“I don’t know what I did,” Colt replied honestly. “I wish I could say it was my knowledge or skill that saved me, but I’m afraid it was just dumb luck. All I know is that the jet rolled in on the ship on a kamikaze attack, and I was helpless. We almost lost a guided-missile cruiser tonight.”
Saying the words out loud shaded the events in a completely different light. The possibility of crashing and being lost at sea was an inherent risk of his chosen profession. But taking out a strategic asset and critical component of the carrier strike group made it seem targeted. It was almost as if nothing that happened had been random or could be explained away as a simple glitch.
He saw CAG’s jaw harden, and he knew his time was up.
“You disobeyed a direct order. You put our greatest asset at risk, and now you want me to cover up your reckless flat-hatting by grounding my entire fleet of F-35s? Well, I’m not buying it.”
Colt held his breath.
“Go directly to maintenance control and complete your paperwork, then straight to your stateroom. I’m grounding you and confining you there pending a review of the maintenance data.”
Colt exhaled through pursed lips, though he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. His entire fate rested on a report generated by a jet that had already betrayed him. Without concrete evidence validating his claims, CAG would likely take him to mast. Or, worse, he would recommend a FNAEB to have him stripped of his wings.
CAG turned to the Black Knights’ commanding officer. “Skipper, you will accompany me to maintenance control so we can get to the bottom of this.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
CAG gave Colt one more appraising glare. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Colt’s stomach dropped, but he performed a parade-worthy about-face and marched out of CVIC on unsteady feet.
6
NCIS Special Agent Emmy King sat at a waterfront brewery and stared over the railing at the empty slip in the yacht club where TANDY’s boat should be moored. She ran a finger along the side of her glass, rubbing away the condensation that had collected there while trying to ignore the man sitting across from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. After all, her father’s best friend had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Rather, she didn’t like how he reminded her of things she’d just as soon forget.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.
Emmy took her eyes from the yacht club and glanced up, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
The young woman, who was probably a junior or senior at Cal State Long Beach, started to walk away to check on her other tables, but Rick Cole stopped her. “Actually, we’ll have another round.”
The waitress smiled at Rick and said, “Certainly.”
Emmy raised her half-empty glass in silent toast to the studious waitress, then took a sip of the West Coast — style IPA, savoring the undercurrent of zesty orange and piney hops. They had been sitting at the table against the terrace’s railing well before the sun had set, watching boats transiting the inlet in and out of Alamitos Bay without seeing what Rick had promised would be there.
“I really need to get going back to San Diego,” she said.
“What’s the hurry, Punky?”
She gave him an impish smile, and he chuckled. Few people knew Rick better than she did, not even his fellow special agents at the FBI, and she knew he was only trying to get under her skin. He had bestowed on her the nickname when she was just a little girl with dark hair in pigtails and rosy cheeks, but she never gave him the satisfaction of knowing she secretly liked it.
She tipped back her glass and drained the rest of the beer. “I have a two-hour drive,” she said. “One beer is enough.”
She wasn’t dressed for a night on the town and wore dark gray jeans, ripped at the knees, with a plain white T-shirt that was loose and anything but flattering. A pair of red Vans and a red zip-up hoodie completed her casual ensemble and clashed with Rick’s obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt that made him look like a Black Magnum, P.I., minus the mustache.
He drained his glass when he noticed the waitress returning with two fresh ones, then nodded across the water. “Why go back? It’s still early, and my boat’s just over there.”
“Don’t you mean the Bureau’s boat?”
Rick shrugged and flashed her a toothy smile as the waitress set the beers on the table between them and absconded with the empty glasses. “That’s what I meant.”
For as long as she could remember, Rick loved to tease her. But sooner or later, he was going to have to come to terms with the fact that she had grown up; she wasn’t his best friend’s daughter, but his colleague.
“You can let me know what happens,” she said. As close as they were, she hadn’t come all this way just to have a drink with him on a random Thursday. She had kept him at arm’s length for a reason, but it would have been worth it if his intel had paid off and TANDY had shown. But without a fucking boat in the fucking slip, they had nothing.
“Stubborn like your daddy,” he muttered.
Damn him.
“I didn’t get to where I am by being docile.” She pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. “Enjoy your beers, Uncle Rick.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was only messing with you.”
She appraised him silently for a moment. “No, you weren’t.”
If she was being honest, she was stubborn like her daddy. It was probably one of the few traits she’d inherited from him that had helped her in life. But she considered herself patriotic and duty bound, beholden to the ideals of the Founding Fathers. She had a job to do, and she didn’t think digging up the past and sharing stories aboard a fifty-foot Hatteras fishing boat would help their cause.
Though she admitted the ten-minute drive to the marina would be better than the two hours it was going to take her to get back to San Diego, she’d rather walk the hundred miles than tread through a minefield of shared history that was better left buried.
“It’s a boat. You’re in the Navy now.”
“I’m not in the Navy,” she reminded him.
“Close enough.”
They stared at each other in silent defiance for a moment before she felt her phone vibrate in her hand. His phone must have also vibrated, because he ended the staring contest and fished it from his pocket. She took the opportunity to check the notification on the screen and saw that there was a message waiting for her in the secure portal. After a cursory glance over her shoulder, she unlocked her phone with a six-digit passcode and biometric scan, then opened the secure messaging application and entered another unique passcode to connect to the encrypted network.
Her momentary desire to leave gone, she sat back down while her phone completed the download process. Feeling the first bit of hope she’d had all night, she leaned forward in her chair and opened the inbox, ignoring Rick, who was probably doing the exact same thing. She entered the onetime code to decrypt the message, eager to see the latest message from the National Security Agency.
The NSA had been monitoring routine communications between KMART, a sailor aboard the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln, and TANDY, an unknown person located somewhere in Southern California. Based on the sophistication of the encrypted messages, they suspected TANDY worked for a hostile foreign intelligence organization, necessitating a joint operation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Her Uncle Rick had been assigned to track down the operative while she focused on unmasking the traitorous sailor. For the last three months, it had been her priority.