Nick frowned. “Oh yeah? Maybe not the technical end of it, but we know people, Skipper. We need a list of possible suspects, and then we find a motive. Basic police work.”
“The suspect list is pretty big. Just about any aircraft mechanic would have unsupervised access to those planes. If it wasn’t a mechanic, it could be one of our cops, because it had to be somebody who could get through security. That’s another couple of dozen people, even if we allow only a narrow time frame. It could be any one of the aircrews, too. So how long is the list now? A hundred? More?”
Nick scowled. “So we eliminate as many as we can.”
“Sure. Who do we eliminate? People without any gripes? Every GI has a gripe. Besides, it’s hands-off. I told you.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t think about it, ma’am.”
“I guess not.” Rubbing the back of her neck, Andrea sighed. “Sorry, Nick. Not enough sleep. You think about it. I’ll think about it. But frankly, I just can’t imagine anyone I know wanting to blow a hole in that aircraft.”
“Isn’t that always what the next door neighbor says after the ax murder? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Tired or not, Andrea laughed. It was true, of course. Nobody could ever imagine that somebody they knew would do such a thing. “You’re right, Nick. That’s what they always say.”
Chapter 10
Several afternoons later, Andrea sat at her desk, studying the list of names her staff had compiled. Finding people with the opportunity to get to that aircraft had been easy. What with aircrews, mechanics, and cops, the list held thirty-three names. Discovering who might have a motive was a different matter altogether. OSI had probably compiled this same list of names weeks ago, and they’d gotten nowhere.
Absently rubbing her shoulder to ease the faint ache that still plagued her, Andrea leaned back in her chair and stared off into space. She would probably be long gone before they discovered the culprit, if they ever did. There just wasn’t enough evidence to go on.
Why would anyone do such a thing? Greed and revenge were the commonest motivations among people. It was possible that some airman had been paid to set an explosive on that bomber, but that still left the question of the motivation of whoever had paid him. Greed couldn’t be behind that, because it was against official policy for the Air Force to give in to extortion. That left revenge and terrorism, and she had trouble accepting the notion of terrorism, because nobody had called the local or national news. Where was the point in doing something like this if you didn’t call the news and get your free publicity out of it? On the other hand, if somebody had a grudge against a member of that plane’s crew, then there were easier and surer ways of achieving revenge.
So what did that leave? No motive at all?
Frustrated with the circles she seemed to be going in, tired from too many nights of not enough sleep and too much thinking about a certain Colonel who appeared to have forgotten her existence, Andrea decided to leave Dolan in charge for the night. She would have an early dinner at the O-Club, followed by a hot shower, and then she’d hit the sack.
It wasn’t steak night, and it was too early for the evening crowd, so the dining room was fairly empty. A group of B-52 crew members on alert sat in one corner eating dinner and laughing together. Their flight suits indicated their alert status and gave them precedence, whether in being served dinner or in the checkout line at the exchange.
In another corner a young couple, looking as if they were barely old enough to be married, argued with quiet intensity. Andrea took a corner for herself and sat with her back to the wall as she nursed a beer and waited for her dinner.
The room was not brightly lit, and Andrea wasn’t certain how long she had stared absently at the laughing pilots before she realized that one of them, glimpsed occasionally as another pilot leaned backward, was Dare MacLendon.
What was he doing with the alert pilots? she wondered blankly, and then looked quickly away, unwilling to let him catch her staring. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not when he’d ignored her since Christmas. But wasn’t that what she wanted? No strings? No messy involvement? Her mind said yes, but her heart kept clamoring for more.
Which was why she should never have broken her own rules. And why she must be sure never to break them again.
“Good evening, Burke.”
Well, damn, she thought even as her heart tripped into high gear. Of course he couldn’t just leave without stopping to say something. She looked up, and up, and thought that nobody with the extraordinary build and looks of Dare MacLendon ought to be allowed to parade around in a flight suit. He was smiling down at her, a pleasant, friendly expression.
“Good evening, Colonel,” she answered politely.
“Can you give me a minute?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good.” He turned, looking over his shoulder to answer a remark from the departing pilots, and then pulled out a chair and straddled it. He rested his arms along its back and studied Andrea in silence as she leaned to one side to allow the waiter to serve her dinner.
“Just a coffee for me,” Dare said in answer to the waiter’s question.
Andrea felt pleased with the steadiness of her hands as she sliced into her chicken breast. She would not let him know how his proximity affected her. No way. Absolutely not.
“You look tired, Andrea,” he said quietly in a tone so gentle that her throat tightened. When had anyone ever spoken to her with so much concern? If anyone ever had, she couldn’t recall it.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve been busy, sir. Have you been flying?”
“I took up one of the bombers this afternoon on a low-level run. I hear you’ve started a little investigation of your own.”
Her hands tightened on her knife and fork, and she looked across the table at him. “Who told you that?” And why did she have to remember so vividly just how soft his mouth could be?
“One of my people told me that one of your folks wanted to know who in the Wing could have had access to that damaged plane. I don’t need somebody to lay it out like a map for me, Andrea.”
