Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (55 page)

 
          
Annie
turned away from him, ending the massage therapy, and gave him a weak smile.
“Thanks, partner,” she said. “I appreciate the massage—and the thought.”

 
          
“I
hear a ‘but’ coming,” he said. He took her hands in his and looked deeply into
her eyes. “Annie, wait a minute. I gotta get this out before I explode.”

 
          
“Dev,
now’s not the time—”

 
          
“Yes,
it is. I’m crazy about you. I have been for a long time, ever since you joined
the unit. We’ve gone out a few times, but you’ve always treated it as either a
casual meeting with a superior officer talking business, or palling around with
your older brother. Beyond that, you’ve been too busy to notice me. You’re
acting like our one-and-only night together was wrong, that I should be ashamed
of what we did.

 
          
“I’m
putting you on notice, Annie, that I’m not going to do that anymore. One thing
I learned from this ordeal that I didn’t tell the debriefers tonight is that
life is too short. If you want something, you’d better go for it now, because
tomorrow you might find yourself facedown in snow unconscious after ejecting
from a supersonic bomber over hostile territory.”

           
Annie laughed in spite of
herself—if it hadn't actually happened to them, she would really think it was
funny. “Dev—”

 
          
“It’s
Colonel Luger, isn't it?” Deverill asked.

           
Annie looked into his eyes and
nodded.

           
“Pardon me. Annie, but that guy is
a little weird, don't you think? I mean. I’ve known workaholics before in my
time, but he’s got them all beat. It's like he’s possessed or something.” He
could tell she was rejecting his observations—but he could also tell that she
knew his obser vations were correct. “Where is he tonight, Annie? If he’s your
man. why isn't he here with you? Everyone else turned out for our arrival—where
was Luger?” She couldn't answer him, because she didn't know, and didn't
understand.

 
          
“I'm
not going to bad-mouth the guy, and I’m not going to say anything else, except
this: I want you, Annie,” Deverill said. “I think we have something together. I
want to find out. I think you do. too. And if Colonel Luger wants you, he has a
funny way of showing it. You deserve a lot more than that. I can give it to
you. Can he?” He gave her a kiss on the forehead, a soft, lingering kiss, as
warm as his hands. “I'm not going to make you decide now, Annie,” he added
sincerely. “But I also have to remind you: I get what I want. I think you want
something more, too.” He then departed, leaving her a smile and a light touch
on her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

 
          
Annie
stood by herself for several long moments without moving, try ing but failing
to sort out all of the conflicting emotions racing through her head and her
heart. There was a decision to be made, questions to be answered. She
apparently wasn't going to get any answers tonight, because the man she loved
wasn't with her to offer them. Annie considered using the subcutaneous
transceiver to call him, and then decided against it. She picked up her helmet
bag and headed for the dormitories and some well-deserved and much-needed rest.

 
          
A
pair of sad. tortured eyes from across the hallway watched as they both
departed.

 
          
In
an adjacent debriefing room. Major-General Roman Smoliy, the commander of the
aviation forces of the Republic of Ukraine, had finished all of his debriefing
notes and was leaving, when he noticed the lights on in the debriefing room
across the hallway, across from the one where Dewey and Deverill had debriefed
their sortie. He peeked inside and, to his surprise, saw Colonel David Luger
sitting by himself His arms were straight down at their sides, his head was
bowed, his feet were flat on the floor.

 
          
Smoliy
recognized that posture—it was the posture demanded of prisoners when allowed
to sit and rest in their seats.

 
          
“Colonel
Luger?”

 
          
David
snapped his head upright, then placed his arms on the table, palms flat and
facing down. Another prisoner posture, called seated attention. Luger quickly
snapped out of it, turning to look to see who it was. When he recognized
Smoliy, his eyes grew dark, and he got to his feet, his body language
challenging and defensive at the same time. “What are you doing here, General?”

 
          
“I
was allowed to conduct a debriefing of Colonel Briggs, Master Sergeant Wohl,
Major Weston, and the others involved in the mission who landed at Borispol.”
Smoliy replied. “I will conduct an analysis of Russian air defenses and the
effectiveness of your stealth technology on the different weapon and sensor
systems.” He nodded quizzically at Luger. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

 
          
“No,
you may not.”

 
          
“Why
were you not at the reception, or why did you not participate in the
operational debriefing?” Smoliy asked.

 
          
“None
of your business.”

 
          
Smoliy
nodded. “Very well. I am not your commanding officer—I cannot compel you to
answer.”

 
          
“Damn
straight.”

 
          
“It
is your choice.” Smoliy looked carefully at Luger, then added,
"Zdyes
ooyeezhzhayoo seechyas.
You may leave now.”

 
          
Luger's
eyes did an extraordinary transformation—instantly turning meek and passive,
then moments later blazing with white-hot anger, then instantly passive again.
It was as if Luger had momentarily gone back to the hellhole in which he had
been imprisoned in Lithuania years before, responding robotlike to commands
from his brutal, sadistic overseers; then wanting momentarily to fight back;
and then almost at the same moment slipping into a passive, protective,
detached fog; then angry, almost homicidal. All in the blink of an eye.
“Idi
k yobanay matin
, ” he spat.

