Drake wilted slightly under his glare. “I got it. And thanks.”

  He shook his head, dismissing her gratitude. “We all do our part, lady. So get in there and get back out. I want a nice quiet ride home, you hear? No cops and robbers.”

  Drake forced a grin. “Got it. Back in thirty mikes.”

  His eyebrows shot up at her use of military slang. “Don’t get carried away with it. Be safe. If things fall apart, abort the mission.”

  “I know, I know. Lab Rat gave me the same lecture.” She gathered up her gear, unfastened her harness, and got up to leave. Unexpectedly, the pilot stuck out his hand. “Names Dixon. Mike Dixon.” He shook her hand solidly, and then shook hands with the cameraman. “Now go on, get out of here. The sooner you start, the sooner you’re back.”

  The helicopter was shut down, but just barely. Drake knew from prior experience that he could be turning and at rotation speed in a matter of moments. She waved a casual goodbye and turned to face her Russian escort.

  The public information officer was waiting for them. Although his face was professionally pleasant, there was none of the warm friendliness that she’d seen before. Were they suspicious? Maybe. But if they knew her, they knew enough to know that she would go after any story anywhere anytime. She was hoping her reputation would help her pull this off.

  “Welcome back, Miss Drake,” the public information officer said. “We’re flattered at your interest in our ship.”

  He’s not cool with this. Ill at ease.

  “Thank you. It’s nice to be back,” she said casually. “I appreciate your hospitality. Perhaps if we can go inside, I can fill you in on what’s happened so far.”

  The two officers glanced at each other, then the public information officer nodded. Not for the first time, Drake wondered who he really was.

  He led the way back into the ship, and via a different route, to what was obviously a senior officers’ mess. “A bit more privacy here,” he explained when he saw her glance around. “I suspect not everyone should hear what you have to say.”

  Drake nodded. “You may have noticed that my last report got a lot of attention. High-level, too. The military and the politicians are crawling all over my boss’s back. And this whole thing about the lasers — well, I don’t have to tell you it’s a political hot potato.”

  “So I have heard,” the information officer responded. “I imagine that at some level, politicians are all the same.”

  “You got that right. Anyway, like I said, it’s caused a real stir. From what I can tell, there’s a lot of people rethinking their position. This laser stuff — yes, it sounds fine. But not if it puts us in another Cold War arms race, you know? The people that are in power now, they remember that. It wasn’t so long ago that we were practicing air raid drills and building bomb shelters. And nowadays, when you’ve got laser-guided missiles and such, everybody feels pretty defenseless. I think, with a little pushing, that this can all go away and we can get down to the business of disarmament.”

  “And what would be your interest in this matter, Miss Drake?” he asked. “Simply that it is news?”

  Drake looked down, feigning embarrassment. “There’s that, of course. As you probably know, I’ve been around for a while. I’ve seen a lot of the world, and a lot of what happens when nations go to war.” She looked up, and forced a fierce gleam in her eyes. “You may laugh, but what I’ve seen makes me believe that disarmament must start now. And start with us. The world is too small anymore. There’s no room for nuclear weapons, not now that we know what they can do. The ozone layer, the potential for fallout — just look at Chernobyl. You people know better than I do what happens when nuclear power goes wrong.”

  “And what happened to your journalistic neutrality?” he asked.

  “Who can be neutral in something like this?” she shot back. “When there’s a chance that I can do something that will help stop this madness? No,” she said, shaking her head, “maybe at one time I was. But now, after everything I’ve seen — well, it has to stop. And if reporting the stories the way they really are helps that, then all the better.”

  “An admirable sentiment,” he murmured politely, and Drake could see that he wanted to believe her. “My family lived north of Chernobyl. Any shift in the wind and they would have been seriously at risk. But what can we do for you now?”

