Final Flight Read Online Free PDF

just how large,
how massive, this ship truly was.
    “It’s very noisy,” one of the visitors said
to Toad, who nodded politely. The hum and whine
of the fans inside the air conditioning system was the
background noise the ship’s inhabitants became
aware of only when it ceased.
    “What is that smell? I’ve noticed it ever
since we came aboard,” Judith Farrell said.
    “I don’t really know,” Toad replied as he
examined her nose to see if it crinkled when
she sniffed. “I always thought it was the oil they used
to lubricate the blowers in the air-conditioning system,
or the hatch hinges, or whatever.” All the other
visitors were inhaling lungfuls.
    “You don’t notice it after awhile,” Toad
finished lamely.
    The photographer was finished. They went down
another set of ladders and back to the wardroom where
they had begun the tour.
    “I sure am glad you folks could come out today for a
little visit,” Tarkington said as he shook hands with the
men. “Hope we didn’t walk you too much or
wear you down. But there’s a lot to see and it takes
a little doing to get around.” He turned and gazed
into Judith Farrell’s clear blue eyes. “I just
might get up Paris way sometime this summer,
ma’am, and maybe you could return the hospitality
and give me a little tour of Gay Paree?”
    She favored him with the smallest smile she could
manage as she ensured he had only her fingertips
to shake.
    “I hope you enjoyed your tour,” Captain
Grafton said to the group.
    “Very much,” the Italian woman replied as
heads bobbed in agreement.
    “There’s more Kool-Aid,” Grafton gestured
toward the refreshment table, “if you’re thirsty.
Please help yourselves. The boats will be leaving in about
five minutes to take you back to the beach. Your tour
guides will escort you to the quarterdeck. If you have
any unanswered questions, now is the time to ask them.”
    “Are nuclear weapons aboard this ship,
please?” The question came from one of the Frenchmen.
    “The American government can neither confirm nor
deny the presence of nuclear weapons aboard any
ship.”
    “But what if a war begins?” Judith Farrell
asked loudly. Grafton’s face showed no
emotion. “In that event, ma’am, we’ll do the best
we can to defend ourselves in accordance with American
government policy and our commitments to NATO.”
    “Isn’t it possible the presence of this ship in these
waters adds to international tension, rather than lessens
it?” Farrell persisted.
    “I’m not a diplomat,” Grafton said
carefully. “I’m a sailor: You should ask the
State Department that question.” He glanced at his
watch, then at the junior officer tour guides.
“Gentlemen, perhaps it’s time to take these folks to the
quarterdeck.”
    As his group prepared to descend the ladder from the
quarterdeck to the Yes sir float
Lieutenant Tarkington again shook each hand.
To Farrell he said, “I sure am glad I had
the chance to get to know you, ma’am. It’s a small world
and you just never know when or where we’ll meet again.”
    She brushed past him and was three steps down the
ladder when she heard him say loudly, “I’m sure
you’re a fine reporter, Judith, but you shouldn’t work
so hard at playing the role.” Teetering on her
heels, she turned and caught a glimpse of
Tarkington’s face, dead serious, as the man behind
her on the ladder lost his balance and almost sent her
sprawling.
    “Don’t forget the Toad, Judith Farrell.”
    A week later the Tangiers police received an
enquiry from Paris about the J Accuse reporter.
He had not returned from his trip nor had he filed
a story. At the hotel where he had reservations, the
bartender, a retired merchant mariner from
Marseilles, identified the reporter from a
black-and-white photograph which pictured a
middle-aged man with thinning hair and heavy jowls.
The bartender gave a tolerably accurate
description of the young woman to the police, but
he had not overheard any of the