As eager as she was to return to the freeway and continue to her destination, she knew Mantis had given her an opportunity to remedy her mistake. The spymaster could have easily cut her off from all support and thrown her to the wolves, but she hadn’t. She still might at some point, which meant Chen needed to rectify the situation and get into position before it was too late.

The road continued east away from the highway and crossed a narrow bridge over the San Luis Obispo Creek into the rural countryside. She turned right at the end of the road and passed alongside a small grape vineyard, but she still hadn’t seen anybody leave the highway to follow.

Could Mantis be wrong?

She shook away the thought. It was possible, but unlikely, that the woman responsible for the Ministry’s West Coast network had made such a gross error. No, Chen was certain somebody was following her. Now it was her job to turn the hunter into the hunted.

* * *

Rick slowed when he saw the flashing blue beacon exit the highway and cross over into the foothills on the east side. He was tempted to follow, but with the tracking device providing him real-time position updates, it didn’t make sense to risk exposing himself. A quick survey of the map showed that the road TANDY was on led back to the highway just before Shell Beach.

He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal and felt the sport sedan surge forward, pushing him back into the bolstered leather seats. If he could get to the exit before she rejoined the highway, he might be able to set up surveillance from in front of her and resume his “cast and drift” technique while blending in with the traffic.

Rising into the hills, Rick saw the coastal overcast blanketing the sky in front of him, but he was focused on finding the right exit. When he reached it, he steered the M5 down the off-ramp and coasted to a stop at the bottom. To the right, the road led to Avila Beach. The road ahead led to Shell Beach. And, to the left, he expected to see a blue Jeep Wrangler approaching at any minute from underneath the highway overpass.

He looked at the flashing beacon on his phone and saw it nearing his location from the other side of the highway. Gambling that TANDY intended to return to the freeway after completing a brief SDR, he floored the gas pedal and made a sharp left and immediate right, guiding the BMW back onto the freeway.

“Please don’t be wrong,” he muttered.

18

San Diego, California

Punky slammed the door open on her way back out into the parking lot. Still seething at missing her flight out to the ship, her anger only intensified when she learned that the only other scheduled COD flight that day had no available seats. No amount of begging, pleading, or cajoling could convince the squadron commanding officer to make room for her on the flight out to the carrier. She stood under the blue awning, her eyes pinched shut and head tilted skyward as she tried to rein in her emotions.

In the distance, she heard an unfamiliar, violent thrumming that reminded her of a high-tempo base drum. Similar to the sound of large propellers spinning on the ramp, she knew it wasn’t another C-2 Greyhound, but whatever it was, it sounded big. With nothing left to do but accept her situation and come up with an alternative plan of action, she turned right and walked back to the chain link fence where she had made her unfortunate discovery earlier that morning.

There, on the ramp, in front of the newer adjacent hangar, was an off-white plane she normally saw painted in olive drab or even flat gray. Calling it a plane was a bit of a stretch, because both massive proprotors were turned skyward and resembled a helicopter more than anything else. She knew the Navy had decided to retire the C-2 Greyhound and replace it with a version of the V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft designed for aerial assault and special operations missions, but this was her first time seeing it.

Propelled by her curiosity as much as by her hope, she walked to the adjacent hangar, where she saw the mural of a kneeling man holding the world on his shoulders. The hangar was home to the newly commissioned Fleet Logistics Multi-Mission Squadron 30, and her last chance for catching a ride out to the carrier.

Punky walked onto the quarterdeck and was greeted by a sailor similarly dressed as the one next door. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Again, she displayed her NCIS credentials. “I’m Special Agent King with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I have an urgent need to get out to the USS Abraham Lincoln.”

Unlike the sailor’s response from the night before, however, the petty officer on duty nodded his head eagerly. “Let me call my chief,” he said.