"Shut up!" Tombstone snapped, his voice intense. It felt as though every eye in the lounge was on the two of them, and he saw a couple of That waiters hurrying across the room in their direction. "Come on, Bayerly. We're going for a walk!"

  "It's fine for the boys in the club! But screw up once… just once, and if you don't have the right connections, barn! You're fucked!"

  "Is there a problem, sir?" the headwaiter asked.

  "I'm sorry for the trouble," Tombstone said. He started guiding Bayerly away from the table. "My friend here had a little too much to-"

  "Damn right I had too much! You ruined me, you sanc… sanct…

  sanctimonious son of a bitch! How's it feel to be a hero? Hey! Tell me!

  Why aren't you ballin' your new girl friend, Magruder? You know, that stacked, sexy blond with her own TV show… Is that one of the perks of being' a goddamned hero…?"

  Tombstone's grip on Bayerly's shoulder tightened. He whirled the man around to face him, his own fury rising. "I've had just about enough of you, Bayerly! Can it, right now!"

  "Fuck you!" Bayerly threw a clumsy, roundhouse punch in the general direction of the side of Tombstone's head. Tombstone blocked the punch easily with his left arm, then snapped out with his right, catching Bayerly squarely in the jaw. Bayerly sagged back, landing in Kriangsak's arms.

  The two of them lowered the drunken officer onto the seat of the booth.

  Kriangsak looked across the room, raised one slim hand, and gestured.

  Tombstone saw two Thais in civilian clothes hurrying across the floor toward them.

  Bodyguards? Tombstone gave a mental shrug. Perhaps That army colonels never went anywhere without their personal plain-clothes guards or aides. He turned to the headwaiter, fishing in his hip pocket for his wallet. "I'm terribly sorry for the disturbance, sir. We'll get him out of here right away." He'd exchanged some of his money at the hotel desk earlier that evening. He produced three of the purple 500-baht notes ― about sixty American dollars ― and pressed them into the frowning waiter's hand.

  For a moment, he thought the man was going to refuse. Then the money vanished and the waiter smiled. "No problem, sir. Permit us to help." Two more waiters materialized to help Kriangsak's men maneuver Bayerly's dead weight toward the lounge entrance.

  Tombstone turned to face Kriangsak, who had drawn one of his men aside and was whispering hurried instructions to him. "Koon krahp!" the man said, all but saluting before hurrying after the entourage surrounding Bayerly.

  "I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, Colonel," Tombstone said. "But I'd better see him back to the Jefferson."

  "That is not necessary, my friend," Kriangsak said. "Please! Sit down!

  I have given orders for my men to drive Commander Bayerly back to Sattahip.

  They will see to it that he gets back to your ship."

  "That is very kind of you, Colonel."

  "Not at all. Now, please! Sit down!"

  "No. Thank you just the same, sir, but I really have to go." The confrontation had left him feeling weak. He needed air… a walk and a chance to think.

  Kriangsak looked across the room toward the lounge entrance. "Commander, my men have already gone. If I cannot offer you a ride home, I insist that you allow me to find you lodgings here in the city."

  "Actually, Colonel, I think I need a walk." He hesitated. Suddenly, he felt the need to see Pamela… to talk to her. This hero business, he thought. It's got to stop. Now! "There's someone in town I need to see," he added.

  "I will not take no for an answer, Commander." Kriangsak smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "I'll tell you what. I have some duties to attend to at the Ministry tonight… and possibly, just possibly, I can talk to someone about your request." He shrugged. "Who knows? We might find a place for you on one of our planes."

  Tombstone's eyes widened. "That's very kind of you, sir."

  "It is nothing. Let me talk to some people I know. But please, tell me where you will be. I will arrange for a driver to pick you up there later.

  Or if you prefer, I will arrange bachelor quarters for you at the air base at Don Muang and call your ship. Is it agreed?"

  Tombstone found it hard to resist the man's friendly pressure. He allowed himself a small smile. "Okay, Colonel. You win."

