Target Lock

Taman Werdi Budaya Art Center 1830 Hours, Zone Time: August 20, 2008

Located in the suburbs of the boisterous island capital of Denpasar, the Taman Werdi Budaya Center lingered as a preserve of the old Bali, a place of lotus ponds, delicate gardens, and fantastically decorated Balinese architecture.

Here gathered the elite of a race of artists, the sculptors, the painters, the actors, the musicians, and the dancers, especially the dancers, to perform for the world at the center’s amphitheaters.

The prerequisite preliminary reception was held outside of the theater area in a garden lit by the flicker of oil lanterns. Elliot MacIntyre found the setting exotic and interesting, even while going through the appropriate political motions. Especially as he was in the company of Amanda Garrett.

In the last minutes before the opening of the night’s performance, they found themselves walking slowly along a path that circled the garden’s perimeter, a cool and darkened place away from the core of the talk and forced official joviality.

The unsecured environment made shop talk unwise, and MacIntyre was willing to take advantage of the fact.

“One of the problems I’ve found with the Navy is that while you do see the world, it’s just in glimpses.”

“I know what you mean,” Amanda replied, trailing her fingertips over a piece of path-side statuary, its features half erased by time and exposure. “You catch a taste of something in passing, but the full flavor doesn’t hit you until you’ve had the chance to think about it for a while. Only by then it’s gone and you’re moving on to the next mission, the next tour.”

“There are other ways to live, I suppose.” Eddie Mac hesitated for a moment. “Amanda, have you ever thought about what you’re going to do after the Navy?”

It was her turn to hesitate, a thoughtful expression crossing her shadowed features. “For a time I was, but I sort of gave up on it when you gave me the Sea Fighters. I could never really come up with a solid idea of what I wanted. There were the superficialities, like maybe picking up a consultant’s job somewhere or buying a real cruising boat, but no true vision ever jelled.”

“What about a family?”

“It would be nice,” she replied softly. “I envy you Judy and your sons. But I’m running out of time there. Pretty soon, having children won’t be such a good idea.”

MacIntyre snorted. “Nonsense! You’re still a young woman, Amanda. There’s no reason you couldn’t start a family if you wanted one.”

She chuckled. “Thank you. But there is still one complication: I’m old fashioned in some ways. If I were to have a family, I’d want someone to have a family with. That hasn’t jelled, either.”

MacIntyre stopped walking. “I can’t understand that. For someone like you…” He fumbled with the words, suddenly feeling awkward. “There must have been opportunities.”

She gave an acknowledging tilt of her head. “Oh, yes, a couple of times, but never quite the right one at the right time. The luck of the draw.”

“Some kind of luck, anyway.” Elliot MacIntyre felt himself on the verge of doing something catastrophically wrong. His hand ached to reach up and brush aside the curtain of red brown hair from Amanda’s cheek, and he hungered for the first time in many years for the feel of a woman’s lips under his — this woman’s.

“Amanda.” It was another voice out of the night. A tall figure in a white evening jacket strode down the walk toward them. “Ah, and you as well, Admiral MacIntyre, good evening!”

“Good evening, Mr. Harconan.” MacIntyre was pleased with the way he kept the snarl out of his voice, even as he watched the way Amanda looked up at the approaching taipan.

“Good evening, Makara.” There was an odd timbre to Amanda’s reply, a hesitation yet an excitement as well. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“And why should you think that? With your permission, Admiral, I’d like to invite Captain Garrett to sit with me this evening. I’d greatly appreciate the chance to share this performance with her.”

“That’s entirely her call, Mr. Harconan.”

“Amanda?”

“Well…” She paused a moment more before accepting the arm offered her. “If you don’t mind, sir?”

“Why should I, Captain? Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you and Mr. Harconan after the show.”

As he watched them start down the walk to the amphitheater entry, MacIntyre found that his hand still ached from the fist he had clenched.