Authors: Lindsay McKenna
When the white H-65 Coast Guard helicopter with a red-orange stripe on its tail landed on the
Udaloy
to take them to Anchorage, Abby’s excitement tripled. On board, she and Alec met their liaison officer, Lieutenant Tim Atkin. He had reddish hair cut military short and dancing brown eyes that told her of his intelligence. His smile, warm with welcome, won Abby over instantly. Privately, she’d been afraid that the Coast Guard might prove more of a deterrent than a friend. Tim’s handshake was firm, and his boyish smile and the freckles across his nose and cheeks convinced Abby he was on their side.
Putting on the helmets Tim supplied them inside the aircraft gave Abby and Alec immediate communications with one another. After they slipped into the mandatory life vests, the Coast Guard helicopter lifted off the deck of the
Udaloy.
Abby waved out the window to Captain Denisov and his fellow officers below. She had made many new friends and was going to miss her table companions on board the destroyer.
Tim filled them in on the busy schedule ahead of them while the helicopter flew toward Anchorage. He also gave both of them a brief overview of his qualifications. At twenty-nine years old, he’d already been a skipper aboard an eighty-two foot Coast Guard cutter and had recently earned a master’s degree in public administration from Harvard University. That meant he was not only savvy about the political process but was comfortable with the press. Tim knew how to manipulate the media in a positive way.
Abby watched as Tim focused his attention on Alec and told him what was expected from him in his week-long whirlwind tour of Anchorage. Both were in their respective uniforms, and Abby thought that history was being made with that handshake: two former enemies now working toward neutrality, if not friendship. There was clearly a respect between them when Alec discovered that the lieutenant had been a skipper of his own vessel. Although Atkin looked very young, he had the wisdom of someone twice his age.
“We’ve got a real tempest in a teapot,” Tim told Abby wryly as they sat on one side of the helicopter in the nylon-webbed seats. “If you wanted press, you’ve got it.” He smiled. “It’s my job to get you to Hotel Captain Cook, where the official conference will take place.” He looked up at Alec. “We’ve got a room for you in the hotel, Captain. Coast Guard personnel will be outside your door to stop the press from hounding you once the conference is over.”
Abby reached out, gripping the officer’s arm. “Why can’t Alec stay at my apartment, Lieutenant? I have a guest bedroom. Wouldn’t it be easier to guard both of us at the same address?”
Atkin nodded thoughtfully. “Great idea, Doctor. I’ll radio my superiors about it, and if they approve, I’ll put in a call to Captain Denisov and clear it with him. I don’t see why they wouldn’t approve the change in plans.”
“Awesome.”
Alec grinned for the first time that day. He wanted to shield Abby even though she was thoroughly capable of handling the press. In fact, she was eager to utilize the reporters to get the SOWF message out. He found her fierce belief in the whales a precious discovery. Until very recently, not many people in the Soviet Union would dare take on government policy the way Abby did. Even now, the Soviet people were cautiously testing a new freedom Abby obviously took for granted. There was something positive to say for democracy, after all, Alec decided.
Abby turned to Alec. “Would you mind staying at my place?”
“Not at all.”
When Tim went to talk to the two pilots and radio the request to Anchorage, Abby explained to Alec, “Our Coast Guard isn’t really a military service. They’re budgeted by the Department of Transportation. I’ve worked closely with them so many times, especially on oil spills or chemical spills, that I’m really glad they’re orchestrating your stay. They have top-notch, reliable people.”
Alec watched Atkin speaking on the radio. There was an energy around the Coast Guard officer that impressed him immediately. He sensed Atkin was one of those officers who very quietly, but smoothly, got things done behind the scenes. “We’ve usually had very good relations with the Coast Guard,” he told Abby.
Although she was dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, Abby had brought along all the luggage she’d taken to sea with her. Earlier, she had showed Alec the outfit she would wear for the press conference. It was a pair of light tan wool slacks and an accompanying blazer, an ivory blouse with ruffles and a very old cameo given to her by her grandmother. Today, she informed him, she would have to look official. Even her lovely hair, which Alec liked to see loose and free about her shoulders, was tastefully arranged in a chignon at the nape of her neck. The earrings she wore were small gold dolphins. The pin on the lapel of her blazer was a gold whale. He smiled to himself. Abby wore her jewelry like a badge of courage for those mammals she had nearly given her life for. There was everything to admire about her.
