changed his mind when he’d learned evacuation would require requesting permission from Fifth Fleet. Arnot had pointed out that evacuation might be devastating to the morale of the medical department, since they’d had extensive training and additional resources supplied to deal with such a contingency. Without coming right out and saying it, he’d led the admiral to conclude that an immediate request for an evacuation might reflect on the admiral’s ability to rely on his own resources. Admiral Jette had not needed any prompting to remember when the promotion board to two stars met.
Easy to make snap judgments, though. Arnot grimaced. After this cruise, he’d be up for promotion to one- star himself, and someday might be sitting in the seat Jette occupied now.
No. He’d give the admiral the benefit of the doubt, Arnot decided.
With the forward galley secured since Griffin had fallen ill, the aft galley was far more crowded than normal. Williams entered the galley, and saw that the line stretched around the compartment before arriving at the stack of trays and the food line. Those going on watch had front-of-the-line privileges, and he started to walk around the line and invoke them when he noticed a woman standing at the end of the line. Short dark hair framed translucent skin, the mouth broad and generous, the eyes dark blue. She had the look of someone who was about to laugh at any moment. Where had he seen her before?
Oh, right. In the galley. She had just finished her tour of mess cranking when he reported in.
He headed for the end of the line to stand directly behind her. She didn’t turn around. Williams cleared his throat, scuffed his foot on the floor, and finally said, “Hey.”
She glanced behind at him, and a look of recognition crossed her face. “Hey.” She nodded a pleasant if not altogether friendly acknowledgment.
“Hey,” he said again, a bit at a loss for words. “You were in the galley, weren’t you?” He could see the look of disdain on her face — of course she had been in the galley — all sailors spent a tour there. Probably every guy in the world tried to come on to her, so she was playing it cool. Well, he would just have to show her he was different. “You got off right after I got here,” he continued doggedly, wondering if he was making any sense at all. “I just got off last week. Three months total.”
“How very nice for you,” she said politely, then turned to face forward. He noticed the insignia on her sleeve.
“Engineman, huh? How do you like it down there? I’m in aviation data systems. VF-95.” He saw her start to lose interest at the mention of aviation, and said, “It’s really pretty interesting. And dangerous. I was down in the hanger bay when the fire broke out.” There was a small flicker of interest in her eyes. He debated telling her how the petty officer had called him a wild man, but had the good sense to quit while he was ahead.
“I was on the bridge when it happened,” she said finally. “I saw the boat just before it fired.”
“Really? What did it look like?”
She shrugged. “Small, wooden. An outboard motor. I almost missed it. Not that it would have made any difference if I had, I guess. We still got hit.”
“It could have been a lot worse,” he said. “We had enough time to get the hanger bay doors at least partially shut and there was only one missile fired.”
“Yeah. I guess. But if I’d seen it a minute earlier, maybe even thirty seconds before…” Her voice broke off and she looked over his head as if staring at something only she could see.
“A minute — we could have gotten the doors closed all the way if we’d had that long,” he said unthinkingly. She recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “But there wasn’t any way to, was there? I mean, it wasn’t showing up on radar or anything, I heard.”
“No. That’s why we have lookouts. But still — it was there. Like I said, if I’d seen it earlier, things might have been different.”
“Yeah, and if we were off the coast of Florida, it wouldn’t be so damn hot,” he said.
Her head snapped up, eyes suspicious, as though she suspected he might be making fun of her. He continued, hurrying. “From what I hear, most people wouldn’t have seen it all. The first we would have known about it was taking a missile in the gut. But the way it did go down, we had the fire crew on scene and we were able to contain it before it spread to any of the aircraft. The warning we did get made the difference between being out of commission for a long time and taking a little hit. That’s what I meant.”
Her face was still hard, but he thought he saw a slight softening around her eyes. “I keep wondering what would have happened if I paid more attention,” she said quietly.
“Could you have?” he asked, aware of the tremendous risk he was taking.
She shut her eyes, squeezing them shut as though reliving the incident. “Maybe.”
“No. I don’t think so. And if you keep thinking like that, you’re just going to screw everything up. You’ll be thinking about that, and you will miss the next one. You weren’t slacking off — and you know it.” He made his voice as hard as her expression.
She opened her eyes the slightest bit. “You seem to think you know a lot about me.”
He nodded, the feeling of certainty settling on him. “Yeah, I think I do. You don’t look like the type to screw around while you’re on watch. Did anyone tell you that you should’ve done a better job, seen it earlier?”
“No. Actually…” She hesitated for moment, a blush coloring her cheeks. “The captain told me I did a good job. He transferred me to engineering just like I wanted.”
“Well, there you go. The captain, he’s been in the Navy how long? Twenty-four, maybe twenty-five years? And he told you you did a good job and you don’t want to believe it? Well, I know who I believe.”
She considered him for moment, then stuck out her hand. “Andrea Smith.”
He took her hand in his, feeling the small, delicate bones, the silky skin over them. “Gary Williams. Nice to meet you again.”
“Williams?” Then her expression did relax. She laughed, even. “I heard about you and the fire. Somebody said—”
A new voice broke in. “Hey, you two lovebirds want to move ahead?” Williams looked up and saw that the line had already reached the stacks of trays. They’d been edging forward as they’d talked, but a gap was developing between them and the people in front of them.
“Oh, boy,” she said, taking a tray and handing him one. “It either looks better than usual or I’m starving.”
Williams followed her through the line, barely paying attention to what was put on his tray. It might be galley food, but he had a feeling this was going to the best meal he’d had in a long time.
SEVEN
Hank Greenfield was hungry, tired, and a damned sight colder than the weather warranted. He was wearing a lightly insulated jacket, as were the other FBI agents clustered around him. But the chill in his bones came from inside, a cold, clear warning signal he’d learned long ago not to ignore. There was something very wrong about this mission, and his body was reacting to it as though it was a threat to self-preservation.
Greenfield had joined the FBI fifteen years ago, following two tours in the Army. Despite his military experience, he’d come out with a strong belief in his country in general and law enforcement in particular. With his college degree in military justice and his test scores, he’d been accepted on his first application. He began his
