“If you are implying that any of our allies are responsible for this unfortunate occurrence, then I certainly hope you have the facts to back you up,” Tiltfelt said coldly. “Otherwise, I’d suggest you keep your paranoid ravings to yourself.”
“Just who on this ship do you think would want to set a bomb off, mister?” Batman exploded. “Some seaman pissed because he didn’t get a letter from home? Or because the chief yelled at him? I don’t think so. We’re the ones who live here. We depend on this ship. And don’t you think it’s just terribly odd that the explosion occurred in Admiral Magruder’s cabin?”
“The only logical cause of this explosion is one of two things,” Tiltfelt continued as though Batman hadn’t spoken. “First, one of your subordinates has failed to supervise some sort of system properly and it exploded.”
Tiltfelt waved one languid hand in the air as though filling in the details. “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find that’s certainly a possibility. The second, of course, is exactly as you’ve outlinedsome disgruntled sailor under your command, no doubt alienated by your lack of concern for his physical well-being and morale, has become sufficiently disgruntled to make this sort of statement.”
“That wasn’t a statement, that was a fucking bomb. Just how many sailors do you think have access to that sort of material?”
“Probably all of them, judging from the degree of leadership and organization I see on board this vessel,” Tiltfelt shot back. “And until you have hard evidence to back it up, you’d best refrain from idle and malicious speculation. Clearly, there is no reason for our guests to wish to disrupt the very peace process that they’ve initiated.”
“The State Department-” Batman roared. He was cut off by the appearance of a tall, shaken figure in the hatch leading to the passageway.
“Gets people killed.”
Tombstone stepped over the knee-knocker and entered the conference room. He looked at Batman, quelling his friend’s rage with a supportive look, then turned his gaze to Tiltfelt. “That’s how it always is, isn’t it? State starts yelling about diplomatic solutions and the second it goes wrong, they blame the military. Well, mister, maybe Sixth Fleet draws a little more water than you think it does. You’re excused, Mr. Tiltfelt. Please remain in your cabin until I call you.”
“Just where do you people get off with this?” Tiltfelt sputtered. He turned and looked at his aides behind him as though for support. “First you provoke an attack, and then you try to blame the logical consequences for your actions on the same parties. Just who do you people think you are?”
Tombstone smiled. “I think I know exactly who I am. I’m the commander of Sixth Fleet. And you’re here solely at my sufferance, Mr. Tiltfelt. Solely at my sufferance.”
Tombstone turned to Batman and said formally, “Admiral, may I have the use of your communications officer for a few minutes?”
“Of course, sir,” Batman replied in just as formal tones. “My ship is at your disposal.”
Tombstone nodded. “Have someone call in for me, please. Tell them I need a secure circuit to the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C. He should be in his office at this hour, but if not, have someone hunt him down. It’s imperative that I speak with my uncle immediately.”
Tombstone turned back to Bradley Tiltfelt. “As you reminded me right after you arrived on board, my uncle is Chief of Naval Operations.”
Tiltfelt was almost apoplectic now. His color had deepened from red into a shade of purple that looked downright dangerous. “I don’t care if the president is your mother. You’re damned well not getting away with this.”
“Oh, I think I am. You’ll think that too after I talk to him.” Tombstone’s voice was almost mild, even more dangerous by the sound of it.
“Please remain in your stateroom,” he repeated. “I’ll call you if I need youif that ever happens.”
Five minutes later, the communicator buzzed Tombstone on the intercom.
“I have the CNO’s office, Admiral,” the communications officer announced. “His people are standing by for you.”
Again, the delicate dance of elephants. The staff at the CNO’s office was not about to leave their four-star boss waiting on the line for a three-star fleet commander. Staff and assistants took the ranks of their bosses almost as seriously as the officers themselves did. More so in some cases. Tombstone sighed and picked up the receiver. “This is Admiral Magruder,” he announced.
“Admiral, good morning. Please stand bythe CNO will be on the line shortly.”
An annoying popular tune started playing softly on the line.
His uncle’s voice interrupted it seconds later.
“Tombstone. What the hell happened?”
“An explosion on board, sir.” Tombstone quickly sketched the outline of what had happened and the damage to the carrier. He concluded with: “State seems to think they carry a pretty big stick around here, Admiral. I need to ask you nowhow much leeway do I have?”
He knows what I really mean, Tombstone thought. No matter how I phrase it, he’s going to read between the lines. I don’t have to tell him how much the whole idea of this conference pissed me off, that I know he sent me out of Washington before I could learn about it simply because of that. He knows what I would have said, how much I would have objected to itand right now, sitting back there in D.C., he knows I would have been right. There were more advantages than his uncle had suspected to having a relative on the front lines, but this time the advantage was Tombstone’s.
“Tell me what you need, Stoney.” His uncle’s voice was taut, white anger lurking underneath. It was a characteristic the Magruder males shared, the icy cold exterior that masked a hot, volatile temper few of their shipmates suspected. “Tell me what you need.”
“A free hand,” Tombstone replied promptly. “Sir, the political battles and diplomacy need to be run from D.C.not from my carrier. I suspect we’ll have evidence in the next several hours to prove that this incident was the work of someone outside of my crew or air wing. You know it was. Admiral, I’ve got twenty-eight foreign nationals on board my ship right now, half of them from a nation that already wiped out my flagship. In spite of what State says, this is not a diplomatic problem. It’s a military one. And I’m the man on the front line. I need to know now, sirdo I have your support or not?”
“Stoney, calm down.” His uncle’s voice was quiet and reasonable now, although Tombstone could still hear the anger simmering just below the surface. “I sent you out there for a reason. And no, although you didn’t say so, I didn’t tell you everything. The final details weren’t arranged when you left, but I suspected exactly this sort of ploy by the State Department, some sort of planning conference held on board your ship. I couldn’t put someone else out there, StoneyI just couldn’t. The only one I can trust to give me a solid reaction, to do what I would have done if I were there, is you.”
“So where does that leave us, Uncle?” Tombstone asked, his own anger deflated by the anguish he heard in his uncle’s voice. “Where does that leave us?”
“With one slightly damaged but damned dangerous aircraft carrier,” his uncle replied immediately. “And it leaves me with some ammunition. If you need any scientific or forensic assistance, just say so. Otherwise, I’ve got what I needproof that State Department’s ploy isn’t going to work. In the end, we’re going to save lives because of this, lives that would have been wasted on some NATO peacekeeping plan or cockeyed idea of a presence mission. We tried it their waynow it’s our ball game.”