"We do," Cal said.
"I guess so," she said. "I wonder if Kenai knows."
"I bet she does," Nick said, quirking an eyebrow at Cal, who smothered a grin. "What happens on Munro during the launch?"
"Munro will run security from Combat," Cal said, "you remember, from the operations center three decks down?"
"Are there often a lot of offshore security problems during launches?" Nick said.
Cal smiled at his deceptively mild tone, and shook his head. "No," he said. "Not unless you count the charter skippers whose clients sign up for a shot at a game fish and, what the hell, since we're in the area, how about a front-row seat to the launch, too, or the drunk driving the Liberty Bay-liner who can't resist coming in for a closer look." He reflected. "I'm told there's the occasional poacher, hunting alligator. The place is virtually a game preserve, no hunting, trapping, and especially no shooting. But that's about it. Most people are sensible, they know enough to stay out of the area during a launch, or if they want to watch to go to one of the official viewing areas."
"Have you ever seen a launch, Cal?"
"No, I'm ashamed to say I haven't, Doreen, except on television," Cal said. "I'm looking forward to it."
"How close will we be?"
"How close? Well," Cal said, sitting back and steepling his fingers in an exaggeratedly pontifical gesture, "we are going to have media on board for this launch and, I'm told, at least one admiral. And then there's you. The Coast Guard is, shall we say, very excited about the public relations opportunity inherent in having you on board a Coast Guard cutter to watch your daughter go into space, all three of you descendants of the only Coastie to have been awarded the Medal of Honor."
"Relatives, not descendants," Nick said.
"Whatever," Cal said. He dropped the steeple and grinned. "All this together means we get to go in a lot closer than the OSC ordinarily does."
"Which means?" Doreen said.
"I aim to take us in as close as we can get without running aground. You'll have a front-row seat. Our BMC-bosun's mate chief, basically our chief navigator-is looking at the charts right now."
"When we said we'd do this, the man at NASA told us it wouldn't be as exciting as being on the grandstand."
"Distances over water are very deceiving," Cal said. "It will feel much closer than that. The sound of it will get to us a few moments after the fact, but that's true onshore as well."
"How many reporters will be on board?" Doreen said. "I do hate it when they shove microphones in my face and ask me how I feel about my only child being an astronaut."
"There were plenty of times when you wanted to launch her into orbit yourself," Nick said.
"Back when she was a teenager," Doreen said indignantly, over their laughter, "and every mother wants to launch her daughter into orbit at some point during adolescence." She reflected. "She was very stubborn."
"She still is," Nick said. "How else could she put up with the Arabian Knight?"
"The Arabian Knight?" the XO said, who had just joined them.
"The part-timer," Cal said without thinking. "The playboy sheik from Qatar who gets a ride-along on this shuttle courtesy of the satellite NASA is launching for his family business, otherwise known as Al Jazeera. The mission commander has landed Kenai with the job of babysitting him."
There was a startled silence, and he looked up from his mug to find them all staring at him. His words, he realized too late, had just ousted their relationship. "Or so I read in the newspaper," he said weakly.
"Are there any of those gorgeous snickerdoodles left?" Doreen said, leaning forward and smiling at the XO.
Into this awkward silence Lieutenant Noyes opened the door of the wardroom. He looked around until he found Nick. Target acquired, he smiled. He was a friendly soul, well-liked by the crew, something that could be said of only a very few aviators. The aviator-sailor relationship was competitive and all too often antagonistic, but Noyes was one of the good guys. "Mr. Munro," Noyes said now, "would you like a walk-around of the helo before you turn in? Give you an advance look at what you're letting yourself in for when you go flying with us." He grinned. "Might want to back out after. We're just a bunch of knuckle-draggers down in the AvDet."
"Love to, Lieutenant, but please, call me Nick."
The lieutenant smiled at Doreen. "It's a nice night, Mrs. Munro, beautiful view of the Miami skyline."
Not wholly impervious to his charm, Doreen shook her head. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but it was a long flight. I'm going to turn in."
Later, when the wardroom's other mess cook, one Seaman Crane, had been summoned to escort Doreen to the junior officers' stateroom that had been vacated for the Munros, the XO looked at Cal.
"Don't," Cal said.
"You're dating an astronaut?"
"Shut up," Cal said.
"You're dating an astronaut."
"I mean it, XO, put a lid on it, right now."
"I've always dreamed I could fly," the XO said, hand pressed to his heart.
"Good night, XO."
"Good night, Captain, and very sweet dreams."
Cal flipped him off over his shoulder, and heard Taffy laugh as he headed up to his stateroom.
19
MIAMI
Mrs. Mansour's face was drawn with grief, but her voice was steady and she spoke with clarity and determination. She identified Adam Bayzani's doctored passport photo as that of Daoud Sadat, the man who had rented her spare room for the last six months, although she didn't think much of the likeness, saying the individual features seemed exaggerated.
"Exaggerated how?" Patrick said. "It would help if you could be a bit more specific. Take your time."
She did, studying the likeness of a man who she believed had murdered her only child. After a bit she said, "His forehead might be a little too broad in the photograph. His was more narrow, I think. The ears and nose are too long, too, and the mouth a little too wide. It's almost-"
"What?" Patrick said when she hesitated. "Almost what?"
"It's as if someone smeared the photograph when it was still wet." She raised a hand in a helpless gesture. "That's all."
"It's a lot, Mrs. Mansour, believe me."
"Will it help you find him?"