Hover (21 page)

I grasp at the door handle, squeezing it to steady myself.
No.
I take one more chance, peering over my shoulder. He gives no hint whatever that I stand mere feet from him.

My eyes drop to the floor. Visions of the woman in blue at the Hail and Farewell threaten to drown me. Her beauty, his smile, her arm around him.

How many else have there been? Are there?

I don't know whether to cry, shout, or take off running.

“Okay, sirs,” Petty Officer Sampson announces. “You're cleared to come back in. We've got the power back on inside.”

I'm forced to step inside the wardroom when those behind me start to jostle in that direction. I walk straight to the lounge area, taking shallow bird breaths, the ones that hitch in your throat.

You are so stupid. How could you ever think…? A guy like him? Someone like you? Look at you. Stupid ball cap. A flight suit that hangs on you like a tent. No makeup. Grease on your hands. Beautiful … Right.

Eric, Brian, Captain Magruder, and the rest begin to straggle in. Eric looks at me with disinterest before continuing forward.

My heart, cleaved in two, plunges to the floor.

But then, Eric does a lightning-fast double-take.

A luminous smile breaks across his face. Glowing, even. He walks immediately toward me.

“Hey!” he says. “You know, I didn't even recognize you there for a minute.” He ducks to look under my hat.

“You didn't…,” I choke.

“All this bumping around in the dark, you know.”

“You didn't … the dark…”

“It's good to see you,” he says in a low voice, his eyes speaking the truth as clearly as the sun rises in the morning.

I sway, stepping back to brace myself. “It is?”

He looks quickly to the other side of the wardroom. “I'd better get going. We need to start. Maybe I can catch you after?”

I recover. Sort of. “Yeah … after.”

He whisks away to the front of the room while I stumble forward, weak-kneed, taking a place in back. I slump in my seat, stretched beyond all emotional limits. My arms and legs, loose like spaghetti, spill over the chair.

What in god's name just happened to you, Sara? You are
so
not in a good place if he can cause a reaction like that.

I look down as everyone takes their seats, and then, one long face swipe later, I sit back and turn my attention to the front of the room, where Eric stands, just as he did for the Operation Low Level brief. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod before beginning.

We're okay. This is okay.

I think.

*   *   *

I scan the room, recognizing only half of the people in attendance—Admiral Carlson, Captain Magruder, Captain Plank, Commander Claggett, Brian Wilcox, and Mike Shallow.

I learn that we'll be working with the Australian Special Forces—the Special Air Service Regiment, or SAS. I glance across the table to the four men wearing Australian insignia. They're lean and tanned and one in particular grabs my attention.

I sit up. It's the man with blue eyes. The man who watched Eric and me atop Victoria Peak. The man with Ian's eyes. Were Em to describe this person, she would say he had stepped out of the same issue of
GQ
magazine as Eric. But I can only see the eyes, which pop so brightly against his dark brown hair. Ian's eyes … I forget myself for a moment as Ian's face replaces the man's.

In the far reaches of my awareness, Eric clears his throat. I refocus and find that the man is smiling. Oh no. I've been staring and I hadn't meant to. I swiftly return my attention to Eric. But an interesting thing is happening. Eric's demeanor has changed. Completely.

The brief takes on a different tone than the last time he spoke here. Before, he was lighthearted, made jokes, all the while conveying the seriousness of the exercise. But there's no joking now.

We'll be fast roping three teams tonight, the Aussie squad and two of ours, one led by Mike Shallow and the other by Lieutenant Peter Gage. I've never met Peter, but he sits next to Mike now, members of the same platoon. They could be brothers, these two, with their sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Even sitting, they appear to be tall, like Eric, though slightly larger in build.

Our targets include the
Lake Champlain
and the HMAS
Melbourne,
a Royal Australian Navy guided-missile frigate. And the brief that Eric is giving sounds like something that should be coming from Captain Magruder or even Admiral Carlson, given the scope. But he's got it wired. Every single angle. Every contingency plan. No matter the question or the concern, he's able to address it.

