Tomahawk (20 page)

At the end, almost as an afterthought, he took a few minutes to discuss the GLCM tests.

As the meeting broke, Dan caught up with Manhurin. The major said that despite breakdowns on the road, the convoy would be mushing into Cold Lake in time for the tests. Dan brought up a couple of his concerns, such as how applicable test data from the Air Force weapons control system was to Navy software. Manhurin said it had
been developed from the Navy product, so results should be pretty much applicable to either one.

“I'll be there,” Dan told him.

“Actually, we don't need to cook a missile for most of what we'll be doing. The extreme cold weather ops, dispersal and security and so forth. So if you wanted, you could hang here, only come up for the actual shoot.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'll go up early, get familiarized with your system.”

He got back to his cubicle at midmorning and settled in. Lucille had left a stack of mail on his chair. Vendor brochures,
Naval Engineers Journal,
conference flyers, an envelope with a handwritten address, Arlington postmark.

It was a card from Kerry. When you opened it, there was Pepe Le Pew kissing a female skunk on the plaza of a Parisian café. The caption read “Love…. she is blind, no?”

Dear Dan,

There was no card with exactly the right words to tell you how much I enjoy being with you every day. Perhaps when we've had more time together, I can explain myself better. But for now, thanks just for loving me, just as I am.

And if you're confused sometimes, you're not the only one.

But I want you to know that whatever problems you have, you don't have to work through them alone anymore.

Love, Kerry.

He read it through again, then propped it on his desk by the Pentagon phone book and the
Government Printing Office Style Manual
and his purple-jacketed
Joint Staff Officers' Guide.

Burdette leaned from his cubicle, wanting to know if Dan had seen a message about pin corrosion from
Merrill.
He snapped back long enough to find it in his incoming, then reverted to daydream mode.

She'd said it first—the I
word. He was going to hold off till he got the ring, back it up with something concrete.
But she'd beaten him to it. He leaned back, letting it warm him.

Then he winced, remembering his shoddy performance in Annapolis. But since then, he'd kept away from anything stronger than wine, and counted each glass of that. She hadn't said anything else about it, till now—that oblique reference at the end of the note. She was too good to lose. She cared about people in a way he didn't but wished he did. He had a nurturing side, but up to now, he hadn't been operating in an environment that exactly encouraged it.

His phone rang and he grabbed it automatically. “JCM, Lieutenant Commander Lenson.”

“Commander Lenson. Don't know if you remember me. Martin Tallinger here.”

He leaned forward, instinctively turning away from the others in the space. Remembering the dingy courtroom, a bright-haired young man in a bow tie boring in as he'd stood there, angry and embarrassed amid people he'd thought then he had nothing in common with. “Yeah. I remember you. How did you get my number?”

“It wasn't that hard, you're in the DOD directory. I was going to call JCM anyway, and when I saw your name, I thought, I know
him.
… Look, I'm trying to pull together an article about what the budget's going to look like next year. Specifically, missile programs. Maybe something about how the new director—Nick Niles, right?—how he's doing on fixing what sounds like very serious problems over there.”

“I'd better not discuss that. Most of what I know's too technical for—”

“I won't quote you. The last time we met, you asked me not to print your name. And I didn't, did I?”

He got the message. Tallinger was saying Dan owed him. He said unwillingly, “No.”

“So you know I protect my sources. Look, I'm going to publish anyway, so if you want the program's side of the story in print, you might want to talk with me. Let's get together after work. The Tune Inn, at six? They do a great burger. Meet you under the deer's butt—”

“Sorry, I can't make it. I've got a test series to get
ready for. I'll be working late. Got to go.” Tallinger said something he didn't catch, sounding disappointed, as he hung up.

After thinking that exchange over for a few seconds, he dialed the program's Public Affairs office. The PA type who answered said sure, he knew who Martin Tallinger was. He had one of his books there in the office.

“He just called me. What's the deal? Who's this dude work for?”

“Hold on a second. Let me pull this thing down, see what it says on the back flap… Hotchkiss. Yale. Rhodes scholar. Served in the Office of the Secretary of Defense. ‘Writes regularly on defense policy and aerospace issues.' Won something called the Edward Weintal Award. Fellow at the Johns Hopkins School of International Studies. Says he lives here in Washington. Picture of a kind of weenie-looking guy with glasses.”

“That's him. Uh, what's the book about?”

“Title is
Aerospace Readiness and Coalition Defense.
Brookings Institution put it out, if that's any help.”

“Uh-huh. Well, look, I basically stonewalled him. What should I have done?”

“Well, you got to deal with the press. He calls again, refer him down here. He wants an interview or something, we'll set it up officially and I'll sit in. Okay?”

He said thanks and hung up. Leaning back, he thought about it for a couple of minutes more.

Burdette came back in and gave him back the original of the pin corrosion message. “Did you make a copy?” Dan asked him.

“Got it right here. And one for Sparky.”

“Uh-huh. Where
is
Sparky?”

“Over in the head shed. Captain W. wanted to see him.”

He contemplated Kerry's card again, his brain transitioning back from the interruptions to wonder again what he was going to do. Burdette's chair creaked. He stared at the black officer's back. Then cleared his throat. “Uh, Vic?”

“What?”

“You read that Bible on your desk?”

Burdette turned a wary look toward him. “Every day. Why?”

“I could use some moral direction, that's why. You're a Christian, right? You're in the military, too. How do those two go together?”

Burdette put the message down. He looked at it, then at Dan. “You serious?”

“Just curious. I just wondered what it says about the kind of stuff we do around here.”

The engineer laced his fingers over his stomach. “How long have I got?”

“Till lunchtime. Hit me.”

“Well, there's—give me a second, let me get my head out of this other stuff. Okay.

