"I'm not sure."
Scott took a moment to review what Earlywine had told Tracy Bonello. "During Earlywine's visit to the combat direction center, he overheard the radio conversations between the ship, the Hawk-eye, and Sammy's flight. According to Tracy, Earlywine has some interesting — disturbing — information."
"Disturbing?"
"Yes. He knew the names of the people in the two Hornets. He said something weird happened during a night intercept of an unknown bogey, and Sammy's plane went down during the encounter."
"Could it have been a midair?"
"It doesn't sound like it. When Sammy's wingman returned to the boat, the navy wouldn't allow Earlywine to interview the flight crew. In fact, the navy hustled Earlywine back to San Diego right after Sammy's wingman returned to the ship."
"Well, I can understand the navy's concern about investigating the accident before someone starts speculating about what happened."
Scott took a breath and slowly let it out. "The navy doesn't know that Earlywine was taping his tour of the ship."
"Aha."
"A few seconds after the accident, Sammy's wingman and the backseater can be heard yelling over the radio, and I quote, 'The bogey fried 'em, blew 'em to hell.' End of quote."
"What were they chasing?"
"I don't know, but Earlywine thinks he has the answer. He hasn't gone public with the story yet, but he told Tracy that it sounded like they were trying to intercept something that no one could see on radar."
Jackie rolled her eyes. "A UFO?"
"That's what she thinks."
"O-kay, but why would it destroy an airplane?"
"I don't know, but Earlywine played the tape for her. Tracy told me she could hear panic in their voices — that it was very evident."
"Pardon my skepticism, but have they found any wreckage, any debris in the water?"
"If they have, they're keeping it quiet. According to the Associated Press, both the navy and the Pentagon reported that the jet disappeared during a routine training exercise. The search effort has been called off, and the names of the crew members are being withheld pending notification of their relatives."
"Obviously, your friend's family and his wife have been notified. What about the other guy's relatives?"
"Both families have been notified."
Jackie paused a moment. "Let's see if I have this straight. We have an unexplained loss of a Hornet and its crew. Then, not aware that Earlywine taped the radio conversations, the Pentagon has thrown a blanket over the accident, calling it a mishap during routine training exercises."
"That's about it."
Jackie gazed at the sea. "I think the Pentagon is engaged in a cover-up because they don't know what they're dealing with."
"Looks that way." He suppressed a sudden feeling of grief and anger. "Tracy was upset and skeptical when Earlywine first contacted her, but he convinced her that he can find out what's behind the stonewalling."
"Let me guess. That's when she mentioned you to Earlywinedoes she know about the Agency?"
"No, she and Sammy didn't know I was with the CIA, and she believes our consulting firm is as advertised."
"That's good."
"Tracy told him I was a former naval aviator who had been carrier qualified, and he wants to meet me after the memorial ser.
vice.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each contemplating the sudden, awful changes wrought in the life of a young woman and her three children. Scott could visualize Tracy sitting on the divan, her teeth clamped on her lower lip, tears cascading down her cheeks, while she attempted to explain to Sally, Paul, and Sam junior why Daddy wasn't coming home again.
"Well," Jackie said, "we're due to arrive in Gibraltar at one, so we'd better start packing."
"Yeah." Scott stared at the tranquil sea and then reached for the telephone. "I'll make some reservations."
As early morning sunlight began to embrace the radiant city, Dr. Dixon Owens, a celebrated physicist, walked unsteadily to the large window in his suite at the Ocean Pointe Resort. The towers and turrets of the unique hotel made it look like a modern version of Camelot.
Nursing a king-size hangover from quaffing three bottles of Dom Perignon champagne the previous evening, he surveyed the regal Empress Hotel and the boat traffic in the picturesque Inner Harbor. A grossly overweight man of elaborate taste and expensive habits, Owens had always lived well beyond his means.
Now, much to his satisfaction, he could ditch his nagging wife and demanding job. No more endless meetings. No more working on weekends. No more compromises. His future would include chartered jets to exotic locations, lounging in the best hotel suites, drinking fifty-year-old Scotch, clothes tailor made by famous designers, and only the finest wines.
Owens followed the slow progress of a small whale-watching cruise ship until it sailed out of view beyond the harbor entrance. He smiled to himself as he continued to examine the mixed collection of colorful sailboats and graceful yachts.
A few moments later, a bright yellow-and-blue Cessna 185 float-plane swooped low across the harbor and gently splashed down on the mirror-smooth water. Owens checked his wristwatch and realized that he would be pushing the envelope to drive to Ogden Point in time to catch the 7:30 ferry to Seattle.
Deciding it was too late to brush his teeth and shave, Owens quickly threw on his rumpled clothes, packed his bag, and then called the front desk.
"This is Dr. Owens in three-twelve," he said brusquely. "I'm checking out and I need you to get my car from valet parking — immediately," he said, and hung up. He grabbed his luggage and rushed out of the room.
Reaching the elegant lobby of the resort, he walked past the woman at the checkout counter.
"Owens, three-twelve — send me the statement, sweetheart." He tossed his key on the counter.
"Sir, if you would—"
"I don't have time," he said with a dismissive wave.
He hurried outside and handed a single U.S. dollar to the young man holding his car keys.
"Thank you, sir."
Ignoring the lad, Owens tossed his bag in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph and awkwardly slid behind the wheel. He started the V-12 engine and raced out of the hotel driveway, narrowly missing a horse and carriage.
Mashing the accelerator to the floor, Owens roared across the Johnson Street Bridge and flew down Government Street, passing the Empress Hotel at a high rate of speed. Braking heavily, he turned west on Belleville in front of the Parliament Buildings and followed the waterfront route toward Dallas Road. Pushing the car hard, he had to lock the brakes to make the entrance to the ferry terminal.
Having driven the Rolls to the limits of its performance capabilities, Owens arrived at the Princess Marguerite III less than a minute before the last vehicle was allowed to board the two-hundred-car ferry.
As he parked the luxury automobile on the ship, he caught the glance of a middle-aged man in a crisp nautical uniform with epaulets on his shoulders. Their eyes met briefly, and the man with the pencil-thin mustache gave Owens an impish grin before he turned and made his way to the spacious upper decks.
Relieved to have made it to the ferry on time, Owens removed his keys, heaved himself out of the car, locked the doors, and went topside to tour the well-appointed ship. While the pristine 1,070-passenger Princess Marguerite III got under way, Dr. Owens followed a cheerful crowd of commuters and vacationers to the bountiful buffet. Relaxing and reading the Seattle Times, he drank orange juice, steaming coffee, and devoured a hearty breakfast large enough to feed three average-sized men.
Afterward he wandered into the large, glassed lounge area to take in the beautiful scenery of Admiralty Inlet and Mystery Bay. He found a comfortable chair and sat down with a broad smile on his face. Most of his share of the $42 million payoff was safely stashed in a bank on Grand Cayman Island.