Final Flight (20 page)

Apparently Captain James was listening to that
conversation, too, for Jake saw him glance across at
the OOD twice as he perused the report.

In the center of the bridge stood the helmsman at
the ship’s wheel, watching the compass. The navigation
table was on the starboard wing of the bridge, and beyond it
two lookouts were visible, their binoculars up and
sweeping the horizon. The remainder of the bridge
watch team were busy with their duties.

“So the chief thought Potocky knew to report
empty fire bottles when he weighed them, but he
says he didn’t, and the chief never checked up on”

“The chief checked some of the bottles, but he
didn’t check this one, the empty one. And this was the
only empty one.”

“And the division officer never inspected the
bottles to see if Potocky and the chief were doing
their jobs.”

“That’s right.”

The captain threw the report on top of a stack
of paper which rested on the ledge in front of him.
“CAG, I think the chief and division officer are
derelict in their duties. I want them taken
to mast.”

“I think we should leave that decision to Commander
Schultz. He’s the commanding officer of VF-11
and that’s his decision.”

“These people hazarded this ship, Captain
Grafton.” He pronounced “Captain” as if the
rank had been a gift from a mischievous god.
“Their negligence put their shipmates’ lives in
jeopardy.” James turned in his chair until he
was looking directly at Jake. “I want every
officer and man on this ship to know that such
conduct will not be tolerated. I want it punished.”

“Skipper, I’m not disputing the seriousness of this.
But in my judgment Commander Schultz should have the
discretion to handle this matter as he chooses. I’m not
going to order him to do anything. Of course, if you
want to hold mast …

Both officers knew that Captain James could
merely order the ship’s master-at-arms to sign the
report chit, and the accused would, in a week or
two, stand at attention in his dress uniform to hear the
charges read and Captain James prescribe the
punishment. Mast, a nonjudicial proceeding, was
really a means for the commanding officer to enforce discipline,
and the only guarantee of fairness was what the commanding
officer thought was fair. Both officers were acutely
aware of the fact that an officer’s or chief’s
naval career would be irreparably destroyed if either
were awarded punishment at mast. They were also acutely
aware that under the Super-CAG concept, James had
been passing to Grafton all the report chits on
air wing sailors generated by ship’s personnel for
him to hold mast on.

“What does Schultz intend to do about this?”

“I haven’t yet discussed that with him.”

“Get him up here.”

Jake used the nearby telephone to call the Red
Ripper’s ready room.

While they were waiting for Schultz, Captain
James said, “I saw you sight-seeing on the
flight deck this afternoon, CAG. In the future you
might devote your time more profitably to inspecting the
material condition of air wing spaces.”

“I’m responsible for those airplanes down there,
Captain.”

“And two of those airplanes have been lost this
cruise. This ship is not an airplane,
Grafton, that we can afford to crash, then write an
accident report on.” Laird James picked
up a document from a stack on the ledge in front of
him and went over it carefully. Jake stood in
silence and watched the yellow-shirted aircraft
handlers on the flight deck move aircraft.

When Schultz arrived, out of breath because he had
apparently run up the ten stories of ladders rather
than wait for the elevator, James rested his
paperwork on his lap and got straight to the point.
“What do you intend to do with Senior Chief
Cosgrove and Lieutenant (jg) Slawson for
failing to properly supervise Airman Potocky?”

Schultz glanced at Jake. “Captain,
Cosgrove has been in the navy twenty-six
years. He’s one of my two or three best
chiefs. Slawson is a Naval Academy
grad on his first cruise. He’s a damn good young
fighter pilot. The navy has made a hell of
an investment in both of them and we’re getting a
hell of a lot in return. I intend to counsel them
both, and the rest of my supervisors, and ensure they
all know how to be supervisors.”

“You inform them,” the captain said, his voice so
soft that Jake found himself leaning forward a trifle
to hear, “that there will be zero tolerance for slovenliness,
laziness, negligence, incompetence, or gross
stupidity that puts this ship at risk. Zero
tolerance. None whatsoever. That includes you
gentlemen as well, SuperCAG or no. This is
my ship.”