“There's an awful lot in the Book about the morality of force. The Old Testament is a history of God's people in conflict. And at times, yeah, He sent them to war.”

“In spite of ‘thou shalt not kill.' “

“Exodus, Chapter twenty, verse thirteen. But ‘murder' is a better translation of the Hebrew. Don't get confused between murder and killing. Sometimes God directs us to kill. ‘Whoever sheds the blood of a human, by a human shall that person's blood be shed; for in his own image God made humankind.' “

“What about ‘They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and they shall not study war anymore'?”

“Uh-huh. Isaiah, chapter two, verse four, which is backed up by Micah, chapter four, verse three. But then you got Joel, who says, ‘Beat your plowshares into swords.' You could preach on both. But that's all Old Testament. Let's go to what Jesus said.”

“Okay.”

“The passage you hear most often is Matthew, chapter five, verses thirty-eight to forty-two.” Burdette pulled the Bible down, thumbed through it, then read, “ ‘You have heard that it was said, “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who
begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.' Jesus is replacing the old law with the dispensation of grace.”

“I've heard that quoted to justify pacifism.”

“That's not how the Book works. You got to consider God's plan and Jesus' mission.”

“Okay. And what's that?” He hadn't meant to get into a theological discussion, but obviously Burdette had given the subject thought. He decided to squeeze and see what came out.

“Well, let's start with what you asked me, the morality of self-defense. First off, loving your enemy doesn't necessarily mean giving him what he wants. How else is he going to learn violence don't pay, and that he has to reform his will? When a cop pulls some drunk off the road, it's for his own good, as well as others'.”

“But Jesus made Peter put away his sword. He went to his death instead. That passage you quoted from Matthew—it specifically says, ‘Do not resist an evildoer.' “

“Does it?” Burdette read the passage again. “Actually, none of these examples are direct threats to anybody's life. To hit somebody on the ‘right cheek'—if the guy who's hitting you is right-handed, like most people, the only way he can hit you on the right cheek is with the back of his hand, right? That was a formal insult in Jesus' day. He's not saying, ‘Let someone kill you'; he's saying, ‘Don't retaliate for petty injuries.' He's not saying, ‘Submit to being enslaved'; he's saying, ‘Go two miles instead of one.'

“Second, this passage is addressed to the person who's getting insulted. It doesn't say that if a child is being murdered before your eyes, hey, not your problem! Does it?”

Dan said, “No, but—”

“Especially if you're executing governmental authority. Romans, Chapter thirteen: ‘The powers that be are ordained of God.' Next, the military. Jesus was up front with people who were on the wrong path. He confronted the Pharisees. He warned the priests not to profane the Temple. But he never told the centurion to stop being a centurion. In Luke, John the Baptist tells the soldiers,
‘Rob no one by violence or false accusations, and be content with your pay.' It doesn't say not to be a soldier; it says to be a
good
soldier.”

Burdette moved a couple of papers around, glanced at one, tossed it into his out-box. “The question isn't whether force is right or wrong in itself. It's like everything else in God's world: We can use it for good or evil. It's a question of authority. The biblical principles of authority— and you want it before lunch? Well, start with the idea of the covenant. The deal God makes with his people.

“Because God is the creator, any authority one man has over another has to come from Him. We have three human-to-human covenants: the marriage covenant, the civil covenant, and the church covenant.

“The civil covenant's the one that says the king or the government has authority and the people submit, as long as the government acts in accordance with the laws of God. Our government was founded on a scriptural basis. Now, it's departing from that—tolerating abortion, homosexuals, promoting sexuality and secular humanism. If we don't turn back, authority will be taken from it. But so far, it has the civil authority.”

“Okay, what about nuclear weapons?”

“God used them.”

Dan said, “What?”

“On Sodom and Gomorrah. Those were God's nuclear weapons…. Look, the Bible says the government has the authority to defend us. The other side has nukes. End of argument, far as I'm concerned.”

“And you think this is what Jesus would have said?”

Burdette sighed. “Dan, we don't live in the millennium yet. We live in the ‘between times.' The Devil's at work all around us. I'm going to fight him at Armageddon. The way I read this Book”—he put it gently back on the shelf—”I'm convinced what I do here is totally and completely in accordance with the teachings of Jesus and the will of God.”

Dan was going to ask for clarification—there still seemed to be a gap there somewhere, either in Burdette's reasoning or his own—when Sakai came in and went silently
to his cubicle. “What'd the captain need?” Dan asked him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. He wants to see you next.”

“Who, me? Now?”

Sparky nodded, and Burdette said, “Well, Commander, we'll talk about it some more later, okay? And maybe I can share with you the good news, about Jesus Christ's atoning death on the cross.”

The first hint he had that something was wrong was the woman standing outside Westerhouse's closed door. She was stocky, unsmiling, in a gray suit jacket and plaid skirt. She had a visitor tag but no escort in sight. He was about to ask her who she was when the door opened and one of the submariners came out. He looked stunned. She caught the door and held it for Dan. He looked through and saw a large black hand resting on the table.

“Lieutenant Commander Lenson, sir.”

Westerhouse said, “Sit down, Dan.”

Admiral Niles didn't say anything. So Dan looked at the others, trying to figure out what was going on, Westerhouse, looking as tired and hollow-cheeked as he did these days. Mrs. Toya, Security. And two civvy guys in suits and ties.

The door closed softly behind him. Then he heard it lock.

Westerhouse said, “Dan, this gentleman on my right is Special Agent Sheck Attucks, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The one on my left is Special Agent Patrick Bepko, from the Naval Investigative Service. They inform me we have a leak from inside this program. We wondered if it might be you.”

He just stared. Finally, he said. “No, sir, it's not me.”