The Victoria Stone

by Bob Finley

  "How do you do that?" she asked. He closed his mouth, looked at her for a long moment, and finally asked.

  "How do I do...what?"

  She stepped a little closer to him and peered at him with a little frown of puzzlement on her face.

  "How do you talk that long without taking a breath? I mean, I talk for a living, and I can't do that. If I could do that, I'd be able to say a whole lot more at one time and get paid more...did you know I get paid by the word?" She continued to gaze at him expectantly. She saw the frost form before she felt the cold draft as he replied.

  "Contrary to what you may believe, Ms. Darlington, insubordination does not become you."

  "Insubordination?!" she echoed, her voice rising and her hands going involuntarily to her hips. "You're kidding! The last man who thought I was subordinate to him was my ex-husband, and he's been gone for three long years!"

  Captain Carruthers pursed his lips and regarded her with detachment. "I wonder," he said.

  "You ‘wonder’ what?" she said before she could stop herself.

  "I wonder," he said without missing a beat, "whether those years have passed so slowly for both of you?"

  Her mouth dropped open to retort, but she was surprised when nothing came out. She'd been had. And very skillfully, at that. He pressed home the advantage.

  "I'm told you're quite tenacious as a television reporter."

  Again, she was caught off guard. What was she supposed to say...that she wasn't? "What do you mean by ‘tenacious’?" she parried while she tried to guess his motives.

  "Thorough, perhaps. Unrelenting, possibly."

  She watched him warily while she shifted to his right a couple of feet. Thinking hard.

  "Where's he going with this?"

  "If you mean I get what I'm after, yes, I do. One way or another."

  "Obviously," he mused, arching his eyebrows. "You're here."

  She snorted and made a face. "Yeah, for what it's worth."

  He surprised her by smiling. Not a friendly smile. A knowing smile. "What is it ‘worth’ for you to be here, Ms. Darlington? Being shot down by missiles? Destroying an aircraft that doesn't belong to you? Risking the lives of at least two people other than yourself? And for what? To be held in protective custody, totally cut off from all outside communication? Is all this ‘worth’ it to you?" The questions were delivered in a neutral voice, but it was that absence of emotion that set her predatory instincts on fire. Something was happening. She could feel it. She didn't say a word, just stared at him, her eyes boring into his, waiting. Finally, he took his eyes from hers and slowly turned away. Then, slowly, turned back.

  "Hah! Look who blinked!" she exulted behind her facade of chromed steel.

  "Perhaps you may find it profitable to have been here, after all," Jenks Carruthers finally intoned. "Provided you can put a muzzle on that attitude you're dragging around behind you."

  A hot retort had already formed in the back of her throat but was overpowered by her growing certainty that a story was just a heartbeat away. And the story comes first.

  Watching her closely, he nodded once, taking her silence to be consent. He walked to a nearby bank of what appeared to be television monitors. A chief with the communications specialist insignia and two hash marks on his sleeve sat before them.

  "Chief, run the recording, please." He turned back to her with narrowed eyes. "A short while ago," he said in clipped tones as if the words had a bad taste to them, "this copy of a videotape was downlinked to us. The tape is less than an hour old. It originated..." he nodded over his shoulder, his mouth twisted into a look of disgust, "...over there." When he saw her lack of comprehension, he added, "From that maniac over there, under that tower."

  She looked in the direction of his gesture but saw only the other side of the small compartment. But something drew her in a couple of steps to a brightly-lit porthole. When she looked out, squinting against the morning sun as she did so, it took her a moment to make out the small, dark stick two miles away that was the tower she'd flown around yesterday. Yesterday? It seemed impossible for so few hours to have passed since that awful experience.

  "Doesn't look like much, does it?" She jumped. Carruthers had spoken, though quietly, from just beside her. She turned and moved away from the porthole.

  "You said there's a tape?" His new demeanor was disturbing. Perhaps it was because he seemed so much in control. He gestured to the console and they returned.

  The tape was, to say the least, exciting. Her sensory-deprived reporter's psyche slurped it up like the Florida sand after a summer shower. And its implications were staggering. She was giddy with the realization that she, personally, had just been thrust into the most sought-after spot in the universe for an ambitious television reporter...the limelight! She fought to keep a straight face. Breathing was suddenly difficult. She walked away a few steps as nonchalantly as she could muster, taking slow, deliberate breaths that she hoped went unnoticed. She pretended to be thinking, but her mind was a whirling kaleidoscope. She returned to stand before His Magnificence The Captain and demurely folded her hands together in front of herself. Perhaps the trembling would go unnoticed.

  "What am I to do?" she asked in a calm and helpful voice. The Captain smiled ever so slightly.

  "As you can see from the film, you will...negotiate...with him. We will have audio and video feeds momentarily on the channel he designated. You'll stand...would you rather sit?" She shook her head. "You will stand over...there..." he pointed to a two-inch yellow dot on the deck..."and face the camera, which will be there," he pointed, "in the next couple of minutes."

  "What should I say to him?"