Anger sparked in her green eyes. Now it would come, she thought. He would tell her to leave it alone and to mind her p’s and q’s. And if he did she’d—well, she didn’t know what she’d do. “So?” she asked, and almost winced at the belligerence of her own tone.
Dare’s eyes narrowed. His voice turned soft as silk, a dangerous sound. “You have a problem with the chain of command, Burke?”
“No, sir,” she said swiftly, and then sighed. “I’m sorry. Not enough sleep. Right now I think I’m my own worst enemy.”
He softened, recognizing her fatigue and admitting to himself that it had been easy for her to misconstrue the direction of this conversation. “I only wanted to know if you’ve come up with anything.”
“Oh.” After a moment she gave him a sheepish smile. “Actually,” she admitted, “all I’ve done is chase my own tail so far. I decided there were three possible motives for the bombing—revenge, money, and terrorism—and then I came up with reasons why it couldn’t be any of them.” Briefly she outlined her reasoning.
He smiled, and the expression melted the last of the steel from his gaze. “Well, if it’s any consolation, that’s about all OSI has accomplished so far.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. All that muscle and brainpower, and they’re still standing around scratching their heads. I’m not supposed to know that, of course, so don’t tell anyone else.”
“How did you find out?”
“I know a few people.” God, how he wanted to reach out and touch her. Wrong time, wrong place. Besides, he’d told her to call him if she ever wanted to be with him again, and she hadn’t called. Because of his position, he felt he had to let her set the boundaries on their relationship. He didn’t want her ever to feel that he was using his rank to pressure her into anything.
“I can tell you one thing,” he said, and fell silent
while the waiter served his coffee. He didn’t speak again until he was sure no one was near enough to overhear. “The plastic explosive is of U.S. manufacture. It’s typical government stock.”
“Not a homemade brew,” Andrea remarked. “That’s interesting.”
“Yeah, but it evidently doesn’t tell us much. OSI concludes from it that the incident wasn’t staged by known terrorist groups, but evidently U.S. manufacturers sell a lot of the stuff to other countries the same way they sell countermeasures and weapons. Theoretically it only goes to friendlies, but who can say for sure?”
“There haven’t been any calls to the press about it, either,” Andrea said. “That’s another mark against terrorism. Or have there been calls?”
Dare shook his head. “None. My source would have mentioned it. No, OSI is just about convinced we’re dealing with an individual or a small group of individuals. The fact that there hasn’t been another incident of any kind in nearly a month even has them speculating that the shooting scared the guy off. That and your beefed up security. They’re still impressed with your squadron, by the way.”
Andrea smiled. It was nice to hear, especially when she was feeling low and useless. “Well, if it’s not terrorism, that leaves sabotage or murder for possible intent, and greed or revenge for the motive.”
“That’s how it looks.” Sipping his coffee, he studied her over the rim of the cup as she took another mouthful of her supper. He knew Andrea’s appetite, and he was disturbed to see her peck at her food the way she was right now. “Are you coming down with something?” he asked abruptly.
Startled, she looked up. “I don’t think so.”
He shook his head and set his cup aside. “You don’t look very good,” he remarked as he stood. “Get to bed and get some sleep. And call me if you come up with anything new. Good night, Burke.”
She watched him stride away and thought once again that he shouldn’t be allowed to wear a flight suit. On him it was positively lethal to her peace of mind. With a heavy sigh, she tried to convince herself that she really didn’t mind the fact that he seemed to have no further interest in her. After all, she was leaving soon, so it really didn’t make any difference.
As soon as she arrived at work in the morning, Andrea buzzed the front desk. “See if you can round up Sergeant Halliday for me, Crocker. I’d like to see him in my office.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think he’s over at Delta Zulu checking something out. It’ll be a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” What the hell had happened now? Andrea wondered as she replaced the receiver. What was Halliday doing over there?
Twenty minutes passed before Halliday showed up, and he arrived looking cold.
“Warm up with some coffee, Sarge,” Andrea told him, pointing to the pot on the file cabinet. “Did something happen over at Delta Zulu?”
“No, ma’am. Just checking on things. It’s twenty-two below out there.”
“I noticed.” Andrea watched Halliday fill a cup and take a seat across from her.
“I worry about the systems,” he told her. “Especially after what’s been happening. The cold shouldn’t affect them, but you never know.”
Andrea nodded. “You’re very conscientious.” Most people didn’t volunteer to go out in these temperatures. “Is everything okay?”
“Right as rain, Captain.”
“Well, I asked you to come in here because I need your help with something. You know how I pull these little inspections.”
Halliday smiled. “Everyone knows about them.”
“I think I’m getting a little too predictable. I also think the troops are getting too dependent on the electronic systems. So, what if I wanted to give them a real surprise? How could I bypass the system?”
Halliday looked smug. “You can’t.”
Andrea shook her head slowly. “No system is infallible, Sergeant. There has to be a way. Think about it.”
Halliday shrugged. “I don’t have to think about it. I know the system like the back of my hand. Maybe better. Everything is redundant, especially around weapons storage. We’ve got backups on top of backups. To get around them you’d either have to knock out a whole section of the system at the control center, which isn’t easy to do, or you’d have to know where each and every sensor is. If you want, though, I can disable part of the system for you so you can surprise the guys.”
