Flash Point (23 page)

Maloney was clearly uncomfortable. He debated with himself whether to continue at all, but he saw no way to extricate himself. “I am hesitant to give you my preliminary conclusions, because if you send them off to your congressman they may be used to justify decisions with which I am not wholly comfortable. I came here only to discuss them with you. Having said that . . .”

“What’s the bottom line, Padre? Would it be a just war, or not?” Woods asked impatiently.

Maloney nodded. “I think it would. May I explain?”

“Did you write it down?”

“Yes, I prepared a preliminary analysis, very superficial . . .”

“Can I see it?” Woods said, sticking out his hand.

Maloney pretended not to hear him and spoke without looking at the document rolled up in his hand. “There are seven criteria. I have given some thought to each of them. First,” he said, touching his left forefinger with his right, counting, “it has to be the last resort, your
last
option; this may be, I don’t see any diplomatic options here. I don’t know enough to say. Second,” he said, continuing to count with his fingers, “it must be aimed at deterring or repelling aggression; this probably is. Third,” he said, sneaking a look at the paper he had rolled up, “it must be undertaken by legitimate authority; that, I take it, is your current objective, and why Mr. Rayburn is here. Fourth, it must be a right intention, such as defending against a great injury; this might qualify, since he shows no signs of quitting. Fifth, there must be probability of success; clearly, there would be. Sixth, there must be proportionality of goals and means; that remains to be seen, depending on what exactly we did after such a declaration—”

“And?” Woods asked. “Cut to the chase.”

“Lastly,” Maloney continued without missing a beat, “care must be taken to protect the immunity of noncombatants; I assume that would be done. In summary, Mr. Woods, I think St. Thomas Aquinas would not consider your cause unjust. These are just preliminary you under—”

“Unbelievable!” Woods said, standing up suddenly. “How can Congress not do this? I’ll tell the congressman you endorsed it.”

Maloney was startled. “I haven’t endorsed anything.”

Woods fixed him with a gaze the chaplain had never seen before. “Not willing to put your ass on the line a little?” Woods let the silence linger for a few seconds. “That’s what being a Naval officer is all
about
. You make decisions, things happen. You live with them. We don’t usually get to study them forever, or argue about them with our colleagues for a decade while we sip
tea
. We decide based on the information we have. Can you do that?” He looked at the paper Maloney was carrying. “Will you let me send that to my congressman?”

Maloney handed him the paper. Beads of sweat were visible on his temples. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”

“
Oh
, yeah,” Big said sarcastically. “Congress always knows
exactly
what they’re doing. I for one have all the confidence in the world—”

“Can I send it?” Woods asked Maloney again, not allowing him an ambiguous ending.

Maloney hesitated, then nodded.

“Thanks, Padre,” Woods said, smiling. “I’ll let you have a copy of the letter I send out. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”

“Thank you,” Father Maloney said. “This is a very unusual thing. I hope we can learn from this.”

Woods turned to Rayburn. “Would you be willing to write a memo that says what you just told me?”

Rayburn hesitated. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I don’t want to give a legal opinion to Congress without my superiors knowing about it. I don’t think it would make them very happy.”

Woods looked back at the chaplain. “What are you going to do, Padre, when Congressman Brown proposes this on the floor and cites you as his justification?”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Maloney said, feeling trapped.

“Let’s hope it does. I think Brown will be on national television within two weeks. You’d better be ready.”

“You’re dreaming,” Big said.

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Father Maloney said to Woods. “I think you are overestimating one person’s ability to affect things. Or at least political things.”

“Ideas have power of their own.”

“Who said that?” asked Big.

“I did. One way or another, this country will take care of Vialli.”

Father Maloney and Lieutenant Rayburn got up, ready to head out.

“Thanks for your help, you guys,” Woods said.

“Sure,” they both replied. “We’ll see what happens,” Rayburn added. “You never know.”

“Exactly,” Woods said, closing the door behind them. He took a deep breath and tried to decide what do to next.

Big interrupted his thoughts. “Does it matter to you?”

“What?”