  He smiled, this time for real. "Talk to him. Listen to him. Don't make him any promises. Tell him we'll give every consideration to his...wishes...and assure him that we are concerned about him and are sure that we can come to some mutually acceptable understanding. You're the expert in persuasion. You'll know what to say and do."

  "Shoot him a line and keep him on it," she said shortly.

  He chuckled. "You've done this before."

  "Not really. But I know the drill."

  The Captain bowed his head slightly in her direction. It was the closest thing to a compliment she figured she'd ever get from him. It was her turn.

  "Now I have a request." He looked at her, surprised.

  "Let my people go." He leaned slightly toward her, trying to understand.

  "Excuse me?" he asked.

  "That's from Exodus. It means I want my people out of the brig and up here where I can see them."

  The expression on the Captain's face would have been comical if she'd had the luxury of laughing. Instead, she had to maintain 'The Look'.

  "If you're asking what I think you're asking..." he began, but that's as far as he got.

  "I'm not asking. I'm telling. You're the captain of this ship. But those people are in my employ, they're civilians, and they depend on me. I'm their captain. And I say they've done nothing to deserve the treatment they're getting. Nor have I, for that matter. And if I'm going on international television and save the world's collective butt with this nut case, then I'm going to be shown a little consideration in return."

  Jerry Carruthers' color deepened and his eyes snapped with such intensity it was easy to imagine the air had chilled and feel the rage of an imminent tornado about to dip into the room and sweep away all before it. She saw the stages clearly as he worked through the levels of retribution he clearly had the power to call down on lesser beings. But, to his credit, she also saw him come out the other side of the storm and regain control. She heard him take a deep breath and slowly let it expend itself.

  "Mr. Crawford," he said in a sterile voice that barely carried across the room.

  "Sir?"

  "Would you please ask Mz. Darlington's companions to join us? And would you please provide each of them with individual escorts at all times, in order to ensure that they don't inadvertently wander into harm's way?"


  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "Thank you, Mr. Crawford."

  "Yes, Sir." The officer whirled on his heel and disappeared through a companionway.

  The Captain glared at Jackie Darlington. She mouthed "thank you" to him, but his jaw muscles twitched and he turned and walked away. Enquiring as to the location of the nearest ‘head’, she made her way to it. She closed the door behind her, entered the toilet stall, and threw the bolt on the swinging door. Then, and only then, she closed her eyes and allowed a huge grin to slowly, deliciously spread across her face.

  "Yes! Yes!! Yessssss!!" she hissed in as soft a voice as she could still muster.

  Chapter 75

  The room was full and more new faces kept appearing every few minutes. An extra coffee pot had popped up from somewhere and was thumping and wheezing away in its valiant efforts to help welcome the Atlanta dawn. Even Cole Dickson was there, standing to one side with Valance and Presnell, while the lesser echelon carefully flowed around them. Jeff Valance glanced at his watch and peeled off to circulate among the dozen work sites around the room, checking on last minute details.

  "What time was it when she called?" Dickson asked through his second cup of coffee.

  "Just before five. Thirty..." Keith Presnell squinted up at the wall clock, "...six minutes ago."

  "From a cellphone?"

  Keith chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, the first time. Before they took it away from her. The second call, about ten minutes later, was over some secure military satellite link. Apparently they didn't appreciate her spilling their secrets on a party line."

  Dickson rolled his eyes. "I'll bet they didn't. I'm still not sure how she crossed the bridge between daring the U. S. Navy to shoot her down on live television to becoming the same Navy's ‘official terrorist negotiator’, all in the space of less than twenty-four hours."

  "She must have really made an impression on this Jambou guy. But I think you can be sure that when it's over she's gonna want a raise."

  "I'll be lucky if that's all she wants. She's probably thinking how good she'd look behind my desk right now!" They both laughed, but Presnell cut his short with a thoughtful frown.

  "Heads up!" Valance's voice carried the length of the room, as he hustled back through the crowd. "We got incoming!" A few seconds later a bank of monitors came to life. Color bars marched across them as the signal stabilized and then, finally, there she was.

  "Hello. This is Jackie Darlington with CNN, live from the United States aircraft carrier George Washington in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Spain. I'm in the Combat Information Center, or CIC, where just a short time ago we received word that Bereel Numolani Jambou, the self-proclaimed king of the newly-created country of New Victoria, has announced his intentions that negotiations be opened immediately to address his demands."

  "He has insisted that all negotiations be made public over live television and has also insisted that this reporter act as mediator for the negotiations." Valance and Presnell shot a look at each other, but were caught at it by Dickson, who almost managed to suppress a smile.

  "The United States government, acting on behalf of all those countries against whom Mr. Jambou has made nuclear threats, has agreed to allow the facilities of this ship to broadcast the negotiations, live. We are standing by at this time for a broadcast from Mr. Jambou during which, we assume, he will outline his demands. In the meantime, I have asked Admiral Jake Cochran, ranking flag officer of the American task force here on the scene of the blockade of the terrorists' base of operations, to update us on what's happening. Admiral Cochran?" She turned, as the cameraman widened the scene and Jake Cochran stepped into it. He didn't look especially happy.

