“And change that fucking uniform! You’ve got paint all over it.”
A few minutes later, Adam rotated the long-armed handle on the watertight door and pushed it open, exposing only pitch black. He stepped out onto the catwalk, then closed and dogged the door behind him, standing with his back to the steel hull as he let his eyes adjust to the darkness and listened to the water rushing by sixty feet below him. The edge of the flight deck was just above his head, and a short climb up the ladder to his right would take him to what he really wished he was doing instead of being stuck indoors as a glorified paper pusher.
While most of his fellow Marines with an aviation Military Occupational Specialty, or MOS, had gone to Pensacola for advanced training, Uncle Sam had sent him to Newport, Rhode Island. For a foster kid from California who went to boot camp in sunny San Diego, that one winter in the Northeast was enough to convince him he belonged on the West Coast. The jury was still out whether he belonged in the Marine Corps.
Adam rarely spent time on the flight deck, and never during flight operations, but he was convinced that was where he wanted to be. Every time he sat down at his computer and waited for the system to log him in, he daydreamed about the warm sun washing over him as he ducked under exhausts and dodged spinning propellers. Compared to the purgatory of maintenance control, the flight deck was a wondrous splendor and the proverbial greener pasture.
But even though that was what he wanted, it still terrified him. He would have preferred waiting until daylight when he could see more than six inches in front of his face and spot the dangers lurking around him, but he couldn’t wait that long to send his message. So, he ignored his pounding heart and pushed through the fear to make his way along the bulkhead to the railing aft of the Sea Sparrow launcher.
He was at the stern of the ship, just to the port side of the landing area, and knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. But he didn’t have a choice.
How did I end up in this mess?
But he knew how, and it wasn’t overly complicated. A beautiful woman had been the downfall of many men through history, but he had never thought he would fall victim to something as banal as sex. Until, of course, Chen approached him at the Shore Club in Pacific Beach. Within five minutes, he knew he would do anything she wanted.
And he hated himself for it.
Committing treason had seemed so simple in the abstract. But now, as he skirted along the haze-gray painted steel to the platform just above the R2-D2-looking Phalanx Close-in Weapon System, he couldn’t help but question every choice he had ever made. Part of him was relieved that whatever fate had been planned for the F-35C failed to materialize and that the Navy pilot would return safely to the carrier.
“I’m so stupid.” His words sounded hollow against the wind whipping through the missile launcher behind him. It was an empty chastisement but made him feel marginally better.
Adam gripped the railing and stared into the distance, barely able to make out the carrier’s wake in the starlight. He caught sight of a pair of slow-blinking wingtip strobe lights flying closer to the ship and recognized them as belonging to the once doomed fighter. There was no question the chicken had come home to roost.
With sudden understanding, he turned and looked past the Sea Sparrow launcher, noticing for the first time the gaggle of men in white float coats standing on a platform next to the landing area. The Landing Signal Officers, known colloquially as Paddles, were there to guide the JSF back aboard the carrier. And he had given himself a front-row seat.
“So fucking stupid.”
The last place he wanted to be as the fighter landed on the carrier was only feet from the flight deck, so he removed the modified Nintendo Switch from his back pocket and hurried to turn it on. As it booted up, he performed the now familiar sequence of control inputs required to access the handheld video game system’s partitioned hard drive.
Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, plus.
He knew it was a play on the original Konami code, adapted for the new console, and he covered the screen to prevent its glow from giving him away. In the night’s blackness, even the faintest light pollution would be a beacon to his unwelcome presence, and he couldn’t afford to be caught with the device out in the open.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he said, urging it to finish booting up so he could transmit his message and return to the safety inside the ship.
When Chen had first given him the device while they lounged in bed one Sunday morning, he had thought it was a joke and started it up to play Mario Kart. But then she told him to turn it off and restart it while entering the faux-Konami string of inputs during the boot-up sequence. Now, just as he had seen then, a black reverse video screen replaced the familiar red screen, identifying the Covert Communication Partition.
He took his hand off the screen and saw only two icons labeled “Send” and “Receive.”
He tapped on “Receive” and held the device at arm’s length, screen facing skyward, and waited for the progress bar to fill. Once complete, he pulled it close and looked at the words displayed on the screen.
NO NEW MESSAGES.
He hadn’t expected any, but still felt dismayed she hadn’t shown the least bit of concern he was hanging himself out in the wind for her. With a groan, he opened the access panel and inserted the microSDXC card he kept hidden in his uniform, then tapped on the icon labeled “Send.”
He followed the commands on the screen, selecting the memory card and the message he had rushed to compose, then hit “OK.” As before, he held the device out with the screen facing the sky and waited for the progress bar to show his message had been transmitted to the orbiting satellites overhead. Once filled, he read the message on the screen.
DONE.
Adam thought it anticlimactic but didn’t really care how the technology worked. He removed the microSDXC card and slid it back into the hidden pouch in the waistline of his coveralls, then powered down the device. The next time he turned it on, it would boot up like any other Switch without even a hint that it was more than it appeared to be.
He tucked it back into his pocket and ducked around the Sea Sparrow launcher just as the JSF crossed the ramp and slammed down onto the flight deck above his head with a deafening roar. It should have startled him, but he was already fearing the response to his message. He knew he was just a minor cog in the wheel of global espionage, but part of him still hoped his actions might mean something, that he was important to somebody.
The JSF pilot pulled the throttle back, and silence once more filled the night. Adam took a deep breath and opened the watertight hatch to return to the belly of the beast.
5
Colt stepped off the bottom peg of his boarding ladder, thankful to be back on a naval aviator’s version of solid ground. He was amazed by the silence of the normally chaotic flight deck and heard only the wind howling through the chains securing the stock-still aircraft to the ship.
A staff sergeant stepped around the stubby nose of the stealth fighter jet and walked up to him. “Good jet, sir?”
Colt turned and looked up at the hulking staff noncommissioned officer, trying to read his stoic expression. As usual, he gave nothing away as he stared down the pilot who had dared to risk damaging his jet by taking it flying.
Colt shook his head. “I don’t…” The fear tightened around his chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
The staff sergeant gave him an odd look and waited for an explanation, but when Colt failed to deliver, he turned back to continue supervising his Marines and forgot about the lieutenant who walked on shaking legs aft to the tower, already lost in thought. Colt took the ladder outboard from the carrier’s superstructure and descended to the catwalk suspended above the water. From there, he opened a watertight hatch and stepped into a darkened anteroom before dogging it behind him and opening an inner door to the passageway lit up in red.