  "Excellent! Where can I meet you?"

  "Well, my friend is staying at the Dusit Thani. You could reach me there. I can leave my name at the desk."

  "Splendid. It's almost eight. In… shall we make it two hours then?

  Is that time enough for your meeting?"

  "Two hours will be fine, Colonel. It shouldn't take longer than that."

  Kriangsak rose, dropped several baht on the table, then extended his hand again. "In that case, Commander, I will see you later."

  "Fine. Thanks for the drink."

  "Anytime, Commander. We'll talk more later." The smile broadened. "I'm looking forward to it very much!"

  1955 hours, 18 January

  In the Americana Hotel parking lot

  Bayerly struggled against the grip of the men supporting him. "I can do it myself!" he mumbled.

  The car was already waiting for them, its engine running. One of the colonel's men opened the rear door. "Inside."

  "I'm not going' with you gooks!" Bayerly said, his voice rising once more.

  "Get your goddamned hands off-" He heard a metallic snick-snick behind him.

  Turning, he found himself staring into the black muzzle of a Colt.45 automatic. "What the hell…?"

  "Inside!" the That said, his voice a menacing hiss.

  "What is this? You can't-"

  Something struck Bayerly from behind, a smashing blow to the back of his head which sent him crumpling to the pavement. Dimly, he was aware of hands grabbing his shoulders and legs, of several men stuffing him into the open backseat door of the car. Then darkness closed in and he was aware of nothing more.

  CHAPTER 15

  2000 hours, 18 January

  Communications Center, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

  "Washington's on the line, Admiral," the aide said, extending the telephone. "The CNO."

  Magruder accepted the handset reluctantly. With no way of knowing how Washington was going to jump on this one, he was not looking forward to the conversation. He glanced at a set of clocks on the bulkhead. Twenty-hundred hours, eight in the evening, was eight in the morning, Washington time. "Good morning, Admiral," he said.

  "More like good evening where you are, Tom," a voice replied. There was a faint hiss of static over the multiple satellite relay between Thailand and the U.S. east coast.

  Admiral Fletcher T. Grimes was the Chief of Naval Operations and, as such, was the Navy's representative on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. In fact, American Congressional law had de-emphasized the CNO's operational responsibilities and he no longer exercised personal command over the country's naval forces. Both the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of the Navy, however, knew that Magruder and Grimes were old friends, and had directed that the CNO serve as the President's link with his commander in the field this time.

  "You have my report, I take it," Magruder said.

  "On my desk in front of me. I briefed the President this morning. It looks like you're going to be center stage again, Tom."

  "I understand, sir." The Wonsan affair had thrust the Jefferson battle group into the public eye three months earlier. Now, the political situation in Thailand was deteriorating rapidly. If the President was to have any hand in protecting America's most important ally in the region, he would have to act quickly… and that meant calling on CBG-14 once more.

  "The President met with the That ambassador yesterday, Tom. Bangkok has formally asked for our assistance over there."

  "That doesn't quite square with what we've been getting over here, Admiral. The story we're getting is more along the lines of 'Hands off, we can do it ourselves.""

  "Tom, it is the considered opinion of several of the President's advisors that there may be… elements within the That military, a faction which could be planning a coup."

  "We've certainly heard rumors to that effect here," Magruder said, "I included that in my report."

  "Yes, I saw. Tom, the National Security Council has advised the President that a military coup in Thailand at this time could lead to a severe destabilization throughout the area. We can't allow that to happen… not unchallenged."

  "Understood. What are the President's orders?"

  "They'll be coming down through the chain of command later today. I can tell you, though, how they'll read. Provide the legitimate That government with full support, air and land."

  "That won't help if we can't get local military cooperation."

  "We're working on that."

  "We also can't help much if we don't have a target."

  "We're working on that too. The important thing is to let the good guys know we're backing them. The opposition will be trying to force a wedge between us and the Bangkok government, maybe try to discredit us. It's all laid out in your orders."