  “The main thing we’re missing right now is a hammer,” she said bluntly. “Half the people I talk to don’t believe your laser can possibly work. The other half are spread out across the spectrum. I need to crush this insane American superiority complex, show them that we’re not the only nation in the world that can build a system that works. I’d like to get another look at the laser, and this time take some pictures. Any technical data you can release—” She held up one hand to forestall comment. “I’m not asking for military secrets. But if there’s anything I can show them to prove that your laser works as advertised, maybe they’ll believe we’re headed for another Cold War arms race. Please,” she put a note of pleading in her voice, “can’t we just stop this madness?”

  For some reason, Rodney King’s anguished and oft-parodied plea ran through her mind: Can’t we all just get along?

  The two officers looked uncertain now, as though they believed her but were not entirely sure of what to say. Or what they could say. Finally, the public information officer spoke. “I’ll have to confer with the admiral, of course. But there’s great merit in your arguments. We, too, would like a peaceful world.” He stood, and smoothed out his tunic as he did. “Please wait here. We can provide refreshments while I talk to the admiral.”

  Intell. He’s got to be — and a lot more senior than he lets on.

  “Some coffee?” her escort asked. “Or perhaps a sandwich?”

  “Tea would be fine,” Pamela murmured, remembering the last cup of coffee she had on board a Russian ship.

  “A sandwich sounds great,” her cameraman said enthusiastically. He let his bags slump onto the couch and came forward eagerly.

  A few minutes stretched into half an hour. They were fed, given freshly brewed tea, and the escort made polite conversation. She shifted the talk away from her to his family. He had a wife and two boys. His mother lived with them. Like most officers, he was worried about providing for his family, but was fiercely proud of the work he did.

  Finally, the PIO returned, with the admiral following him. He stepped aside and allowed the admiral to approach Pamela.

  The admiral studied her from under his bushy eyebrows. He was of a different generation than the other two officers, one who remembered the glories of the Soviet Union and the uncertainties of the Cold War. Her proposal would be tempting to him, but he would be even more deeply suspicious of her then the younger officers. “We provide you data. And you may take pictures,” he said abruptly. “Some information we cannot tell. Pictures, basic information — yes. Take it to your people, the ones who do not believe that Russia is capable of this. Show them that if they continue this madness, we will match everything they do.”

  Unable to resist, Drake asked, “Admiral, you have been remarkably candid with us. How do you view the American development of this weapon?”

  He glared at her. “It is an act of aggression,” he snapped. “The United States seeks to disrupt the balance that has kept the world stable. Once her missile shield is in place, what is to prevent her from attacking us first?”

  “There are those who would say the U.S. will never fire the first shot,” Drake said.

  The admiral snorted. “The United States has used nuclear weapons before. Japan, yes? Russia has never done this. Only the United States. And I will—”

  The PIO stepped forward smoothly, catching the admiral’s attention. “The admiral has given me explicit instructions on what you may and may not see, Miss Drake. We hope that it will be sufficient to contribute to your efforts for peace. If you would come this way.”

  Arrogant — so arrogant. You would never see an American officer cutting off an admiral that way. She glanced back at the older man, and saw him deflate, a balloon from which the air had been let out. Just who is this guy anyway?

  “Thank you,” she said, suddenly just a little bit sorry for the admiral. He was a warrior, a military man, yet this weasely little politician had him under his thumb. He had not gone to confer with the admiral — he’d gone to the admiral as an equal.

  “This way,” the PIO said. He led them down the same passageways as before — or, at least Pamela thought he did. Some of it looked familiar, but she knew all too well how easy it was to get lost in the passageways on a large ship. She glanced back at her cameraman and saw him nod slightly. He was keeping track of where they were going, too.

  And does he have a plan for getting us out of here? What am I supposed to do, drop some bread crumbs along the way?

  They arrived at a hatch that they’d seen before, or at least it looked like the same one. She glanced at the marking above it and was relieved to see the numbers matched what she remembered. This time, however, a radiation trefoil had been added to the door.