  "Admiral Cochran, we're less than two miles from the spot where the terrorist Bereel Jambou claims to have a nuclear bomb in his headquarters inside an undersea mountain. Are we in any danger here?"

  Cochran seemed startled by the question but recovered quickly. "No, Miss Darlington, I don't think we're in any real danger at this time. We don't know for certain that there is, in fact, a viable nuclear device inside this facility, but it would make no sense for the terrorists to detonate it at this point, even if they could. After all, we've agreed to open negotiations with them, so why would they blow their chances for success?" He realized, even as he said it, he'd chosen his words poorly but there was no graceful recovery in sight. "I meant that figuratively, of course."

  "Of course," Jackie Darlington answered, almost choking on the laugh that tried to escape. She struggled to keep a straight face. "But, Admiral Cochran, in the original broadcast made from this very site, one of the hostages, who is a very well-known inventor and accomplished technologist in his own right, said that he personally saw the bomb. Are you discrediting his claim?"

  Jake Cochran, for the second time in as many minutes, wished he hadn't agreed to this ‘interview’ cum barbecue.

  "Doctor Justin is certainly accomplished in many fields," he replied carefully, "but, to my knowledge, nuclear weapons is not one of those fields of expertise." He held his breath, waiting to dodge the next bullet.

  "Admiral, there has apparently been an almost unprecedented response from the international community following the destruction of Johannesburg. Could you comment on the military aspect of that?"

  Cochran thought for a moment before answering. "Actually," he replied with deliberate slowness, "the military response to this incident has been understated for the most part. Our own group was in route to a routine assignment in the Mediterranean Sea when we were diverted here. Our proximity was coincidental and our diversion was the logical move."

  "You've blockaded the terrorists by encircling them with an armada of warships, any one of which is capable of totally destroying their base, have you not? Very much like ‘circling the wagons’ in an old western movie, except you're the Indians."

  Jake's face cracked slightly in what some might mistake for a smile. "If our ships weren't in a circle, Miss Darlington, we would be leaving, would we not? All we're doing is maintaining station until we are advised to stand down."

  Jackie was impressed with her subject's quick wit. But being bested in an interview didn't earn her any points back home. "Admiral Cochran, there seem to be a very large number of ships in the area. Are they all American ships?"

  Jake frowned. How did she get ahold of that? They hadn't even let her out on deck. But the cold, impassive eye of the camera stared at him.

  "There has, naturally, been a response by the navies of other countries. Especially those countries against whom the terrorists have threatened nuclear destruction similar to that already experienced by South Africa."

  "What other countries have ships here?" she pressed. "Besides the United States, I mean."

  "We have...identified and been...in communication with representatives of Great Britain, France, Spain and China."

  "When you say you've ‘been in communication’ with all these countries, you mean that they all have ships in this immediate area, do you not?"

  He nodded. "That is correct."

  "Are they warships?"

  He had to force himself to answer. "Yes, mostly."

  "Are the ships of any other country a part of this circle, this blockade of ships that's in place?"

  "Not at this time," he replied slowly.

  "Admiral Cochran, is it true that by excluding the warships from other countries, by keeping them at bay, so to speak, the United States is actually protecting the terrorists' base from possible overreaction by the military forces of another country?"

  There were hoots and war cries in the CNN op center as the sun cleared the horizon and one of their own did battle in a place far, far away.

  Cochran's face hardened noticeably on the television screens of the hundred million people who would see this broadcast in a hundred languages over the next twelve hours. "I couldn't speak to that," he said through thin lips.

  "Admiral, I have it on good authority," the words of her two minut
e, compressed briefing during her call to the office still fresh in her memory, "that the United Nations has voted overwhelmingly in favor of extreme sanctions, including military strikes, against Jambou and his terrorists, in retaliation for the horrible holocaust in South Africa, for which he has claimed responsibility. Have you received any instructions to that effect?" She knew she was in his face, but she didn't understand him well enough to know just how much. Jake Cochran stared at the reporter in disbelief. His face flushed and he struggled not to turn on his heel and leave her standing there.

  "Miss Darlington, I am forever astounded by the questions asked by the media. Do you actually believe that, even if I had any such orders, I would be so foolish as to jeopardize the lives of the men and women under my command by disclosing them to you in front of, literally, a world-wide audience? Including, in that audience, the very person or persons who claim to have already destroyed one city, and who now claim to have another nuclear weapon just two miles from where we stand and are, undoubtedly, listening? I certainly hope that the government of the United States employs naval officers with more common sense than some of the people the media seems to. Do you have any other pertinent questions at this time?"

  It was probably a merciful thing that Jackie Darlington couldn't hear the resounding cheers that erupted spontaneously from thousands of homes across the east coast, as early risers caught the news and experienced instant rapport with Admiral Jake Cochran, United States Navy. And it was at this moment that Bereel Jambou chose to open the negotiations. His face filled the monitor in the CIC. Jackie's attention was instantly on the screen and her jousting with Jake Cochran forgotten. She stared at the man's image. It was her first look at him and she was surprised. She'd expected something more evil, more...menacing, maybe. Not this round, jovial-looking onion head. Except for the eyes. They somehow seemed alien to his face...to have a light of their own.