  "Yes, sir," Magruder said dryly. Orders from the Joint Chiefs generally weighed in like encyclopedias… with enough contradictory and generally ass-covering clauses to keep field commanders guessing for months. But at least Fletcher was on his side.

  "Orders have already been transmitted for MEU-6 to join CBG-14 again," Grimes continued. "They were in Singapore on maneuvers, but they're on their way to your position now. Should arrive sometime day after tomorrow, and they'll be in air transport range within eighteen hours."

  Magruder pursed his lips. This was being taken seriously indeed in Washington if they were sending in the Marines again. Marine Expeditionary Unit 6, consisting of four ships and almost two thousand Marines, had also been at Wonsan, securing a beachhead to facilitate the evacuation of rescued American seamen. Their primary mission in Bangkok would be to safeguard American lives and property.

  "Okay, Admiral," Magruder said after a moment. "What about threats to our people?"

  "The people lost near U Feng?"

  "Yes, sir. And our AWOLs."

  "You still think that incident might be more than it seems?"

  "it is a distinct possibility, sir. No hard evidence… but it's very suspicious. And it all ties in with what you were just saying… with the possibility that someone might be trying to discredit us. What better way than to hit us, hard and unexpectedly?"

  "A terrorist attack?"

  "Possibly. I'm more concerned about further attacks on our personnel ashore. It's going to be morning before they're all back on board."

  "Do you have any suggestions?"

  "There's not a hell of a lot we can do, Admiral. Not until we know what they're going to do. I've briefed my officers. We've set readiness condition X-ray Three. We're cancelling further liberty as our people come back aboard tonight. More than that we can't do until we see a definite threat, something we can respond to."

  "Understood." There was a long hesitation on the line, as though Grimes was turning possibilities over in his mind. "I'll tell you, Tom. I think our problem is a mole."

  "A spy, sir?"

  "Someone in the works, gumming them up. Probably in the Bangkok bureaucracy. I'll pass a request on to the DCI to see what can be done. In the meantime, continue as you have been. But be prepared to use your own initiative to render all possible assistance to the legitimate That government."

  "Does that include sending in the Marines, sir?"

  "it means doing whatever you feel is justified to preserve American lives and property, to protect your command… and to support our allies in Southeast Asia. I can't be much more specific than that."

  "That's specific enough, Admiral." Magruder was already thinking about the possibilities. The Marines from MEU-6 would not be available until midday tomorrow, but he had ninety Marines on board the Jefferson. A platoon could be heloed in to the American embassy in Bangkok in order to reinforce security there… and possibly to provide a ready mobile force should the three missing seamen be discovered.

  Something big was happening in the city, and Admiral Magruder wanted to be ready for it, whatever it was.

  He only hoped he wasn't already too late.

  2045 hours, 18 January

  Dusit Thani Hotel, Bangkok

  Pamela had been surprised by Tombstone's phone call, but she'd told him to come straight up. She'd been able to sense the strain underlying his words and knew something was wrong.

  Since their time together at the Thonburi klong, she'd been forced to admit to herself that she felt much more for Matthew Magruder than could be explained by professional interest. It wasn't love ― she wasn't ready to go that far ― but they were certainly friends, and friendship was something which Pamela Drake took very seriously indeed.

  "Matt, it's good to see you," she said as she opened the door. "Come in."

  He entered, wearing civilian clothes and an expression which could have been hiding almost anything. "Hello, Pam. Sorry to catch you by surprise.

  Did I interrupt something?"

  "Not at all."

  "Are you… I mean, are the guys in your crew here?"

  "We are quite alone, Matt! I was going over some script revisions, is all. Can I get you something to drink?" The hotel suite had a small bar and a refrigerator.

  "No, thanks."

  "Have you eaten? I could call room service."

  "Pamela, I've got to talk to you." It sounded as though he'd been saving the words for a long time, holding them for the moment. "It's about your story… the interview."