Jake Grafton and Harvey Schultz saluted
and left the bridge.

“YOU KNOW I love you, woman?” Jake whispered.

“I’ve often suspected it,” Callie
replied, pretending to examine her nails
in the moonlight which streamed through the open door to the
balcony and fell across the bed. “But you sailors,
with your women in every port! A poor girl must stand in
line. And it just doesn’t pay to invest much emotion in
a “here today, gone-tomorrow” lover.”

Jake chuckled and nuzzled her neck, drinking in
the smell of her and luxuriating in the sensuous
pleasure of her skin against his, the sleek coolness
of the sheets, the ripeness of her body under his hand.

“That’s me, I guess.

“I guess. So what am I? Number ten for you
this month?” She giggled as Jake ran his tongue
down her neck and across her collarbone, heading south.

“Eleven, I think.”

She hugged him fiercely. “Oh, I love you,
Jake Grafton, you worthless gadabout fly-boy,
you fool that sails away and leaves me.

When she released him, he propped his head on
one elbow and ran his finger along her chin. She
nipped at it.

“Have you been to the beach house lately?” he
asked. Three years ago they had purchased a
house on the beach in Delaware that they visited at
every opportunity, anticipating the day when they would
live there permanently.

“Just last weekend. You can still hear the gulls from the
window, and the surf hitting the sand when the tide is
in. But the upstairs commode stopped up. I had
to call a plumber She went on, detailing the
domestic crises and how much it had cost. He
rolled out of bed and slipped a robe on.

From an easy chair near the door to the balcony,
he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that house,
lately.”

Callie sat up in bed and swept her long dark
hair away from her face.

“Is twenty-three years enough?” That was how long
Jake had been in the navy.

“I can’t fly at night anymore. I’m half
grounded.” She left the bed, came over to the chair,
and sat on his lap. He wrapped the robe around them
both, as far as it would go.

“It’s my eyes. I’m losing my night vision.
Something about liquid purple and rods and all that.”

“My God, Jake, won’t you miss the flying?”

“Yeah,” he sighed disgustedly.

“And if you can’t fly, how can you continue to command an
air wing?”

“I can’t. They’ll send someone
to relieve me pretty soon. I’ll probably
be home in a month or so and they’ll ground me
completely. No more flying. Ever.”

“Where will you go from here?”

“I don’t know. Probably some admiral’s
staff someplace. We’re short on radar
repairmen, but we’ve got a lot of admirals
and a lot of staffs.”

“So you’ve been thinking about the beach house?”

“Uh-huh. And about us. About you and your gadabout
fly-boy lover and all the time we’ve been apart.
And I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time.
Everybody retires sooner or later, unless they
get zapped, and so why not? It’s time you had a full
time husband, not some ..

Callie put her face inches from his. Her
cascading hair framed her dark eyes. She put
her hands on his cheeks. “I’ve been
extraordinarily happy married to you. Oh, the
separations have been hard to take, but I can endure the
days alone because I know that, God willing, you’re coming
back to me. You are who you are and what you are, and I
love you. So don’t you dare start talking like you’ve
given me the dirty end of the stick these last fifteen
years. You haven’t.”

He started to speak, but she put her lips on
his. In a moment he carried her back to the bed.

They ate a room service breakfast on the
balcony, wearing only their robes. From here you could
see the sweep of the Bay of Naples and the old
Renaissance harbor where the yachts moored. The
carrier lay several miles out to sea, foreshortened from
this angle. Two surface combatants were anchored
near her. The carrier’s flat top looked
grotesque, but the cruisers with their
superstructures looked ominous, powerful-gray
warships on a blue sea. And way, way out there,
the sea and the sky were married by the summer haze. It was
going to be hot today.

“Are you going out to the ship ?” Callie asked as
she sipped her orange juice.

“Thought I might, after a while. Then maybe this
afternoon you and I could go somewhere together. How about
Pompeii?” Jake sat looking at the ship and
drumming on the glass table with his fingers.

“I’m glad you gave up smoking.”

“I haven’t made it yet,” Jake said, and
self-consciously stuffed his hands with their chewed
fingernails into his robe pockets.

