He shifted the conversation back to work topics. “I just hope you can fix this thing. Having to order a new mast will completely screw up our schedule.”
They watched the long mast being driven away slowly toward the secure hangar. The fifty-four-foot Arrogant—she would be the largest of the Minnow fleet — looked strangely small and denuded without the pole towering over her deck.
The mast was probably one of the most advanced pieces of electronic surveillance equipment in the world. Built into the aluminum structure was a host of receivers designed to pluck any electronic transmission out of the air. Without a functional mast, the Arrogant was basically just another sailboat full of millions of dollars of worthless electronics.
“Don’t worry, Brendan,” Scottie assured him. “If anyone can fix her, it’s me. She’ll be good as new by Monday morning. This will not impact our date with the IO.”
Brendan took comfort in the fact that Scottie’s assurance had a basis in fact. As part of the Feisty Minnow program, Baxter had insisted that at least one crew member personally build each piece of specialty equipment. Scottie was their mast expert. He’d spent six months at Raytheon and at Fort Meade building and testing two masts. In fact, Scottie’s new design was so good the other sailboats in the secret fleet would be refitted with the new mast as soon as Baxter found the budget for it.
Brendan checked his watch. Another fifteen minutes and he needed to leave to change before dinner at Marjorie’s. The thought of seeing Liz again — and Don, he reminded himself, Don would be there, too — made him excited and nervous at the same time.
Easy, Tiger. She’s a married woman now.
He brought himself back to the moment. Time to check in with Rick. He pulled out his phone and thumbed through the speed dial until he found the number.
“Baxter.”
“Hi, Rick. It’s Brendan. I wanted to let you know we had to pull the mast again. The high-band receiver is still acting funky. Scottie says he’s sure he can fix it this weekend and have it replaced on Monday.”
“Hmmm. Well, if anyone can fix it, it’s Scottie. You’re lucky to have him.”
“You can say that again,” Brendan replied. He hesitated. “What about the rest of the crew? How’s that looking?”
Recruiting for Brendan’s team had been slow. Besides Scottie, they had only one other tech to run the specialized equipment, and time was running out. The Arrogant and her crew were scheduled to deploy to the Indian Ocean — the IO — in March. Brendan mentally ran through the list of major items that needed to be fixed between now and then, and that didn’t even include shakedown cruises and live testing of the receivers before they left. He shivered. Sailing the Chesapeake in January and February was not for the faint of heart.
Baxter made a snorting noise. “I’ll get you candidates as soon as I have them, Brendan. If you didn’t keep rejecting them, you’d have a full crew by now.”
Brendan held his tongue. Their IO deployment was planned for eighteen months, and he wanted to make damn sure he was bringing on a crew that wouldn’t kill each other during that time. Baxter thought he was being too picky.
“Anyway,” Baxter continued, “I’m sending another over on Monday. Ex-Navy gal turned analyst, USNA Class of 2007. Name’s Magdalena Ambrose. Smart as a whip and she’s done embedded tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, too. Might fit the bill.”
Brendan’s hopes rose. The double combination of Naval Academy graduate and field experience gave him confidence that Magdalena — he hoped she went by Maggie, because her full name was a mouthful — would work out.
“I hope so, Rick. I’m getting worried about the schedule.” Getting electronics experts who didn’t look like electronics experts was a major part of the job description. If they were supposed to be rich dilettantes, they needed to look and act the part.
“Son, that’s why you get paid the big bucks — so you can worry about the schedule and I can go home early on Friday night. Speaking of which, don’t you have a date tonight?”
Brendan sputtered. “What? How did you know about that? And, anyway, it’s not a date. It’s a couple of Academy friends having an early Thanksgiving dinner—”
“I don’t know, Brendan. Master Chief says she’s hot.”
“She might be, but she’s also married.”
Baxter’s voice took on a teasing tone. “C’mon, Brendan, a woman has a right to change her mind.”
“Not this woman, Rick. Once she does something, it’s for good. I had my chance a long time ago, and I blew it. End of story.”
“Well, have a good time, all the same.” Baxter laughed.
Brendan ended the call, gritting his teeth. The Master Chief had found out about Liz when Don visited one afternoon in the summer. Now all the old man wanted to talk about was Brendan’s “Navy gurl,” as he called her.
The teasing had gotten out of hand; he needed to talk to the Master Chief about it. He hurried to his locker to get his coat. When he opened the door, a white bottle of Old Spice aftershave sat on the top shelf.
A deep gravelly laugh came from behind him. “I figured you needed to call out the big guns for your date tonight with your Navy gurl, sir. So I got you a little present.”
Brendan whirled around to face the Master Chief. A wide smile wreathed the old man’s face. He reached out to pat Brendan’s arm. “Just joshin’ you, sir. Have a good time tonight with your friend.” He walked out the door with his peculiar rolling gait, leaving Brendan somewhere between speechless and touched.
Traffic on the bridge was heavy heading back into Annapolis. He cut off Route 450 and made his way onto the back roads, passing the back gate of the Naval Academy and setting off another round of nostalgia.
He maneuvered into the narrow streets of old town and found a lucky parking spot on the street. Brendan took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment, feeling the twinge in his knee as he did so. The joint had healed enough that he could run now, but like the ortho doctor had said, his knee had nowhere near the same strength as before.
The apartment was the size of a closet and cost more than he could afford, but he liked living in the old town section of Annapolis. He took a quick shower in the tiny stall and burrowed into his closet for some fresh clothes. After a few trips to the mirror, he settled on a pair of khakis, a crisp white shirt, and a blue blazer. Pretty much what a Navy guy would wear when out of uniform. Screw it, it’s just dinner.
He jogged to the end of the street and picked up a bouquet of flowers for Marjorie. The traffic was just as heavy going back over the bridge, and he arrived a few minutes late. A new BMW was already parked in Marjorie’s driveway. Don must have gotten a new car; Liz would be driving a rental.
The walk to the front door brought back more memories of being a midshipman — and his June Week mistake with Liz. He shook his head. He’d be glad when they finally deployed and he could move on with his life. By hanging around the Academy and all its memories, he was turning into a maudlin loser.
He paused at the front door. In the old days, he would have just walked in and called out to Marjorie, but that was a long time ago. The rules had changed.
Just as he reached for the brass knocker, the door opened.
Liz took a long sip of her Chardonnay. She put the glass down. Go easy, you need a clear head, girl.
She noticed Marjorie was watching her, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
“I’m sorry, Marjorie. I spaced out for a moment. What were you saying?”
Marjorie smiled at her. “He’ll be here soon. You know Bren, always a few minutes late. It’s a wonder that boy made it through Plebe Year at the Academy.”