  "What about it?"

  "Look, I know this isn't fair, for you or for your show. But I've been having second thoughts about my part in the thing. I was wondering if you had enough that you could do your series without me."

  "You're damned right it's not fair. Do you have any idea how much money has been spent on this project already?"

  "No."

  "Neither do I. That's Accounting's problem. But it would be my problem if it all came apart now. So why don't you want me to use your interviews?"

  "It's this whole hero bit… the way you were building me up. I really don't think I can go through with that."

  Pamela felt the anger welling up within, but she held it sternly in check. She'd not reached her current position with the ACN network by losing her temper with recalcitrant subjects.

  Or with friends.

  She gestured toward the sofa. "Sit down, Matt." He did so, and she watched his face as she joined him. "Look," she said after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "You signed a release form, and that pretty much makes those film clips our property. But maybe if you explained why you wanted them killed…"

  "It's kind of hard to explain."

  "You can be quite persuasive, Matt. That's one of the reasons I wanted to use you. This series could be just another hunt for the dirt under the Pentagon's carpets… but you believe in the Navy and the Navy's mission.

  You believe in that floating airport anchored down at Sattahip, and that comes across in the interviews, so much so that you make a very good case for your side of the argument. And you want me to drop all that?" Something new occurred to her and she frowned. Was there some form of censorship at work here? "Matt, no one's put you up to this, have they? Someone in Washington?

  Your uncle?"

  Tombstone bit off a low, sharp curse. "No, it's not my uncle. I'm here on my own."

  "Well something's happened to put you into a spin, Matt. Want to tell me what?"

  He sighed. "I guess I'm not feeling very much like a hero, right now."

  "Hero? That's just a word, Matt. How is a hero supposed to feel?"

  "I don't know. Not like he owes everything to his uncle."

  "Ahhh," she said. "Maybe we're hitting the root of it now. You think the admiral has been paving the way for you? Making you out to be a hero for promotion and honor, that sort of thing?"

  "No, you've been making me out to be the hero." His mouth quirked in a near-smile. "But he may have been making the opportunities."

  He began talking about Wonsan, just as he had during several of the interviews. The battle had unfolded with appalling swiftness, with little time to think or act the part of hero. He'd responded according to his training, and only later, when there'd been time to think, had he felt the fear. He'd won the Navy Cross primarily for his refusal to eject when his RIO had been too badly hurt to leave the damaged aircraft.

  "But don't you see?" Tombstone said at last. "I was simply doing my job.

  I was in the right place at the right time." He was not looking at her, but kept his eyes fixed to a framed abstract print hanging on the far wall of the suite. "That damned medal could have been won by anybody."

  "But it was you who responded the way you did."

  "Bullshit. Any of us could have ― would have ― done the same." His scowl deepened. "You said the other day that I surprised you by not being a typical arrogant aviator. It's true. I'm not… demonstrative. Outgoing. I tend to keep to myself. Half the people on my boat are convinced I have my rank and the choice assignments because of my uncle."

  "That sounds like an exaggeration to me, Matt."

  The half-smile played at his lips again. "Maybe. But not by much."

  She considered for a moment. "The tape still has to be edited. I could make a note to drop the references to the medal… but that's not the real problem, is it?"

  "Not really. It's this whole glory-game image."

  "Which you are stuck with, no matter what's on the tape." She reached out, impulsively, and laid her hand on his knee. "Ruining my project isn't going to help you, Matt."

  He looked away. "I hadn't really thought of it as… ruining it."

  "What is it, Matt?" She leaned closer, dropping her voice. "Someone giving you trouble about your hero status? About me?" He looked away, uncomfortable, and she had her answer. "You're one hell of a guy, Matt," she said. "I meant what I said the other day. I wouldn't want you to change."

  He turned back suddenly, so close now that their lips nearly met. Pamela reached out… and then she was in his arms, drawing his head down to hers.

 

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