.
Big said, “We’re busted.”
“If we were busted, he would have said so. He’s not sure.”
“He may be very sure. He might have just been giving us the opportunity to prove we’re honest… I guess we aren’t.”
“We didn’t lie.”
“That wasn’t a lie?”
“Not really—”
“Shit, Sean! What do you think we’re doing here? We just deceived our Squadron Commander!”
Woods eyes were darkening. “Did you really think we’d go into Lebanon, or Syria, or wherever, and kill some people and not lie about it?”
“I don’t know. It just feels so dirty. Lying to your CO is just so unbelievable.”
“You’d better get used to it, Big, unless you want to go to Leavenworth.”
“You’re okay with all this?”
Woods wasn’t okay with it at all. He had never felt worse in his life. He had broken laws, serious laws, and he had killed for the first time. Now he was falling down the laundry chute of lies and covering. “No. I’m not okay with it. I feel like shit, and I’m yelling at you because I don’t know what else to do. I want to just go on with my life and be a Naval officer. I want to get back to complaining about Navy paperwork, or the night’s movie. Or Bernie the Breather… What can we do about it now, Big? We can’t undo it.”
“Nope.”
“If we confess, we’ll just go right to Leavenworth.”
“We never should have done it.”
“So what now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess we repent and go straight. We don’t rob any more banks, and we don’t go on any more air strikes into Lebanon.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough.”
“It’s all we’ve got.”
Ronald Pope enjoyed his work as the Assistant Secretary of State for Middle Eastern Affairs. It was very interesting, and allowed him to travel, but he was growing tired of his job. He wanted to move back into academia where the demands were substantially less, and he could write to his heart’s content. He thought a life of writing would be just the thing. His mind was full of book ideas and articles. Even driving to work with the radio on, he was thinking of what he could write about the Middle East. There was so much to say, the area was so complex and difficult. Maybe one day.
He shifted his briefcase to his left hand as he put his key in his car door to lock it. It jammed slightly and he grew annoyed. He had chosen not to get an alarm or keyless entry on his new Taurus, and now regretted it. He was sick of having to lock the door with a key. He knew he could just push the button on the inside of the door to lock all the doors at once, and then just close the driver’s door, but he didn’t want to take the risk of locking his keys in the car. So every day he shifted his briefcase to his left hand and put the key into the door.
“Excuse me,” a man said, who suddenly appeared next to him.
“Yes?”
“Are you Ronald Pope?”
“Yes. Who are you?” His eyes darted around for help, in case he needed it. But no one else was there. He always arrived before his peers.
“It doesn’t matter.” The man pulled a gun with a long silencer on it out of his jacket. Pope stared at the gun. He had never even seen a silencer, but he knew what it was.