And tonight he would give her another child. Her cycle, predictable as always, was confirmed by her morning temperature. Well, she admitted, it was mainly a statistical probability, but a very high probability in her case. Mustn't get too clinical, not with Jack, and not at a time like this.
Her skin was on fire now. Jack was so good at this. His kisses both gentle and passionate, his hands so wonderfully skilled. He was wrecking her hair, but that didn't matter. Surgical caps made perms a waste of time and money. Through the scent of the dusting powder now came the more significant smells of a woman who was nearly ready. Ordinarily she was more of a participant in these episodes, but tonight she was letting Jack take complete charge, searching over her silky skin for the… interesting parts. He liked that occasionally. He also liked it when she played a more active role. More than one way to do this. It came almost as a surprise. Cathy arched her back and whimpered the first time, not really saying anything. It wasn't necessary. They'd been married long enough that he knew all the signals. She kissed him hard and wantonly, digging her nails into his shoulders. That signal meant now!
But nothing happened.
She took his hand, kissed it, and moved it down so that he would know that she was ready.
He seemed unusually tense. Okay, she was rushing him… why not let… after all, she'd let him take charge, and if she changed now… She moved the hand back to her breast and was not disappointed. Cathy paid closer attention to him now. Tried to. His skills in exciting her were unchanged. She cried out again, kissed him hard, gasping a little, letting him know that he was the one, that her world centered on him as his centered on her. But still his back and shoulders were tense and knotted. What was the matter?
Her hands moved again, running over his chest, pulling playfully on the black hairs. That always set him off… especially as her hands followed the hairy trail down to…
What?
“Jack, what's wrong?” It seemed forever before she heard him speak.
“I don't know.” Jack rolled over, away from his wife, onto his back, and his eyes stared at the ceiling.
“Tired?”
“I guess that's it.” Jack slurred the words. “Sorry, honey.”
Damn damn damn! but before she could think to say something else, his eyes closed.
It's the hours he's working, and all that drinking. But it wasn't fair! This was the day, this was the moment, and—
You're being selfish.
Cathy rose from the bed and collected her peignoir from the floor. She hung it up neatly before getting another that was fit to sleep in and heading into the bathroom.
He's a man, not a machine. He's tired. He's been working too goddamned hard. Everyone has a bad day. Sometimes he wants it and you're not in the mood, and sometimes that makes him a little mad, and it's not his fault and it's not your fault. You have a wonderful marriage, but not a perfect one. Jack's as good a man as you have ever known, but he is not perfect either.
But I wanted…
I want another baby, and the timing is so right, right now!
Cathy's eyes filled with tears of disappointment. She knew she was being unfair. But she was still disappointed. And a little angry.
“Well, Commodore, I can't knock the service.”
“Hell, Ron, you expect me to have an old shipmate pick up a rental?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Mancuso snorted. His driver tossed the bags into the trunk of the Navy Plymouth while he and Jones let themselves into the back.
“How's the family?”
“Great, thank you, Commodore—”
“You can call me Bart now, Dr. Jones. Besides, I just screened for Admiral.”
“All right!” Dr. Ron Jones observed. “Bart. I like that. Just don't call me Indy. Let's see, the family. Kirn's back in school for her doctorate. The kids are all in school — day-care, whatever — and I'm turning into a damned businessman.”
“Entrepreneur, I believe, is the correct term,” Mancuso observed.
“Okay, be technical. Yeah, I own a big piece of the company. But I still get my hands dirty. I got a business guy to do the accounting bullshit. I still like to do real work. Last month I was down at AUTEC on the Tennessee checking out a new system.” Jones looked at the driver. “Okay to talk here?”
“Petty Officer Vincent is cleared higher than I am. Isn't that right?”
“Yes, sir, Admiral's always right, sir,” the driver observed, as he headed off towards Bangor.
“You got a problem, Bart.”
“How big?”
“A unique problem, skipper,” Jones said, lapsing back to the time when he and Mancuso had done some interesting things aboard USS Dallas. “It's never happened before.”
Mancuso read his eyes. “Got pictures of the kids?”
Jones nodded. “You bet. How are Mike and Dominic doing?”
“Well, Mike's looking at the Air Force Academy.”
“Tell him the oxygen rots your brain.”
“Dominic's thinking CalTech.”
“No kidding? Hell, I can help him out.”
The rest of the drive occupied itself with small talk. Mancuso swept into his office and closed the soundproof door behind Jones after ordering coffee from his steward.
“What's the problem, Ron?”
Jones hesitated just a fraction before answering. “I think somebody was tracking Maine.”
“Track an Ohio? Come on.”
“Where is she now?”
“Heading back out to sea, as a matter of fact. Blue Crew is embarked. She links up with a 688 when she clears the strait for some noise checks, then clears to her patrol area.” Mancuso could discuss almost anything with Jones. His company consulted on the sonar technology for all submarines and anti-submarine platforms in the U.S. fleet, and that necessarily included a lot of operational information.
“Got any Gold Crew guys on base now?”
“The captain's off on vacation. XO's here, Dutch Claggett. Know him?”
“Wasn't he on the Norfolk? Black guy, right?”
“That's right.”
“I've heard good stuff about him. He did a nice job on a carrier group on his command quals. I was riding a P-3 when he kicked their ass.”
“You heard right. He's being deep-dipped. This time next year he'll be taking command of a fast-attack.”
“Who's his skipper?”
“Harry Ricks. Heard of him, too?”
Jones looked at the floor and muttered something. “I got a new guy working for me, retired chief whose last tour was with Ricks. Is he as bad as I hear?”
“Ricks is a super engineer,” Mancuso said. “I mean it. He's a genius at that stuff.”
“Fine, skipper, so are you, but does Ricks know how to drive?”
“Want some coffee, Ron?” Mancuso gestured at the pot.
“You might want Commander Claggett here, sir.” Jones rose and got his own coffee. “Since when have you turned diplomat?”
“Command responsibilities, Ron. I never told outsiders about the crazy stuff you did on Dallas.”
Jones turned and laughed. “Okay, you got me there. I have the sonar analysis in my briefcase. I need to see his course tracks, depth records, that stuff. I think there's a good chance Maine had a trailer, and that, Bart, is no shit.”
Mancuso lifted his phone. “Find Lieutenant-Commander Claggett. I need him in my office at once. Thank you.
