The girl was beautiful, he thought. Mantis had spoken often of her, lauding her ability to recruit assets, so it came as no big surprise when the spymaster had assigned her to the operation. Even if she had missed him observing her, he didn’t really blame her. Even the mongoose sometimes misses the viper in the wild.
But it was that other thing she had missed that bothered him.
She hadn’t seen the Black man in a colorful shirt follow her onto the lawn and duck behind a sycamore tree before she’d made the drop. At first, David had been worried the man would move to recover what she had left behind. But when the stranger followed her from Dexter Lawn, David was both relieved and concerned. Relieved that he could collect what she had brought him but concerned that her carelessness put him at risk.
David remained still until both Shanghai’s darling and her shadow disappeared. He waited another twenty minutes and observed his surroundings before standing with a heavy sigh and slipping out into the open. He crossed quickly to the bench, stooped to reach underneath and retrieve the memory card, then pocketed it and returned to his perch hidden in the trees.
He spent several more minutes watching the campus come alive around him as he organized his thoughts. He knew he needed to return to his office in the Computer Science building adjacent to the lawn to begin his task, but he had another appointment to keep first. More important than the damage it might do to his career aspirations if he missed it, he knew his absence might draw unwanted attention to the job that would occupy most of his day.
At last, he stood and walked along the red brick path bound for the five-thousand-square-foot 1928 Mission-style home. He would share his morning tea with the University president, like he did every morning. He would engage in small talk and hint at his desire for tenure, also like he did every morning, then he would lock himself away in his office to see what she had brought him.
But there was one more thing he needed to do first.
David crossed Perimeter Road and saw the University House sitting atop a squat hill, its ornate wooden door still cloaked in the early morning shadow. He paused at the bottom and pulled out his phone to place a call he was loath to make. It was answered after one ring.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was trying to reach Donna.”
There was a pause on the other end. “I think you have the wrong number.”
“I’m sorry. This isn’t six four two one?”
“Six four two two,” the woman replied.
“My mistake.”
He ended the call, satisfied he had notified Mantis of the danger to her operative. Whether she chose to warn the girl or simply cut her off was none of his concern. His only concern was to analyze the information contained on the memory card and fix whatever errors had caused his waveform to fail.
But first, it’s time for tea.
He tucked the phone in his pocket and started up the hill to begin his day.
16
Colt barely slept a wink that night. It wasn’t because they had stuck him in a crowded stateroom and forced him to sleep in a three-high bunk with only eighteen inches of clearance, because they hadn’t. As a guest pilot, they had assigned him to one of the two-person staterooms on the port side of the ship close to the dirty shirt wardroom. He had the entire room to himself and hadn’t been forced to suffer the intolerable snoring or bodily gas expulsions that had defined each of his previous experiences aboard an aircraft carrier. But still, he barely slept.
He rolled out of his rack just before six in the morning and let his bare feet cool on the worn linoleum floor while he held his head in his hands. As fresh as the memory was, the fear was already receding. He was embarrassed at being forced to leave the ship early but consoled himself by remembering he had a copy of the squadron’s maintenance data, and that if he got it into the right hands, he might avert a disaster.
With a groan, Colt stood up from the rack and crossed the short distance to where his towel hung on the open locker door. Other than the large parachute bag containing his flight equipment, he had only brought a small duffel with the essentials, including a week’s worth of fresh underwear and socks, clean T-shirts, and workout gear. He threw on one of his powder-blue TOPGUN T-shirts, slipped on his shower shoes, and grabbed his toiletries before tossing the towel over his shoulder and opening the door.
The hallway was still darkened, bathed in a faint red glow from the previous night, but before he had taken two steps, that changed. Bright white lights flickered on to replace the soothing red, and Colt squinted against the offense.
The 1MC confirmed what he had already suspected. “Now reveille, reveille, all hands heave out and trice up. Give the ship a clean sweep down fore and aft. The smoking lamp is lit in all authorized spaces.”
With eyes barely more than slits, he shuffled along the passageway to the officer head located a short distance from his stateroom. There were only two shower stalls in the smaller head, but for most air wing officers, reveille was often a clue that it was time to put the Xbox controller down and go to sleep, not get up and prepare to leave the ship in disgrace. He felt confident he wouldn’t have to wait for an empty stall.
Colt turned the corner with his gaze lowered and saw a pair of black leather boots just in time to avoid a collision. Startled, he looked up and saw his wingman from the night before.
“Hey, Colt,” Smitty said.
“You’re up early.”
“You know, early bird and all that bullshit.”
Colt nodded and waited for the Marine pilot to move aside, but Smitty just stood there with a concerned look on his face. He felt his waning anxiety return and wondered if he would ever regain his confidence.
“So, Colt…”
Here it comes.
Smitty’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial tone. “Did you get it?”
He felt his face flush with sudden fear that his theft was about to be unveiled. It took a second for Colt to brush aside the cobwebs and remember that it had been Smitty’s idea to steal the maintenance data in the first place. But still he struggled with the idea of letting the Marine in on the secret. If he was discovered, the last thing he wanted to do was drag someone else down with him.
When Colt didn’t answer, he stepped closer. “Did you?”
Colt shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
Smitty recoiled as if slapped. To a Marine, the motto Semper Fidelis was an eternal and collective commitment to the steadfast loyalty to those they served alongside. Colt knew he had probably offended Smitty by intimating that he didn’t trust him to have his back, but he couldn’t bear the thought of making Smitty complicit in his crime.
“Yeah. I do. Besides, I think I have an idea that might help.”
It was such a simple comment, but one that gave him hope and made him believe he wasn’t alone. Despite CAG’s open disbelief and Colt’s subsequent ostracism from the community he considered a family, before him stood a lone Marine who risked his own career to stand beside him. Still, his optimism was somewhat guarded. “What?”
“I think you should talk to my college roommate.”
Colt felt himself deflate. As much as he appreciated Smitty’s attempt to help, he needed something more concrete than an old college roommate to escape this mess unscathed. “Thanks, but—”