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It was such a simple comment, but one that gave him hope and made him believe he wasn’t alone. Despite CAG’s open disbelief and Colt’s subsequent ostracism from the community he considered a family, before him stood a lone Marine who risked his own career to stand beside him. Still, his optimism was somewhat guarded. “What?”

“I think you should talk to my college roommate.”

Colt felt himself deflate. As much as he appreciated Smitty’s attempt to help, he needed something more concrete than an old college roommate to escape this mess unscathed. “Thanks, but—”

Smitty cut him off. “No, I’m serious. Do you know Bill McFarland?”

“Jug?”

Smitty nodded. “He’s a test pilot stationed in China Lake with VX-31.”

“Yeah, we were partners during Air Combat Maneuvering in Kingsville,” Colt said. After getting winged, the Navy had ordered the pair to separate coasts. Their friendship went the way of most of those forged in the military, and they lost touch. Then it dawned on him. “Jug is your college roommate?”

Smitty nodded. “If you can get the maintenance data to him…”

“If I had it.” Colt wanted to give Smitty every chance to preserve his deniability.

But the Marine was having none of it. “Yeah, whatever. As I was saying, if you can get it to him, I’ll let him know you’re coming and that he needs to help you.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

Smitty grinned. “Spring break, senior year, Negril, Jamaica.”

Despite feeling about as hopeless as he’d ever felt in his entire life, the comment made Colt smile. He considered the offer for a moment, letting it hang in the air between them, knowing that Smitty was risking not only his reputation but his friendship to help him out. He could have simply turned his back on him, and Colt wouldn’t have thought any less of him for it.

At last, he looked Smitty in the eyes and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied with a grin. “These photos are very compromising.”

He laughed and slapped the Marine on the shoulder, then nodded. “Okay. Let him know I’m coming and that I’m not crazy.”

“Can’t vouch for the crazy part.”

Colt chuckled. “That’s valid.”

Smitty nodded and his smile vanished, resuming the stoic Marine facade under his high-and-tight haircut. “Good luck, brother.”

Colt waited until Smitty had turned the corner before continuing to the head, eager to shower and catch the COD to shore. There was a dim flicker of hope on the horizon, and he had locked in on it like a heat-seeking missile.

“Sweepers, sweepers, man your brooms. Give the ship a clean sweep down fore and aft…”

San Diego, California

Punky launched her dad’s restored Corvette Stingray through the intersection at Alameda before stomping on the brakes to avoid blowing through the guard post at Naval Air Station North Island’s main gate. She held up her NCIS credentials and waited impatiently for the Security Forces sailor to wave her aboard, then floored the gas pedal and raced west on Stockdale toward the flight line.

She knew it had been a bad idea sleeping in her childhood home but hadn’t wanted to risk missing the flight out to the carrier. Ironically, sleeping there had most likely caused her to do just that. She had suppressed her initial hesitation and arrived at the cottage in the middle of the night, sneaking inside like she had done countless times as a teenager. She moved through the tiny house as if on autopilot, ignored its ghosts, and crashed onto the bed she had grown up in without setting an alarm.

When Uncle Rick had called, it had taken her a moment to remember where she was. But that moment was all she needed to recall she was supposed to already be on base, begging the aircraft commander for a ride out to the Abraham Lincoln.

Reaching the flight line, Punky turned left and spurred the Corvette down the straightaway until she reached the VRC-30 hangar across the street from the iconic I-Bar at the Bachelor Officer Quarters. Her rear tires let loose as she careened around the corner, and her stomach lurched when she saw a C-2 Greyhound on the ramp beyond the hangar with its propellers already spinning.

“No,” she said in disbelief. She drove straight at the chain link fence before again slamming on the brakes and screeching to a halt. She jumped from the idling muscle car and stared in open-mouthed horror at the cargo plane preparing to taxi away.

“No!” she shouted.

In reply, the sound of the churning propellers rose in pitch as the COD began rolling forward. When it turned away from her, she looked beyond the lowered ramp into the gaping darkness of the interior and saw several pallets of cargo and rows of empty seats.

One of which she should have been strapped into.