Top Hook. Gordon Kent

he said.

      “Lucky you.” She raised her head against the window again, then pulled herself up until she was looking down at where his eyes must have been for her, perhaps even seeing some glint of reflection from the window in them. “You’re in love with Siciliano, aren’t you?” she said.

      He thought about it. There was no good answer, given the situation. “I guess so,” he said. “But it’s meaningless.”

      Again, she laughed. “Love? I thought you believed in love. Now it’s meaningless?”

      “She loves her husband. And he’s my friend. What I feel—nothing can come of it, you see?”

      She lowered her head on his shoulder. “So, her husband dies somewhere, you wouldn’t go to her like a shot?”

      In fact, he’d thought about that question. It came down to sex, he thought, and he didn’t see Rose and him like this. Once, he had. Now, something different had happened between them. Not that they had passed beyond sex, but he thought of her now seriously, as his friend’s wife, as the mother of two kids. Would he go like a shot to father her children? To take Al’s place in her life, in her bed? No, he wouldn’t, because he’d seen her as a woman who loved one man, and he knew he would never be the man.

      He started to tell Emma that, but this time she was asleep.

      In the morning, she was grouchy and he was quiet; neither of them morning people, they avoided crashing into each other in the small apartment, drank coffee in silence, listened to NPR as they dressed. As she was rushing for the door, he said, “One thing, Emma.”

      “I’m in a hurry.”

      “Forget what was said about George Shreed. You never heard of George Shreed. Okay?”

      She sighed too loud and too long, the sigh a child makes when given housework.

      Dukas put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s too early to go sniffing around Shreed. If you do, you could screw everything—okay? Leave it for a while.”

      She gave him a crooked grin. “’Trust me’?”

      “Yeah, trust me.”

      She shrugged. “Okay.”

      “Promise?”

      She swung toward the door. “Oh, puh-leeze!”

      By eight, Emma Pasternak already looked frazzled, even seedy, but her day was only starting. She threw her suit jacket on a couch, ran her hand through her already messy hair, and collapsed into her desk chair. Bashing a laptop into submission, she began to make phone calls from the list in her scheduler. The first one was to the investigator she had hired for Rose’s case.

      “Hey,” she said. She didn’t wait for a response. “This is Pasternak. I got something for you; I want it followed up priority. Yeah, yeah, I know you got other work; push it back in the queue. What I got is a name, I want everything on it, I mean everything—go back to birth records, schools, the whole nine yards. Okay? Name: George Shreed. He’s now at CIA, pretty high up. What we’re gonna do is get all the shit that’s fit to print and hit him with it—scare him to a near-death experience. If he caves, I think we’re golden. Okay? Go for it.”

      USS Thomas Jefferson.

      When Rafe sent the word that the brief for the admiral was finally a go, Alan threw his notes into a presentable briefing in a rush. He dragged the new officer, Soleck, into his preparations, because it was obvious that Soleck could find his way around a computer, and he was still so new that he didn’t have the sense to stay out of Alan’s way.

      Most of the squadron commanders and a sizeable portion of the flag staff were at the brief. The admiral glanced at him several times while other officers delivered readiness reports, his face unreadable. When his time came, Alan went to the front, squared his shoulders, and went for it.

      “Good evening, Admiral. I’m going to cover the capabilities of the MARI system and how it can act as a force multiplier for the BG.”

      “Go ahead, Commander Craik.”

      “Inverse Synthetic Aperture Radar was fitted on all of the S-3bs in the late nineteen-eighties. That allowed us to do long-distance recognition of targets and greatly aided over-the-horizon targeting. MARI, or Multiple Axis Radar Imaging, uses the latest developments in computer-image modeling to allow several ISAR systems to link and provide a sharper, 3-D image. With multiple-axis imaging and a lot of new software, we can get a synthetic-aperture picture of a stable object, like a surface-to-air missile site, a hangar, or a tank.”

      “How fine is the resolution?” the flag captain said. He didn’t sound hostile, at least.

      “The contractors say one meter, but I don’t think it’s there yet, sir. Just before we left Pax River, we got an across-the-board software upgrade that ought to improve both processing time and resolution. I’ll be able to tell you more when we’ve implemented it.”

      “Have you flown it?”

      “Once, sir.”

      “What’s your reaction?”

      “It still drops link too often to be considered reliable. I’m not a computer expert, but I think the volume of data exceeds the bandwidth available.” Alan glanced at Soleck, who nodded. Soleck had the confidence of a puppy—a newbie who hadn’t even flown with the system yet.

      Admiral Kessler nodded at him but didn’t smile. “I appreciate the straight talk. However, I’m not ready to let your aircraft go over Bosnia. Seems like a high risk in terms of aircrew while you’re not sure of the technical side.” The admiral looked around at Rafe for his opinion.

      “Sorry, Al, but I’ve got to concur.” Rafe looked apologetic. He knew as well as Alan that what the det needed was real-world action.

      Alan tried to be persuasive. “Sir, when it works, it’s a powerful tool. We’d be able to detect SAM sites, even when they were in passive mode. With the ESM suite, we can catch a radar when it’s on and then track it even when it’s off.”

      That got the attention of the F-18 skippers.

      “And pass targeting?” one of them said.

      “Down to the meter.”

      But the admiral wouldn’t have it. “Then I suggest you get the link fully functional and find your bandwidth.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Give it your full attention, Craik. Do you understand me?”

      It wasn’t said with hostility, but the tone carried some nuance. Behind the admiral, Maggiulli gave a slight nod. Meaning, Cut the NCIS crap and spike the rumors about you and your wife and get with the program!

      “Any other business? Okay, folks, have a good evening.” The admiral rose and slipped away, and the rest of the officers stood at attention until he was gone and then moved around Alan and out into the passageway. Alan left the computer to Soleck and followed Rafe, who stopped in the p’way and gave him a slight smile.

      “That the late Mister Soleck?”

      “He knows computers.”

      “But not calendars, apparently.”

      “Rafe, I got a whole detachment of guys here to fly real-world. Everybody else will be racking up air medals while we drill holes in the water. We can help.”

      “Get the link fixed, Al.” Rafe gave a small shrug. “Maybe we can have coffee after.”

      “I’ve got a flight.”

      Alan stepped through the bulkhead at frame 81 and turned toward the ready room, to find Soleck jabbering at the female intelligence officer from the EA-6B squadron. When he saw Alan, he waved at the woman,