My Only One. Eileen Nauman
worth of Japanese merchandise from coming into your country in retaliation for Japan not honoring a trade agreement regarding semiconductors?”
Abby gave the captain a blank look, rummaged through her memory and then said, “Yes, he did just impose that embargo.”
“What of sports?”
“I don’t know very much about sports, Captain.”
“Boxing? Is there anything going on? It is my favorite sport.”
“I think I recall Sugar Ray Leonard beating Marvin Hagler for the middleweight championship of the world.”
Grinning, Denisov said, “Good! Sports are the lifeblood of men.”
Silently, Abby agreed. She hated football and any other sport. To her, it was a waste of time to be glued to the television set for an entire weekend, watching one sporting event after another. “You and every man in America agree upon that,” she muttered.
“What other bits of news do you recall?”
Abby sighed inwardly. Were the next four days at breakfast going to consist of Denisov questioning her at length? She wondered if she should be speaking about anything at all, but then decided that she knew so little of matters related to national security that it wouldn’t hurt to entertain the cagey captain.
“Let’s see…one of our huge oil companies, Texaco, just filed for bankruptcy. That’s been a real shock to the nation. My friend Susan is a stock broker, and she says it’s going to send a scare through the financial district of Wall Street.”
With a nod, Denisov pushed aside his plate. Immediately, one of the stewards came and picked it up. “I heard that one of your air force Centaur rockets blew up less than a minute after takeoff from Cape Canaveral.” He studied her intently. “A year ago, you lost the Challenger in that unfortunate mishap. I understand your country is having a hard time placing satellites into orbit without the space shuttle. This Centaur was supposed to have been struck by lightning, veered off course and had to be destroyed. Is this true?”
Squirming, Abby shrugged. “Got me on that one, Captain. Things like sports, military or entertainment items don’t interest me. I sort of ignore them in favor of politics, which is an area that interests me greatly. Sorry, I don’t know anything about the rocket exploding.” She was lying, of course, but didn’t care. Looking down at Alec, she saw him frowning.
Abby tried to relax and adjust to the situation. Denisov was going to pump her, and she was simply going to evade and play dumb when she felt it necessary. In one way, Abby wanted the next four days to pass quickly. But on a personal level, she wanted them to stretch out and slow down. She suddenly wanted the time to know one Alec Rostov better.
* * *
ON THE FIFTH MORNING ABOARD the Udaloy, Abby spent breakfast with the officers, as usual. Denisov was in a good mood, smiling often and laughing easily. In the past week Abby found ways to manipulate the conversations with the curious captain. She talked about several books she’d brought aboard the Argonaut to read at night when their whale-watch duties were done.
Denisov found Destiny by Sally Beauman interesting, although he wasn’t much of a reader of women’s fiction. The entire table became animated and engrossed when she discussed Texasville by Larry McMurty, because it was about the Old West, and she discovered the Soviets’ keen curiosity with anything having to do with that time in her nation’s history. Abby decided not to discuss State Scarlet by David Aaron with them because it was a political hot potato sprinkled liberally with intrigue and national-defense information.
Another morning, Abby talked about the Broadway plays in New York City, and a lively discussion ensued as to whether the Bolshoi could compare. Having just seen Blythe Spirit by No;auel Coward, Abby shared the plot of the play with them. She discovered the Soviets had a deep and loyal tie to the arts, and breakfast soon became a place to share such information. When she told them she’d seen the ballet Sleeping Beauty at New York’s Metropolitan Opera House, they excitedly told her about the Bolshoi.
Perhaps the most political she got was in telling them about The Jaguar Smiles by Salman Rushdie, a book that was written about the Sandinista government in Nicaragua. When it got too political, Abby gracefully evaded the topic and deftly turned the conversation to Vincent Van Gogh’s painting Sunflowers, which sold recently for 39.9 million dollars. The officers at the table simply couldn’t comprehend such money being spent on one painting, despite their love of the arts.
Denisov smiled. “While you slept this morning, Tony Cummings landed on our helo pad and took the film and official report of your rescue, and then left,” Denisov told her. “He said to tell you hello and to give you this.” He produced a thick manila envelope. “It is your information for the forthcoming press conference in Anchorage. I would hope that you would share its contents with Captain Rostov in order to help him prepare for the reporters’ questions.”
“Of course,” Abby murmured. She placed the heavy envelope across her lap, having the distinct feeling that Denisov would have preferred her to open it and share the contents in front of him, but she resisted. “Would it be possible for Captain Rostov to go over the information with me after breakfast?”
Beaming, Denisov nodded. “Excellent idea, Dr. Fielding. Excellent idea.”
* * *
IN ANOTHER STAFF ROOM AFTER the meal, Alec sat down with Abby. The coast of Kodiak Island was clearly in sight now, and by tomorrow morning, the Udaloy would arrive at the twelve-mile limit of U.S. coastal waters. It was Abby’s understanding that a Coast Guard helicopter would land on the Udaloy, pick up her and Alec, and fly them directly to Anchorage for the press conference at noon.
Although the hatch to the small room was shut and no sound could be heard, Alec didn’t trust the room not to be bugged. Taking out a pen and paper from the breast pocket of his dark blue uniform blouse, he scribbled a note and placed it in front of Abby.
This room may be bugged. Watch what you say. If there are sensitive things that need to be said, I suggest a walk on deck where there are no prying ears, just prying eyes.
Frowning, Abby nodded. She watched as Alec took the note and placed it in a pocket. She quickly shook out the contents of Tony’s envelope on the table before them.
“Oh, look!” Abby exclaimed, pleased. There was a color photo taken from the video Brad had shot of the Japanese ship bearing down on the Argonaut. The video had been flown to Kodiak Island by the long range Helix yesterday. The effort had been worth it. “Brad got some great shots!” she whispered excitedly, looking through the ten photos. “This is awesome. Simply awesome!”
“‘Awesome’?”
Looking up, Abby realized the word confounded Alec. “It’s a slang phrase we use in America. We seem to go through certain words in our culture every decade. In the sixties, it was groovy and far out. Today it’s awesome. Do you go through phrases like that in Russia?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Abby wanted to say that so far, all the men she’d met from the Soviet Union had very little to say—ever. She wondered why. Was it the brooding tenor of Communism that had forced them to all behave in such a low-key manner? Returning her attention to the articles, Abby noticed several newspaper clippings that Tony had copied for her. “Take a look at these, Alec.” She rapidly scanned several articles. “You’re a hero in every major newspaper in the U.S.! Just look at these!”
For the next half hour, Alec poured over the mound of newspaper articles. In amazement, he glanced at Abby. “This is simply incredible.”
She grinned happily. “If it will get my whales this kind of attention, I’d do it all over again.”
Cocking his head, Alec studied her. The room was stuffy. “Would you like some fresh air?”
Abby immediately caught his inference.