“You’re absolutely convinced I can’t do it any other way?”
Halliday’s smile broadened into a grin. “I get the feeling you take that as a challenge, ma’am. You could memorize the layout. You might be able to do it then, but why go to so much trouble? It’s easier just to have me shut it down.”
“Who besides you knows the layout?”
“All the guys on my crew.” Halliday frowned. “Look, if something’s going on…”
Andrea shook her head. “No. It’s just that I was asked about it at staff conference yesterday, and I realized I really don’t know as much as I should about how things are done. And that was when somebody remarked that my inspections must be getting predictable if I always avoid the electronic systems.”
“Well, ma’am, there’s not all that much to it. I’m probably the only one who knows the entire system, because each of my technicians specializes in just one part of it. We’re the only five people who have access to the classified plans and blueprints on a routine basis. We keep a copy of all that stuff in the safe in my office. If you want to look at it, I can get it for you, or you can look at the copy the document custodian keeps. Anybody with a need-to-know authorization can look at the stuff. I don’t reckon there’d be too many folks other than me and my techs with a need to know, though.”
“Certainly not me,” Andrea said pleasantly. “Not that I could make much sense out of a lot of circuit diagrams.”
Halliday smiled, his eyes pallid behind his glasses. “No, but you could read the map.”
“And try to tiptoe past all that stuff?” Andrea laughed and shook her head. “Forget it, Sarge. It was a dumb idea.”
Well, Andrea thought, now she could add even more names to the list, and she hadn’t eliminated any yet. How many people might be able to gain access to the plans? The document custodians sprang to mind, and there were surely others who had a legitimate need to see them. Nope, she had to come at this from a different angle.
“But,” she said, asking one last question, “if I wanted to learn the layout, I could get past the system?”
“Sure. It’s too damn expensive to carpet all those areas with sensors, so they’re scattered in a random fashion that makes it impossible to get by them all unless you know where they’re at. Captain, I swear, it’s a no-man’s-land. It’s more difficult to get through than a maze. You have to know what you’re doing to stand a chance.”
Late that night Andrea lay in bed, restless and strangely sad, and tried not to think about Alisdair MacLendon. Just a few short days had passed since Christmas, but they felt like years. All her nerves seemed hypersensitive. The brush of her nightgown against her breasts made her think of his hands. A tingling ache filled her. A nagging sense of incompletion gnawed at her, and some traitorous part of her mind kept demanding to know why she was in bed alone.
It was during the process of trying not to think about Dare that she had a realization so startling that it brought her upright in her bed: somebody wanted revenge, all right. They wanted revenge against Dare.
The evidence for that was slim, so slim that it seemed almost ridiculous. What did she have to substantiate it? The fact that the trouble had begun with his arrival. The fact that it seemed to be directed against the Bomb Wing. The fact that the charge set in the bomber hadn’t killed anyone. And all those little pieces of so-called evidence could be argued against. The fact that the explosive in the bomber hadn’t killed anyone, for example, could have been purely accidental.
Slender evidence indeed. Falling back against the pillows, Andrea considered. Her suspicion was so wild as to be e
mbarrassing, but it felt right. She wouldn’t dare tell anyone without more proof, but she could use the assumption as a starting point. It might make her alert to things she would otherwise miss. And it might also make her blind to other things. Troubled, she tossed and turned well into the night.
On the Saturday after New Year’s, Andrea stood in her kitchenette yawning widely and thinking that maybe when she got to Minot she would rent an apartment rather than live in the BOQ. Waiting for the coffeepot to finish brewing, she looked around at her cramped efficiency quarters and decided that it was time she stopped living out of a mental suitcase. If she had more room and owned some furniture, maybe she would feel as if she had a home. It would mean a longer drive when she got a call in the middle of the night, but maybe she wouldn’t feel so rootless. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like a tumbleweed, rolling here and there and leaving no mark anywhere.
The tile floor was cold beneath her feet, causing her to shiver, and she rubbed her hands up and down the silk sleeves of the peignoir Dare had given her. It wasn’t warm enough for the draughty rooms, and it wasn’t practical by any stretch of the imagination, but she wore it often anyhow and then lay wide awake remembering Christmas. Remembering how it had felt to be a woman. Time and again she caught herself trying to think up excuses to go over to his house.
Like a teenager with a crush, she thought sourly as she headed for the bedroom. Hadn’t she deliberately avoided this all these years? What was it about Alisdair MacLendon that made her forget all her common sense?
She was halfway across the small living area when someone knocked on her door. “Who is it?” she called.
“MacLendon.”
Hurrying to the door, she released the lock and opened it a crack to see a very irate-looking Colonel MacLendon. Beneath his olive drab survival parka he wore his flight suit. He must have been flying again, Andrea thought. Rated pilots who’d been promoted to desk jobs were allowed to keep their ratings by flying a certain number of hours every month, and the Air Force provided planes for them, usually T-38 jets.
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