  Seeing her glance at it, the PIO smiled grimly. “Nothing to worry about. If you like, I can get you a dosimeter.”

  “How much radiation is there?” she asked.

  “It’s about like being on the beach on a sunny day.” He waited patiently for her to make up her mind. Finally, she nodded.

  He clicked in the numbers on the cipher lock and shoved the door open. There was no one inside the compartment. He stepped aside to let Pamela and her cameraman go in first, then followed. He turned and secured the door behind them.

  It was just as she remembered it, sleek and deadly. The bright blue crystal at one end was dull. Lab Rat had explained that when the laser was operated, the crystal would glow. If it were in operation, she wouldn’t be able to touch it.

  “We’ll shoot video from all angles,” she said. “That way, we can cut in whichever views we need. And then some stills, both with me and without me.” She glanced over at her cameraman. “Want to shoot an intro in front of it?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “Be great if we could get the admiral in, too. You mind asking him?” asked the PIO.

  The officer paled a bit. “I do not think that would be possible. And as for me, I would prefer not to be in any photographs. I really have nothing to do with it other than providing briefings for visitors such as you.”

  That confirms it. A PIO who doesn’t want his picture in the paper. Either they’re a lot more shy than their American counterparts, or he’s got other reasons for not wanting his face in the limelight, and I’m betting on the latter.

  But then again, Pamela, you’re not exactly what you appear to be either, are you?

  She nodded sympatheticly. “Cause problems with your mates, would it?”

  “They might think I was being — well — self-promoting, I think.” He gave her a chuckle that sounded remarkably genuine. “And I’m not really sure how my wife would react to it. We’re out at sea for a couple of months, then she sees a picture of me with a — well — I do hope I won’t offend, Miss Drake, but my wife has a wide jealous streak.”

  Good move. Flattering me, are you? But you’re a bit too young for me, sonny.

  “I understand. But think about the positive side of it. You’d become known as someone who contributed to world peace, you know. It could stand in good stead if you ever have a political career after the navy. That wouldn’t be entirely bad, both in your country and in mine.”

  If I get home. She was certain that he did not want anyone in the United States studying his picture. Particularly not anyone who might be associated with the CIA. Or the State Department.

  “Very kind,” he murmured. “But I think not.”

  “Let me get to it,” her cameraman said. He hoisted his camera to his shoulder. A red light came on. He moved slowly around the laser, shooting from every angle. As she watched, she could see the lens refocus slightly as he picked up the consoles along the bulkhead on one pass, the laser on the next. He moved in a slow, surefooted way, the camera remarkably steady. Then he shot from above, and from below, carefully traversing the entire length of the laser. She noticed that the PIO found reasons to move around the compartment, evading the camera’s eye.

  “That’ll do it for now,” the cameraman said finally. “Stills now. Color and black and white, you think?”

  “Yep. Let’s get everything we can,” she answered. She moved over to stand behind the laser column and let her hands rest easily on it. “This okay?”

  He studied his light meter for a moment, the shook his head. “Won’t do. Hold on, I’ll fix it.” He dipped into his bag and extracted a small, powerful strobe. He mounted it high on the bulkhead with some temporary double-sided tape, and then ran the cord to his other hand. “Ready.”

  She pasted a bright smile on her face, then held her arms out to give some perspective to the length of the laser. “Serious face now,” he ordered. He was in charge at this moment, not her. Drake obligingly assumed a serious expression. A suspicion started to grow in her mind and she could feel it reflected in her face.

  “Good, good — look down, now. Like you’re studying it. The look you used in Cuba, you know. That made some good shots, really good. That time when you were outside worked best, I thought.” He was chatting now, unusual for him since his normal mode of communication was grunted commands and terse orders. She didn’t have to ask. Now she was certain.

  She tensed, ready. “Okay, here we go,” he said. She dropped her hand down low on the laser, ready to move.

