"Reckon I better put on the chow," Lex said, then reached for another beer and stood to greet Allison. "Little dahlin'," he asked unsteadily, "you wanta help me with the vittles?"
Allison smiled widely as she reached for a towel to wrap around her waist. "I would be happy to help you," she teased, "in any way I can."
"My kind of gal." Lex grinned at Nick as he wrapped an arm around Allison's shoulder. "Hold the fort, Nick, while we rustle up the grub."
Palmer nodded, concealing his worry. He engaged Allison's friends in conversation while he watched Blackwell stagger toward the barbecue grill.
"I understand that the three of you," Allison said when she and Lex reached the grill, "do some kind of testing for the government?" The statement became a question.
Lex arched his brow. "Who told you that?"
"Brad mentioned that you test things, whatever they are, for a government agency."
Blackwell gave her a sly grin and started forking the meat on the cooker. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I might," Allison replied with mock innocence, "if you told me the truth. I asked Brad if he was in the military — the three of you look like pilots, you know, with the sunglasses and all — and he evaded my question."
Lex poured a thick sauce on the sizzling ribs and sliced beef "We are in the military."
"Well," Allison huffed convincingly, "what's so secretive about what you do? Is it something that embarrasses you and your friends?"
Blackwell laughed and took a swig of beer. "This ain't for publication," Lex bragged, "but you're right, we are pilots… fighter pilots."
"I just knew it," Allison exclaimed. "I have an eye for guys like you. All of you have such a bold, reckless quality — sort of a carefree, cavalier air about you."
Flattered by her praise, Lex drained his beer. "If you promise me that you won't say anything to anyone, I'll tell ya what we're doin' here."
"Who would believe me?" Allison shrugged.
Blackwell glanced at Nick and the two women, then locked Allison in his stare. "We're testing an enemy fighter plane — a MiG that the CIA got aholt of "
"You're kidding?" she said, wide-eyed. "I won't tell a soul. Even I don't believe you."
"Nope," he burped drunkenly, "I'm not kiddin'."
Chapter TWELVE
Brad inhaled deeply and stared at the ceiling in the darkened bedroom. Leigh Ann's head rested on his shoulder and her leg sprawled across his groin. They began to breathe more slowly as their damp bodies cooled. Leigh Ann blew softly on Brad's chest, then tilted her head back to kiss him on the neck.
"I can't believe," she murmured, running a finger lightly over his muscled stomach, "that you have to leave in the middle of the night."
He reached for his wristwatch and squinted at the face. "Unfortunately, I don't have any choice."
Leigh Ann held him tighter, savoring their last few minutes together. "I could hold you all night."
"Don't tempt me." Brad laughed quietly while he gently caressed her back. "The last thing I want to do is report for duty when I know that you're lying here."
They remained silent, enjoying the quiet pleasure of the moment.
As much as she hated to see Brad leave, Leigh Ann was grateful that he was not going back into combat. The CIA program might be dangerous, she thought, but Brad would not be exposed to aerial combat.
Leigh Ann raised her head and looked into Brad's eyes. "When am I going to see you again?"
He brushed her forehead with his lips. "I don't know."
Leigh Ann nuzzled his chest. "I love you, Brad, and I'm worried about you. It would be different if I knew where you were and what you were doing."
"Not to worry." Brad sighed and caressed Leigh Ann's thigh. "What I'm doing at the present time is a hell of a lot safer than being shot at every day."
They remained quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Leigh Ann was frightened by Brad's profession, but bravely kept most of her worries to herself.
A long silence followed before Brad roused himself. He slipped his arm from under Leigh Ann's neck. "I've got to shower and get out to Miramar. "
Leigh Ann forced Brad down and eased on top of him. "There's room for two in the shower."
Leading Nick and Lex, Brad clambered into the C-1A Trader and thought about Leigh Ann while the pilots taxied to the runway. She said that she loved him, but he still felt that Allison's presence was harming their relationship. He felt guilty without really knowing why; maybe just having to deceive Leigh Ann was enough cause.
The two and a half nights with Leigh Ann had left him physically and mentally spent, but he had to take his mind off his personal problems and concentrate on the immediate future. He dozed off and slept fitfully during the flight to the isolated base.
Arriving before daylight, Brad was jostled awake when the COD touched down at the desert landing strip.
Still groggy, Brad slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and trundled into the hangar. The MiG was parked on the far side of the F-8 Crusader, nose pointed at the hangar doors.
Grady Stanfield and Hollis Spencer were huddled in the briefing room when the three pilots entered. A freshly brewed pot of coffee sat on the table next to a plate stacked high with pastries.
Brad noticed that Spencer's normal, amiable mood had changed. He seemed oddly stiff and awkward as he stared into his coffee cup.
When the pilots had taken their seats, Spencer finally spoke. "Gentlemen, before we continue flying, I want to share some information with you."
Total silence surrounded the table.
"Conducting secret operations," Spencer said with a grim set to his jaw, "in an open democracy presents some very special problems."
Spencer's hand tightened around his cup. "When the CIA is asked to subvert foreign governments, support fledgling democracies, undermine dictators, or conduct covert operations, people like me salute and smartly get underway. We realize the consequences of our actions, and we take our daily responsibilities seriously." His single eye probed each of the three junior pilots. "In other words, we keep our secret missions secret."
A sense of foreboding swept over the wary pilots.
"We have had a breach in security," Spencer bluntly announced, then focused on Blackwell and Austin. "Lieutenant Blackwell, you are one phone call away from being the laundry officer in Adak, Alaska."
Stunned by the denunciation, Blackwell slumped in his chair. "Sir, I'm afraid I'rn not following you."
Brad cautiously looked at Lex, wondering if Hollis Spencer knew about Leigh Ann's visit. Something told him that Spencer knew everything.
With his jaw firmly clenched, Spencer gave Blackwell a look that would freeze water. "You told a civilian about this operation," he seethed. "A top-secret, White House — approved, covert operation! Do you know what you compromised?"
Mouth agape, Lex sat back in shock. His mind raced before he realized that Allison van Ingen was the only person he had spoken to about the MiG operation.
Before Lex could answer, Spencer turned to Brad. "And you violated my orders by inviting a lady friend to visit you in San Diego." Spencer hesitated a moment. "You were instructed not to contact anyone, were you not?"
Paralyzed, Brad glanced at Blackwell, wondering what Lex had revealed, and if he had said anything about Leigh Ann. Nothing made sense. "Yes, sir."
Ignoring their coffee, Nick Palmer and Grady Stanfield sat quietly, staring at the top of the table.
"However," Brad replied, suddenly growing angry, "I would like to make a statement. My 'lady friend' is not a threat to national security, and I have not compromised this operation by divulging what I am doing here."
Spencer's good eye narrowed. "The point is," he glared impatiently, "when you are told not to contact anyone, that's exactly what I mean. The words hissed from his mouth. "Do you read me?