“Whether it would be
right
to attack these guys, as in moral.”

“What do you mean?”

“All this talk about Thomas Aquinas . . . does it make any real difference to you? ’Cause I get the feeling you’re just using this stuff as an angle. To get what you want.”

“What’s got you stirred up?” Woods asked.

Big opened his closet and started putting on his flight suit. “I was listening to you pin the poor chaplain to the wall, and making that Navy lawyer-puke feel uncomfortable. You were working them. I just wonder if what they’re saying
matters
to you or if you’re just using them.”

“
You’re
worried about me misusing Aquinas?”

“Nope. Don’t even know that much about him. So, does it matter? What they’re saying?”

Woods considered Big’s question. Big had a way of asking questions that made him squirm. “Yeah, it does. We’ve let the whole thing slide to the President, and he decides when and where we go to war. It’s all wrong. My father fought in Vietnam—”

“I know—”

“ — in an undeclared war. I think it delegitimized the whole thing. It may have been one of the things that caused the public to lose faith in it. Congress never voted for it.”

“Come on—”

“No, you
asked
,” Woods said, getting it off his chest. “So we don’t operate like we should anymore. I think we should get back to that. Where we don’t have to sit out here planning a strike against some guy, or group, just because the President says so. That’s what a
king
would do. I’m willing to go to war, but I want it to be something the country supports. I don’t want to come home and have people spitting on me like they did my father.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“I’m not. It’s important.”

Big smiled. “Maybe one day somebody will listen to you.”

“Yeah, like today. I’m going to get this e-mail out tonight. I’m going to retype the padre’s memo and put his name on it, and mention Rayburn, and send it to Admiral Brown.”

“Admiral who?” Big asked, concerned Woods had decided to try for a truly momentous jump over the chain of command.

“Brown. My congressman.
Retired
Vice Admiral Lionel Brown. You know.”

“Oh, yeah — “ The phone on the bulkhead rang, startling both of them. Big reached over his head and pressed the button that released the handset and kept it from falling during high seas. “Lieutenant McMack, Ready Room Ten,” he said. He listened, then frowned. “Aw,
no
,” he said, closing his eyes momentarily. “When?”

He glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. “They find anything?” He waited, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at Woods, who was waiting expectantly for some indication of what had happened. Big sighed. “Gator just flew into the water.”

“The F-18 guy?”

“Yeah. Their LSO. On approach, half a mile out. Just kept descending and didn’t pull up. The LSOs were screaming at him. He just flew right into the water. Perfect attitude, perfect rate of descent, right into the water. Hit like a pancake. Didn’t even try to eject.”

Woods couldn’t believe it. Most cruises resulted in one or two accidents, maybe one death. This cruise was snakebit.

“His wife is waiting for him in Piraeus. We pull in tomorrow and nobody knows how to get ahold of her.”

Sami stopped his Nissan in front of Cunningham’s townhouse. It was in one of those condo complexes where it required GPS or perfect directions to find someone’s condo. All the buildings looked the same, all the stairways and doorways looked the same: the same colors, the same decorative plants, the same cars in front — junkers for those who just moved in, and the BMWs for those about to move out.

Sami leaned over and peered up the stairway for Cunningham. He checked the clock on the dash, which, much to his annoyance, continued to work and kept more accurate time than his three-hundred-dollar wristwatch. Finally Cunningham came bounding down the stairs carrying his briefcase.

Opening the car door, he slid into the front passenger seat.

“Sorry,” Cunningham said.

“No problem,” Sami replied, backing out into the deserted, small street that looped the entire complex. He drove off quickly. “What do you think of Kinkaid?”

“What?” Cunningham said, looking over toward Sami for the first time.

“Kinkaid.”

“Too early.”

“What do you think of him?”

Cunningham watched the traffic on the street they were turning on to. They never talked when they carpooled. He didn’t like to think this early. “What about him?”

“You think he’s doing a good job?”

“Sure.”

“See anything that troubles you?”

“Let’s hear what’s eating you.”

