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17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      PART 4:Duty Status—Whereabouts Unknown

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      CHAPTER 40

      CHAPTER 41

      CHAPTER 42

      CHAPTER 43

      CHAPTER 44

      CHAPTER 45

      PART 5:Active Homing

      CHAPTER 46

      CHAPTER 47

      CHAPTER 48

      CHAPTER 49

      CHAPTER 50

      CHAPTER 51

      PART 1

      Mishap

      Mishap: Unplanned or unexpected event causing personal injury, occupational illness, death, material loss or damage, or an explosion of any kind whether damage occurs or not.

      (NAVAL AVIATION SAFETY PROGRAM)

      CHAPTER 1

      USS Dominion (CVN-84)

       0037N 17820W Speed 33 2215 hours (Time Zone YANKEE)

      Steve Bennett glanced at the clock on his computer screen. He ought to be in his rack and sleeping soundly. Instead, he sat with his feet propped on the edge of the workstation, hands clasped behind his head while he stared at a scenic Washington State calendar and thought about Grace.

      He was ten thousand miles from home, on an aircraft carrier in the middle of an unofficial communications blackout instigated by Grace herself. His wife. The mother of his children. The woman who had not spoken to him willingly since he’d been deployed.

      She had maintained radio silence like a wartime spy. He received official communiqués about the children, and sometimes the occasional report that made him regret giving her power of attorney. But never more than that.

      The cruise was nearly over, and for the first time in his career Steve felt apprehensive about going home. He had no idea whether or not they could put their marriage back together again.

      “Captain Bennett?” An administrative officer stood in the doorway with a clipboard in one hand and a PDA in the other.

      “What is it, Lieutenant Killigrew?”

      “Ms. Francine Atwater is here to see you, sir.”

      Bennett hid a frown. He’d nearly forgotten their appointment. In the belly of a carrier there was no day or night, just an unrelenting fluorescent sameness, stale recycled air and the constant thunder of flight ops rattling through the steel bones of the ship.

      “Send her in.” He unfolded his long frame and stood, assuming the stiff and wary posture schooled into him by twenty-six years in the Navy. Killigrew left for a moment, then returned with the reporter. Steve would have preferred to use the public affairs office on the 01 deck, but apparently Ms. Atwater was adamant about exploring every facet of carrier life. It was, after all, the era of the embedded reporter.

      Francine Atwater. Francine. A member of the “new media,” eager to take advantage of the military’s newly relaxed information policy. According to his briefing notes, she had arrived COD—carrier onboard delivery—and intended to spend the next two weeks in this floating city with its own airport. Both the skipper of the Dominion and Captain Mason Crowther, Commander of the Air Group, had welcomed her personally, but they’d quickly handed her off to others, and now it was Steve’s turn.

      “Ms. Atwater, I’m Captain Steve Bennett, Deputy Commander of the Air Group.” He tried not to stare, but she was the first civilian woman he’d seen in months. In a skirt, no less. He silently paid tribute to the genius who had invented nylon stockings and cherry-colored lipstick.

      “Thank you, Captain Bennett.” Her glossy lips parted in a smile. She was a charmer, all right, the way she tilted her head to one side and looked up at him through long eyelashes. Still, he detected shadows of fatigue under her carefully made-up eyes. Newcomers to the carrier usually suffered seasickness and insomnia from all the noise.

      “Welcome aboard, ma’am.”

      “I see you’ve been briefed about me,” she said, indicating his notes from the PAO.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “What a surprise. Everyone on this ship has. I swear, the U.S. Navy knows more about me than my own mother. My blood type, shoe size, visual acuity, sophomore-year biology grade—”

      “Standard procedure, ma’am.” Even in lipstick and nylon stockings, the media held no appeal to the military. Still, he respected the way she stood her ground, especially while wearing three-inch heels. Civilians were advised on practical shipboard attire, but apparently no one had wanted Francine to change her shoes.

      A tremendous whoosh, followed by a loud thump, rocked the ship. She staggered a little, and he put out a hand to steady her.

      “Tell me I’ll get used to that,” she said.

      “You’d better. We’re launching and recovering planes around the clock, day and night. It’s not going to stop.” He slid open a desk drawer and took out a sealed plastic package. “Take these. I always keep plenty on hand.”

      “Earplugs?” She slipped the package into her briefcase. “Thanks.”

      He motioned her to a chair and she sat down, setting aside her bag. She took out a palm-size digital recorder, then swept the small space with a glance that shifted like a radar, homing in on the few personal items in evidence. “You have a beautiful family.”

      “Thank you, ma’am. I think so.”

      “How old are your children?”

      “Brian and Emma are twins. They’re seniors this year. Katie’s in ninth grade. And that’s Grace, my wife.” A world of pain and hope underlay his words, but he prayed the reporter wouldn’t notice. Every day he looked at that picture and tried to figure out what would fix this. He’d never deceived his wife before, so he didn’t know how to undo the damage he’d caused. An ordinary husband would go home, take her out to dinner and say, “Look, honey. The truth is…” But Bennett couldn’t do that from the middle of the ocean.

      And sometimes he wondered if he even wanted to, damn it. He’d done his best to keep her from being hurt, but she didn’t seem to appreciate that.

      In the photo, taken at Mustang Island when they were stationed in Corpus Christi, the four of them were laughing into the camera, sunburned faces glowing.

      “This is a great shot,” said Ms. Atwater. “They look like the kind of people nothing bad ever happens to.”

      Interesting observation. He would have agreed with her, right up until this deployment. Grace and the kids were part of the all-American family, the kind you saw on minivan commercials or at summer baseball

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