Panic Switch полностью

“Because I knew all of D.C. would have a complete meltdown about it. Carlucci would never have allowed that. ‘An act of war,’ all that pacifist horseshit. Carlucci would have let you get captured, then negotiated for your release as the more prudent, responsible, statesmanlike thing to do. Hell with that. I blasted that goddamned plane to Hell, naysayers be damned. And the intelligence community, the signals intelligence spooks, were outraged that I acted on intel that revealed that we’d broken the Russian codes and were translating their radio traffic in real time. The damage from that, they say, could take years to fix. I even heard that ball-busting attorney general tried to get Carlucci to agree to having the Justice Department put me up on criminal charges. Fortunately for me, he told her to pound sand.”

“Wow,” Anthony said. “Now for the hard question, Dad. If I hadn’t been on the crew of the New Jersey, would you still have fired those missiles?” Anthony expected his father to use his usual explanation, that no man can say what he’d do in any given situation until he was actually in the situation.

But Michael Pacino put down his whisky glass, looked Anthony in the eye and said seriously, “You’re goddamned right I would have.”

Anthony smiled. “I actually came for advice,” he said.

Michael refilled his glass and then Anthony’s. “Go ahead.”

“It’s about my friend Rachel Romanov. My former navigator.”

Michael nodded. “You two were involved.”

“Almost, Dad. Just not quite yet. She wanted to keep it platonic for a while longer, but I could tell that was about to change. I had it bad for her. I still do. Just as I thought she might be ready to agree to a relationship, the fire happened. And now? ‘Retrograde amnesia’? Her memory stops an hour before she met me.”

Michael considered, his hand on his chin. “And you think there’s something meaningful about the timing of that.”

“Yeah. I think she’s blocking my memory out. If she remembers me, she has to remember that she’d gotten a divorce from her husband Bruno.”

“She was living with you junior officers in that Virginia Beach rental house, right?”

“The Snake Ranch. Yeah. She had the big master bedroom after she pulled rank on all of us.” Anthony smiled for a moment at the memory of Rachel strong-arming them all when it came time to pick rooms.

“Where is she living now?”

“She’s back at her former marital residence. She’s with Bruno. Which, I’ve got to tell you, cuts my fucking heart out.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I could see that.”

“I went to see her hoping it would jog her memory, but nothing.”

“And you want to know if you should keep pushing,” Michael said.

“Yeah. The doctors said familiar sights, sounds and smells might jar the memories loose. I was thinking about taking her down to an operational Virginia-class boat, maybe walking her into the control room, you know, and stand there next to her like I did during Operation Panther.”

“Well, if you don’t do that, you’ll always wonder what would have happened if you did. And if you do take her to the submarine, and she still doesn’t remember you, well, you can move on with no regrets. You did all you could. But you don’t control the situation. Rachel could decide to say ‘no’ to your request to take her down to the boat.”

“She already said no. I pitched the idea to her. She refused. She said she’s not even sure she wants her memory back.”

“Is there anyone else who has influence on her, who could convince her?”

Anthony considered for a moment. “Yeah. Her ex-husband Bruno. They were still friends. But Bruno would have to act against his best interest. If he convinces her to go down to the submarine, he could lose her to me.”

“So talk to Bruno,” Michael said. “Man to man. Tell him that you and he both need to ‘draw the box’ around Rachel — that is, you should both care enough about her to do what’s best for her, not for either of you.”

“And then, if he says no, or if she still says no, I did everything I could.”

“Right. And I know you can live with the loss after that.”

Anthony nodded, pointing to the whisky carafe. “I’ll take one more. Then I’m going to hit the rack. All this has been emotionally exhausting.”

“I can imagine,” Michael said.

“So, Dad, there’s a lot of press speculation about you running in the primaries against Carlucci. Are you really running for president?”

Michael laughed dismissively. “A presidential election campaign costs about seven billion dollars. We could build a Virginia-class submarine for that amount.”

Anthony laughed. “I noticed, Dad, you didn’t answer a yes-or-no question. I think you may have turned into a politician in spite of yourself.”

When Anthony had turned in, Michael Pacino picked up his phone and dialed the number for Captain Scotch Seagraves. Seagraves answered on the first ring.

“Mr. Vice President?” he said.

“It’s just ‘Patch’ now, Captain. Listen, I know it’s late and you’re busy, but I wanted to ask you for a favor.”