  He glanced back at the political officer and said, “Now!” Her fingers shot into her pocket and she grabbed the fake crystal. At that moment, the light mounted on the bulkhead flashed in blinding light, so bright it seemed to burn through her closed eyelids and scorch her skin.

  Intent on watching her, the information officer let out a sharp yelp. He spat out a few words that had to be curses. Then the light flashed again, and again, the strobe bursts coming so close together that it seemed to be one continuous blast of light.

  Drake moved quickly, her nimble fingers flying over the laser, popping the catch, extracting the crystal, and slipping the other one into its place. Metal against metal as it slid home, a grating noise. She coughed to cover the noise.

  She need not have bothered. Moving quickly, her cameraman jammed a cloth over the information officer’s face. He went down almost immediately, dead weight. The cameraman lowered him easily to the floor. Then, extracting a roll of duct tape from his pack, he quickly bound the other man hand and foot, then slapped a strip of tape across his mouth. He dragged him into a corner and propped him up against a wall.

  Drake watched, stunned. She could not believe what she was seeing. Who was this commando that looked like her cameraman?

  He glanced up at her. “You okay?” She nodded dumbly. “Then let’s get moving. We’ll lock the hatch behind us and head for the flight deck. You remember the way?”

  “I think so.”

  “Between the two of us, we can find it. Now move!”

  He detached the light from the bulkhead and slipped it into his bag, then led the way out of the compartment. He waited until she had left, then pulled the door shut and spun the lock dial. He tried it and saw that it was locked. “Act confident.”

  They strode down the passageway, acting as though they had every right in the world to be wandering around a Russian warship unescorted. Pamela greeted the few sailors who met her gaze as they made their way back to a ladder they both remembered. They went up and emerged onto the flight deck.

  As soon as they stepped into view, their helicopter’s rotors started turning. They moved across the deck purposefully, not running, but not loitering either. With any luck at all, it would take the Russians a few moments to tumble to what was happening.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Drake said, fastening her harness. She was surprised to see her fingers starting to shake. “The faster, the better.”

  Pamela Drake was no stranger to fear, but this was entirely different. There was nothing she could do, nowhere to run. The helo’s top speed wouldn’t have kept a fighter aircraft airborne, and the pilot couldn’t even use that, for fear of generating suspicion.

  So she was obliged to sit in the back and say nothing, sweating inside the harness that held her in her seat, the crystal, in her hand, in her front pocket. The forced inactivity made everything worse.

  “Seahawk One, Home Plate,” a voice said over her headset. She was tuned into the tactical chatter on the net. “Condition red — Russian cruiser has activated targeting radar. Be advised that all indications are that they are about to launch on you.”

  “They’re what?” the pilot shouted in disbelief. “They can’t do that.”

  “That’s what we told them, Seahawk. But they seem to believe that you have something in your possession that belongs to them. Understand, we’re transmitting on an unsecure circuit so they can hear your response. Now is the time to come clean, Seahawk. Tell us what’s going on so we can make arrangements to work this out.”

  “Pamela, what the hell?” the pilot said.

  “What?” she snapped. “You think I have something to do with this?”

  The pilot made no response.

  “Seahawk, hit the deck,” a voice snapped. She recognized it as that of Tombstone Magruder.

  “Roger,” the pilot said even as he shoved the collective forward and headed for the surface of the ocean.

  “What’s going on?” Pamela asked, fear making her regret her earlier denial.

  “We’ve got a chance down here. Keep one hand on your harness release latch, the other on your seat. If you see the side door open, get the hell out of Dodge. You got that?”

  “Jump out of the helicopter?”

  “Unless you want to be a welcoming committee of one for a missile, yes,” the pilot said dryly. “You may not have noticed but we’re a little short on countermeasures or electronics. This is a commercial helicopter, lady — not a military one. And short of simply trying to get lost in the haze — which, I might add, is a zero probability event — discretion is the better part of valor. I’ll keep us as low as I can, but you be ready to move.”