“I think he may be in bed with Israel.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Where does he go first when we need info? Israel. Where does he have a pal on the ‘inside’? Israel. Too many crosscurrents at work here. I don’t like it.”

Cunningham rolled his eyes but tried not to let Sami see. “You’re losing it. He’s the most quality guy we’ve got. He’s cool.”

“I don’t think so.” He accelerated hard and the four-cylinder engine strained to meet his demands as they merged onto the mostly deserted freeway. “Ever hear of Mega?”

“No. What is it?”

Sami didn’t answer.

Woods stood next to Big, anxious for the officer boat to touch shore at Piraeus. He knew they should be excited about a new port, liberty, all the things that were supposed to make his job fun. But it wasn’t like that. Other thoughts clouded his mind. Vialli, the XO and Brillo, and now Gator, whom he hardly knew.

“Aw shit, Trey,” Big said.

“What?” Woods replied.

“Look who’s standing on the pier.”

Woods looked at a woman who was carefully watching the officer boat approach the pier. “Who is she?” he asked.

“Gator’s
wife
,” Big replied. “She was at the Air Wing party before we left on cruise. Look at her,” Big said, studying her body language. “She hasn’t heard.”

“Oh, no,” Woods said. He checked the officer boat for anyone from Gator’s squadron. “
I’m
sure not going to tell her.”

“
I’m
not going to tell her,” Big said, searching desperately for some way to dump the unpleasant job on someone else. He spotted the Air Wing Maintenance Officer coming out onto the deck. “Greebs,” he said, calling to him. “Gator’s wife is on the pier. Someone’s got to tell her.”

Greebs looked at them both. “Not me,” he said. “Didn’t even know the man.”

The boat touched the pier as the coxswain reversed the engines to stop its forward progress.

Woods and Big watched in fascination as Gator’s wife smiled and waited anxiously for the officers to get off the boat. She had flown all the way from the States for this port call to see her husband for the first time in three months. She was wearing a silk blouse, tight white pants, and heels. Her freshly washed black hair glistened in the Greek sunshine. She had something in her hand that Woods couldn’t make out. “This has the makings of a disaster, Big,” Woods said.

A Petty Officer jumped off the bow onto the pier and tied the boat off. He hurried to the stern and tied off the other line. The coxswain killed the engine and the boat settled into its place next to the pier.

Woods and Big held back, hoping someone else would recognize Gator’s wife and beat them to the pier to take the poor woman aside. The officers streamed right by her and headed toward the waiting taxicabs fifty yards away at the head of the pier.

Finally, Woods and Big stepped ashore. “Hi,” Woods said to her. “I’m Sean Woods.” Big stood behind him, pretending to look for someone or something down the pier. “You remember Big,” he said. “I think you met at the Air Wing party.”

“Hi,” she replied. “I’m Susan Gomez—”

“Right, Gator’s wife.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Have you seen him? He
promised
he’d be on the very first O-boat ashore,” she said. “Is this it? Did I miss it?”

“No,” Woods said. “This is it.” Woods hated this. He wished he had just kept walking. “Let’s go over there for a minute,” he said, pointing down the pier away from the taxis and the activity. He put his sunglasses in his pocket and moved away slowly.

Susan followed, but with a growing sense of foreboding.

Finally, Woods stopped. Turning to her, he met her eyes. She was stunningly pretty, but her face was full of fear. She couldn’t speak.

Woods held her shoulders. “Last night, Gator was on the last recovery. He was on final approach, and got into a descent that he never pulled out of. His F-18 hit the water and he didn’t eject. He was killed, about ten o’clock. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but that’s why he’s not on the boat. Someone from his squadron should have been here to tell you, but they were trying to find you. I don’t think they knew how to get in touch with you.”

She stared at him with no comprehension, her mind refusing to accept what he had just said. “What?” she said finally.

“Gator’s dead,” he said. “His airplane went down.”

Woods put his arm around Susan’s shoulder. Susan’s thin body began to shake, as she fought back the truth that would change her life forever. Tears erupted from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Are you sure? Could there be some mistake?”