 
          
Luger
tried to walk past Smoliy on his way out, but the big Ukrainian general put his
hand out to stop him. “You are no longer a prisoner, Colonel,” he said. “You
are a free man. an American. You are a colonel and an engineer in the United
States Air Force.” Luger’s eyes blazed into his. “And I am no longer your
enemy. I am no longer your tormentor. I do not deserve for you to make remarks
about my mother like that.”

           
“You will always be the sick
motherfucker that took advantage of a helpless, tortured human being at
Fisikous,” Luger shot back. “I’d kill you if I could.”

 
          
“I
know what you are feeling. Colonel—”

 
          
“Like
hell you do!”

 
          
“I
know,” Smoliy said. “Seeing you again all these years after Fisikous reminded
me of the heartless, cruel shit I was back then. I have thought of nothing else
since the moment we met. Colonel,
nothing!
Thinking of the way I twisted
your life in that place tortures my sleep every night.” He studied Luger for a
moment, then added, “As it has done for you, too, I see. And because of it, you
could not bear even to speak with Captain Dewey and Major Deverill, because the
thought of
you
interrogating a fellow prisoner of the Russians was
abhorrent to you. No matter that it would be in a different time, a different
place, and a completely different manner—it would be an interrogation, and that
you could never do.”

 
          
“Wi
v zhopu,
Smoliy! Kiss my ass!” Luger cried in both Russian and English,
and he pushed the big Ukrainian out of his way and stormed off.

Headquarters,
High-Technology
Aerospace
Weapons
Center
, Elliott AFB,
Nevada
The next morning

           
“Come in, guys,” Lieutenant General
Terrill Samson said, as Patrick McLanahan and David Luger appeared at his
doorway.

           
It was early the next morning. All
three senior officers were in the office earlier than usual; Patrick and David
had found the e-mail message to come see Samson as soon as they got in that
morning. The mood was rather somber—Terrill Samson definitely had something on
his mind.

 
          
Then
the two junior officers got the line they had been dreading: “Shut the door.”
It was a closed-door meeting. Oh, shit.

 
          
After
Patrick did so. he and Luger were motioned to chairs, and Samson took his seat
behind his desk. The seat of power, the position of authority, Patrick thought.
Samson had other, more casual chairs in the office—he could have sat next to
his officers, signaling a friendlier discussion on more equal levels. The signs
were not looking good at all.

 
          
Patrick
did not have to wait long for the hammer to fall, either: “General McLanahan,
Colonel Luger, I want your requests for retirement on my desk by close of
business today,” Samson said simply.

 
          
“What?”
Luger exclaimed.

 
          
“May
I ask why, sir?” Patrick asked immediately.

 
          
“Because
otherwise I’ll be forced to bring you up on charges of insubordination, issuing
an illegal order, unauthorized use of government property, unauthorized release
of lethal weapons, unauthorized overflight of foreign airspace, and conduct
unbecoming an officer. I’ll also charge Colonel Furness with the same charges,
so you’ll take her down with you. Colonel Luger will be charged with disobeying
a direct lawful order, insubordination, dereliction of duty, and conduct
unbecoming an officer. All offenses, if found guilty, carry a maximum sentence
of fifteen years’ confinement, forfeit of all pay and benefits, demotion, loss
of retirement benefits, and dishonorable discharge. I’d like to avoid all that,
so I’m asking for your resignations.”

 
          
“Are
you notifying us of this action, or are we permitted to discuss this with you
first?” Luger asked.

 
          
“You
got something to say, Colonel, say it. But it won’t change my mind. I thought
about this ever since that Russian sortie. This is the best option for you,
this organization, and me. To spare HAWC from any more adverse attention, I
want you two to take it. Billions of dollars and hundreds of important programs
are in jeopardy. But go ahead. Speak freely.’'

           
“I gave the orders to turn around
and fly that cover sortie, sir,’’ Patrick said. “And David’s job was to keep me
informed and feed me information on the tactical situation. Colonels Luger or
Furness don’t deserve to be charged with any violations. You can’t convict them
of anything if they obeyed a lawful order.”

 
          
“I
specifically ordered Colonel Luger to tell you to make sure you came back on
your return routing unless ordered to go somewhere else,” Samson said. “Luger
not only did not relay that order, but he assisted you in providing data for
your illegal strike. I won’t tolerate that kind of insubordination.

 
          
“As
for Colonel Furness—it doesn’t matter if she obeyed your orders, and you know
it,” Samson went on angrily. “She was the
aircraft commander.
The
decision was hers to comply with your orders or not. She could have legally
refused and faced her own court martial—and I predict she would have been found
not guilty of any charges. But you gave an unauthorized order, she knew it w as
unauthorized, and she followed it. She’ll face the same charges.”

 
          
“But
if I resign, she won’t face any charges?”

 
          
“That’s
my prerogative,” Samson said. “I can give her an administrative reprimand.
It’ll stay in her personnel records for a year. If she keeps her nose clean,
her record automatically gets expunged. She can also request retirement, and
I’ll see she gets it. After all she’s done for you. General, she doesn’t
deserve a dishonorable discharge.”