“Okay, it’s set,” Tim Atkin told them sometime later as he rejoined them. “The Coast Guard has no objection, and I’ve got an okay from Captain Rostov.” Tim pulled out several pages of paper from his attach;aae case and gave each of them a copy. “This is the itinerary for the week.”
“Looks like a lot of activities,” Abby said, surprised.
Tim smiled broadly. “Well, I had a little to do with it. The Coast Guard is proud to be a part of this
glasnost
opportunity. We thought Captain Rostov might like to see a little America, some tours, and to get a good look at the way we live.”
“Wonderful!” Abby said, clapping her hands together.
“Have you penciled in time for me to sleep and eat, Lieutenant?” Alec asked with a smile.
Tim grinned broadly. “Yes, sir, I have.” He pointed to Alec’s copy of the itinerary. “After this first press conference, I’d like you to look over this schedule. If there’s something on there you don’t want to do, let me know. Or, if there’s something that interests you that isn’t on there, it can be added.”
Alec nodded, fully impressed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Tim looked at them. “Well, are you ready to enter the fray after we land at Anchorage International Airport?”
Eagerly, Abby nodded. “You bet!”
Without thinking about his action, Alec gently laid his hand on Abby’s arm. “I’m ready.”
Her skin tingled where Alec had momentarily touched her. The sense of protection that he afforded her was new to Abby. He was always the officer and a gentleman, a far cry from the way a lot of men behaved toward women in the U.S. But then, Abby reminded herself, Alec was a Soviet, and his culture had far different moral codes and values. From what she had observed so far, Alec was very old-fashioned, and she liked that about him.
As she sat there in the confines of the helicopter, Abby wondered abruptly how Washington, D.C. would react to their press conference. She knew her mother, Vera, would be thrilled with the notoriety given the whales. On the other hand, she knew without doubt that Dr. Monica Turner from the State Department would probably be livid.
* * *
“I
CAN’T BELIEVE THIS
!” Monica Turner whispered. She was at her desk, watching the small television that sat in one corner of her massive office. Her assistant secretary, Pat Monahan, had an unhappy look on her face as she stood near the set. “Every national news program has Abby Fielding’s face plastered all over it!”
Pat shrugged delicately and switched off the set. “What worries me is the Soviet element. They sounded awfully pro whale and dolphin.”
Angrily, Monica got up and moved to the venetian blinds behind her ornate maple desk. Out the window of her office, it was springtime. The cherry trees were blooming, and the lawns becoming green once more. “I think Fielding deliberately created that collision with the Japanese whaler just to get this kind of publicity. Damn those whale activists!” She clenched her fist behind her back. “They’re like a plague, Pat. No, correct that—a damned virus. Just as bad as the AIDs virus, in my opinion.”
“Well,” Pat said with feeling, “don’t let the press hear you say that. The SOWF would love to get a hold of you saying that about them.”
“You’re right. They’d milk it for all it’s worth.”
“Part of why they’re so successful in getting publicity is because they know how to manipulate the media. I really worry if someone overhears your comments.”
“Don’t worry, I know how to manipulate the press, too,” Monica muttered. “What makes me so angry is the fact that Fielding, on national television, has made disparaging remarks about President Reagan’s policy regarding the environment. Doesn’t Fielding realize that whales aren’t a priority anymore? She comes off like a self-righteous zealot. I’ll bet she’d save a whale before she’d save a human being from death.”
Pat grimaced. “We’re going to have to work tonight with Hill personnel to issue some kind of statement.”
Monica turned, her eyes narrowing on her assistant. “I’ll write up some innocuous, generic response from the State Department that presents a united front between us and the president. Then you take it up the Hill and get it approved, Pat.”
“Of course.”
Grimly, Monica sat down and took some sheets of paper from her desk drawer. Her office was filled with mementos of the Reagan years. A favorite photo of her and the president sat on her desk, conspicuous, so that everyone would see it upon entering her mahogany-paneled office. Picking up her gold pen, she began to write.
“Fielding’s not going to get away with this.”
