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She eyed his uniform, consisting of black trousers and khaki shirt adorned with gold aircrew wings and a short stack of ribbons above his left breast. She noted the eagle with two downward-facing chevrons on his lapel and black name tag before speaking. “Yes, Petty Officer Williams. I’m Special Agent King with NCIS.” She flashed her credentials to the watch stander. “I need to be added to the manifest for your flight to the Abraham Lincoln in the morning.”

To his credit, the sailor examined her credentials more thoroughly than most before turning to the clipboard behind him. He lifted it off the hook screwed into the wall and studied the top sheet for a moment before answering. “First flight isn’t until zero seven hundred, but we manifest passengers at the terminal in the morning. Do you know where that is?”

She nodded her head but wasn’t ready to relent. “This is a matter of national security. Is there somebody you can speak to? The officer of the watch, perhaps?”

He studied her for a minute, then nodded. Picking up the phone from his desk, he dialed a number and held the handset to his ear while he waited for the phone to connect. When it did, he turned his back to her and spoke in hushed tones with whoever he had called to plead her case. She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to finish his conversation, trying her hardest not to let her impatience show.

The second-class petty officer hung up the phone and walked around the desk to approach her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll need to speak with the aircraft commander when he gets in.”

“When will that be?”

He held her gaze before answering. “His brief is at zero five hundred. I would expect him to arrive just before that.”

Punky looked over the sailor’s shoulder at the clock mounted on the wall. It was too late to drive all the way back to her apartment at the north end of Balboa Park, but she had avoided the cottage on F Avenue for a reason. Seeing Uncle Rick had reminded her that she still wasn’t ready to face her past.

USS Mobile Bay (CG-53)

Beth sat behind the desk in her office and read through the report she intended to send to the admiral. She had a trove of photographs and video taken from the ship’s nautical or otherwise photographic intelligence exploitation, or SNOOPIE, team, but none of it seemed relevant. It was hard to imagine a swarm of unidentified lights circling the cruiser could be insignificant, but because of the actions of a single fighter pilot, she had bigger fish to fry.

There was a knock on her door, and Beth looked up from the report before answering, “Enter.”

Master Chief Ben Ivy opened the door and stuck his head in. “Is this a bad time, ma’am?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Come on in, Master Chief.”

He walked in and took a seat across from her desk, appraising her silently as she gently massaged her temples to coax her headache into hibernation. It had already been a long night and would probably be even longer, but she knew she needed to get some sleep before their next tasking.

“Are you sure you’re okay, ma’am?”

She gave him a slight, crooked smile. “Fine. Just a little headache.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a travel-size container of Excedrin, popping the top off to fish out two caplets for her. “These should help.”

“Is there anything you don’t do?”

Ben chuckled and handed her the caplets. She tossed them into her mouth and threw her head back as she swallowed them without water, then she leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. These brief moments of peace were fleeting for a ship’s commanding officer.

“Do you want to get some sleep before we talk about tomorrow?”

Though her head throbbed, and the memory of the kamikaze attack still haunted her, Beth felt her body sink deeper into the chair. If she had allowed it, she could have been asleep within seconds. But the nagging reminder of the burden she carried repeated itself in her mind, refusing to allow her a moment’s rest without first considering the mission or her crew.

You are the captain.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward. “No. Let’s go over the details now.”

“Ma’am…”

“I’m fine, Master Chief,” she said. “Really. Let’s go over the plan of the day.”

He nodded, then cleared his throat and began. “As of zero two hundred local time, CSG-3 authorized us to depart station and steam for the Point Mugu Sea Range. We have officially been chopped to NAWCWD for the duration of the test.”

She nodded and understood that she had relinquished her responsibility as air and missile defense commander for the USS Abraham Lincoln. The Naval Air Warfare Center, Weapons Division, would be the ones calling the shots until the test was complete. And that worried her.

Though he had only known her for a short while, Ben had an uncanny ability to read her mind. “Do you think it’s a good idea to continue with the test?”