And this has me wondering once again. Why a
lieutenant
in charge? Why the same person coordinating every SEAL flight? Eric just briefed that the Shadow Hunters would be running the exercises tonight, but will it be them or
him
? My mind flashes back to a man speaking fluent Mandarin in Hong Kong. And the other languages …
“I'll tell you about it when we have more time someday.”

My friend Tom didn't know anything, but maybe I could ask someone else. But who? Captain Magruder? They seem like friends … which in itself doesn't make sense.

I study Captain Magruder and Admiral Carlson, the strain written across their faces mirroring Eric's. It's clear this exercise with the Australians signals a change. Operation Low Level involved many of the same high-ranking players, but Admiral Carlson and company acted differently then. Yes, it was a large-scale exercise, but the SEAL team's role in it was relatively small. It seemed to me that their concern rated a “normal” level. But the demeanor of the group today is decidedly different. An underlying tension permeates just about everything.

As Eric wraps up, everyone begins to push their chairs back and stand. Eric is surrounded by Admiral Carlson, Captain Magruder, and Captain Plank—another high-level, spur-of-the-moment conference. I won't be able to speak with him like this. I decide to move to the lounge area and wait there, hopefully without anyone taking undue notice.

I turn to walk that way, but I'm stopped, my path blocked by three of the Aussies. The blue-eyed one stands front and center.

“Do you make it a habit of staring?” he says with a thick Australian lilt.

I look up, as he stands at Eric's height. It's not hard to imagine what Em would be doing if she were here. Frothing at the mouth, probably.

“I'm sorry. I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“You were staring earlier.”

“Oh,” I say, putting my hands to my face. “Oh, that. I'm sorry. You just remind me of someone. That's all.”

“And who would that be?”

“My brother,” I say.

“I see.” As he regards me, a peculiar undercurrent of energy stirs between us.

“My name is Jonas,” he says, offering his hand. “It looks like we're going to be working together.”

The eyes that initially reminded me of Ian … something about them.

I realize I'm staring again and I've waited a bit too long to shake his hand. I finally offer mine. “Sara. It's nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. And these are my mates, Collin and Bartholomew,” he says, motioning to the two chiseled men standing next to him. They offer only tough nods in response.

He folds his arms across his chest, giving me a long look.

“What is it?” I say.

“It's nothing … although now I see what all the ruckus is about.” His eyes dart briefly to where Eric stands at the front of the room.

“What are you talking about?” I say.

I don't get to hear the explanation because Eric has just moved to my side, and I'm not sure how he could have covered the distance so quickly. And not just Eric, but Brian, Mike, and Peter, too.

A strange, suffocating thickness settles on the group.

“Sara, we need to finish your brief,” Eric says, jaw clenched.

Jonas looks between Eric and me several times. “Interesting,” he says, taking his time with each syllable.

Jonas's eyes finally rest on me. “Well, I don't want to keep you from your brief, but I'll see you tonight … without Mr. Marxen.”

Eric has gone rigid. What is going on here?

“He won't be there, but we will,” Mike says, motioning with his head to Peter, who stands next to him.

This is so uncomfortable. It's a staredown and I don't want to be here anymore.

“Let's go finish up, shall we?” Brian says. He places his hands on my back and on Eric's and ushers us away.

Just then, the call for flight quarters rings out over the 1MC, which means it's time for the Aussies to leave. They file out of the wardroom as I'm corralled by Eric, Brian, Mike, and Peter.

“Eric, what was that?”

“Is there someplace we can talk?” he asks. “We don't have long. Our guys are supposed to pick us up right after the deck is clear.”

“Well, Em is manning the tower, so we could go to my stateroom.”

“Perfect,” he says. And then turning to the others, “Guys, thanks. And tonight…”

“We've got it covered, man,” Mike says. “Don't worry.”