Callie hid her smile behind another
piece of toast. Yes indeed, she decided, she
had been extraordinarily lucky when she landed this
one.

Not that he had had a chance of getting away, of
course. She ran a hand through her hair and stretched.
Jake was looking down at the patio around the pool
three stories below where breakfast was served al
fresco.

“What are you looking at?”

“I thought I recognized that girl. But from this
angle I’m not sure.

Callie rose and stepped over to the railing. She
had her toast in her hand. “Which girl?”

“that one with the blue dress.”

Callie leaned on the railing and called, “Oh,
Judith. Good morning.”

The girl in the blue dress looked up, grinned, and waved.

“It’s Judith Farrell,” Callie announced, and popped the l
ast bite of toast into her mouth.

“Where in the name of God did you meet her?”

“On the plane down here from London. She sat
right beside me. She’s a very nice young lady, an
American reporter living in Paris.
Gave me an excellent chance to practice my
French. She’s very fluent. She’s going to be in
Naples for two weeks. I asked her to have dinner
with us tonight.”

Jake’s startled gaze left Callie and went
back to the patio and the top of Judith Farrell’s
head.

“Who did you think she was?” Callie asked
curiously. “I thought she might be Ms. Judith
Farrell of the International Herald Tribune. The
world is just too goddamn small.”

Up in his suite, Colonel Qazi swung his
binoculars toward poolside and examined
Farrell’s profile. He was seated on a chair
atop a table well back from the doors to the
balcony so that he was invisible to persons in other
rooms. After a moment he took his headphones off
and handed them back to Yasim. He lifted the
binoculars again. His brows knitted as he watched
Judith Farrell eat her continental breakfast.

“Judith Farrell. What room is she in,
Noora? The girl checked the chart. “Room
822.”

“You and Yasim get it wired as soon as possible.

Bugs in her phone, bathroom, and bed.”

“Who is she?” Ali asked.

“Ostensibly a reporter. She was on the ship in
Tangiers.”

“Could she recognize you?”

“No. I was fat and sixty-five years old for
that appearance.” He handed the binoculars to Ali, who
trained them on the girl at poolside.

When Qazi received the glasses back, he
swung them to the Graftons’ balcony. So
Farrell and Mrs. Grafton had side-by-side
seats on the flight from London. Very interesting.

The colonel climbed down from his perch while the
ex-CIA agent, Sakol, examined Judith
Farrell with the binoculars. He fingered the focus
knob. After a glance, he placed the glasses
back on the table..

“It is also possible she is what she
seems to be,” Qazi said with finality.

“Or she could be one of those amateurs that the
Americans are using these days instead of the CIA
professionals,” Sakol retorted as he resumed
his seat. “Perhaps she delivers autographed Bibles
and cakes shaped like keys.” He yawned and
stretched.

“We’ll check her room,” Qazi said. “It
would be an honor to have an opportunity to steal a
Bible signed by a president.” He turned to Ali.

“What did you learn last night about security and
antiterrorist precautions aboard the ship?”

“They have armed marines at the enlisted landing on the
fantail, and on the officer’s brow. Four
fifty-caliber machine guns, two on each side
of the flight deck, are manned by marines around the
clock. Planes are scattered around the flight
deck so there is no room for a helicopter to land.
The radio masts that surround the flight deck are
kept in an up position. Lights are rigged around
the ship so that swimmers and small boats cannot
approach at night unseen.”

“And the communications?”

“He got it all,” Sakol sneered. “Your
sadistic, camel-fucking assistant enjoyed every
minute. He had a hard-on the whole time. I thought
his cock was going to rip his zipper out.” Ali’s right
hand moved toward the pistol he carried in his trouser
pocket, since it was too hot to wear a jacket.

Qazi waved his hand at Sakol. “Enough, Sakol. Enough.
I can’t let Ali shoot you just yet.”

“The little prick wouldn’t enjoy just shooting me.
He would first want to…”

“Enough!”

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Sakol said.
“You perverts figure out how you’re going to rape the
world. Put Ali near the crotch.” He went into the
bedroom and slammed the door.