Pat sighed. “I don’t know how we’re going to stop them this time, Doctor. With that Soviet captain in tow, he’s stealing the show with just his presence.
Glasnost
is in, and to tell you the truth, he’s not bad-looking.”
“Speaks flawless English, too,” Monica growled. “Where’d they dig him up? Probably one of Gorbachev’s minions they’ve been grooming for something like this.”
“While you’re at it, don’t you think an appropriate phone call to the Department of Transportation is in order, too? It appears that the Coast Guard approves of the views presented by Dr. Fielding. That isn’t good for our image.”
“Damned whale issue,” Monica whispered, scribbling more rapidly on the paper. “I hate it! It’s such a paltry problem in comparison to
real
problems like national-security issues! And Japan! God, but they’re being stubborn about this semiconductor issue. But Fielding doesn’t see that, does she? All she can see and hear is her stupid whales and dolphins!”
Sadly, Pat nodded her head. “Maybe this Captain Rostov will make a mistake and discredit himself with the American public. You know,
glasnost
is new, and the president is still leery of it.”
“He ought to be. I am, too. Maybe Rostov is a mole. We’ll see. Don’t worry, Pat, I’m going to contact my friends at the FBI and have Rostov watched closely. Without his or the Coast Guard’s knowledge, of course.”
Pat smiled. “Wouldn’t it be something if Abby Fielding was a deep-cover Russian spy?”
Chuckling, Monica shook her head. “Oh, if only that turned out to be true. Then I could discredit her and deflate this whole whale issue.”
“Right now, she’s looking like the good guy and the administration is the bad guy. All we can do is hope Fielding slips up and makes a fool of herself in some way.”
Monica finished the statement with a flourish and handed it to her secretary to type up. “If she does, I’m going to be like a killer whale—just waiting to slit open her underbelly.”
Chapter Four
“W
E’RE HOME
,” Abby announced wearily, stepping inside her Anchorage apartment. Alec followed her and halted in the middle of the living room to look around. Outside the door were two Coast Guard sentries, who would remain on twenty-four-hour duty until Alec’s visit to the U.S. was at an end.
Glancing at her watch, Abby saw it was nearly 10:00 p.m. She quietly shut the pine door and watched Alec’s inspection and his reactions. Realizing she’d never dreamed of seeing a Soviet in uniform in her home, the discovery left her shaken. Alec was a Russian who was, indeed, a friend, not an enemy.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, walking past him into the kitchen.
Taking off his cap, Alec placed it beneath his left arm and moved around the living room. “It’s spacious.” He knew there was awe in his voice. “Very rich by Soviet standards. Someone who had power in the Kremlin or Politburo would have this kind of apartment.”
Abby laughed and opened the fridge to retrieve a chilled bottle of wine. “Me, rich? Hardly. Marine biologists aren’t rich. With my salary, some free-lance writing and an occasional consulting fee, I make about twenty-seven thousand dollars a year. Here in the U.S. that’s considered middle-class income, believe me.” She brought two glasses down from the cupboard and glanced across the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar.
The living room spoke of someone who respected the Earth, Alec thought. He leaned over to touch the cinnamon-colored velour sofa, and found the texture delightful. Potted plants hung from the ceiling and stood in huge ceramic pots. The hardwood floor was a gold-and-reddish-colored cedar, graced with a large hand-woven Navaho rug at its center. The coffee table was fashioned from pine, and a hand-carved mahogany whale was the centerpiece. The overstuffed chairs were a tan and a brick color respectively. The room gave off a sense of earthy warmth.
When Abby handed him a fluted glass of rose-colored wine, Alec smiled. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Sit down,” Abby urged. “Take off your jacket, loosen your tie and kick off your shoes. You’ve got to be dead on your feet.” She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, dangling her long legs over one arm, and kicked off her sensible brown shoes.
Grinning, Alec took a sip of the wine and watched Abby. She was tired, as evidenced by the shadows beneath her glorious blue eyes. But she looked utterly wanton with her hair released from the pins that had held it captive all day.
She smiled at him. He looked so stiff and formal. “Come on! Relax, Alec. There’s no camera around to take your photo now.”
She was right. He put down the flute and tried to get comfortable. “I want you to know, this is the first time I’ve done this.”