“Brian, I'll meet you in the hangar,” Eric says.

“Okay, see you in a few.”

I lead Eric to my room, but once we're inside, it's like watching a caged animal. He paces back and forth without saying a word. I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him and he looks at me with an intensity that … well, if light started shining out of his eyes, it wouldn't surprise me right now.

“I don't understand,” I say. “What just happened?”

“Jonas is … well, he's not to be trusted,” he says. “The reasoning behind that statement is for another time because I'm only going to be here for a few minutes. But in the meantime, just … well, be careful. Mike and Pete will be there tonight.…”

“But we're just going to brief and fly. He can't do anything. Although I'm not sure why I would need to be careful in the first place.”

His lips tighten as he tries to contain whatever it is that's threatening to come out.

“Eric, what am I dealing with here? What should I be careful about?”

“Just…” He takes a big inhale before letting the air rush out in a huff. “Just everything.”

He looks at his watch. “I have to go,” he says. “Singapore … we'll be there in five days. I'll see you in five days. When we pull in. Okay?”

“But how—”

“I'll find you. Don't worry.”

He puts his lips to my forehead before rushing out the door.

 

25

“All navigational aids and running lights will be off. The Shadow Hunters will have the call,” Mike says.

It's 0100 and Mike and Peter have joined Commander Claggett, Lego, Messy, and me in our small briefing space on the
Kansas City.
They sit next to me, like protective bookends, directly across from the Australian captain, Jonas. He wears a name tag now. His last name reads
MARTIN.

Mike's voice is strained. No joking or smiling like I'm used to. And Jonas is, well, staring. I suppose turnabout is fair play, but it's not easy being on the receiving end of a gaze like his. I force myself to focus on Mike or Peter or whoever is speaking, all the while wishing for a quick end to the brief.

“Exactly forty minutes after the last drop, you'll meet us one point five miles to the east for pickup,” Mike continues. “Again, the Shadow Hunters will call you into our posit.”

“The Shadow Hunters or Lieutenant Marxen?” I blurt out.

“Why?” Jonas asks, his eyes boring into mine. “Does it matter?”

“No. No, I, uh … no,” I say, looking to the ground, wishing I had never asked.

“I don't know,” Mike answers quickly. He turns to Lego. “Lego, just like we did in the exercise outside of Hong Kong, have the ramp at the water.”

“Will do, sir.”

Another wheels-on-the-water pickup. At night. I haven't even stepped foot in the aircraft, and my stomach has already turned over.

“Okay, any questions?” Mike says, looking at me directly.

“An in-the-water pickup?” I ask. The entire evening has been briefed as a dedicated fast rope night, so I thought the SEALs would stay dry.

“Night swim training,” Mike says, a slow, conspiratorial smile spreading across his face.

“I see,” I whisper.

Mike registers my discomfort and his expression shifts to an understanding one. “Ready for some fresh air?”

“Definitely.”

“No questions for me,” Jonas says, although he's not looking at Mike when he says it, his eyes trained on me. Mike's gentle visage disappears. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm actually looking forward to a night preflight. I need some space.

Mike, Peter, and Jonas rise and enter the hangar to brief their squads while Commander Claggett, Lego, Messy, and I head to the flight deck.

Commander Claggett is in a foul mood and I can understand why. I've always been taught “praise in public, reprimand in private.” But he was called out in front of the entire group today for the flight schedule snafu.

Just in case, I decide to steer clear, moving immediately aft through the aircraft cabin to the back of the bird to begin my preflight. I step off the ramp, only a few feet from the end of the flight deck, the ocean curling and roiling in our wake. Tendrils of water lick and smack as they roll inward, emitting a shower of phosphorescent green sparks. The water is utterly black beyond this tunnel of churning white foam. The blackest black. The message is clear, issued in a whispered roar.
I'm waiting.…

I shiver, no longer looking forward to a night preflight.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Jonas says.

My sharp intake of breath is audible, my hand flying to my heart.