it.
The phone, right outside. No matter if you were squatting on the can, there was always a phone near the CO. He shut off the water reluctantly. Naked, shivering, he said, âUSS Gaddis, commanding officer, this is a nonsecure line.â
âDan? Is that you?â
âBlair,â he said, smiling.
Heâd met Blair Titus in Bahrain, during what was for him an all-too-brief port visit during Operation Earnest Will and for her a tour as defense staffer for Sen. Bankey Talmadge. At the time Dan had thought that was it: one snatched night; knowing only that heâd always remember her; that in years to come heâd see her likeness in others who passed him on the street, in malls, on beaches. She would be part of what made him himself; he would take the smell of her hair and the feel of her lips with him into the darkness. But then heâd found her again on the heat-baked tarmac at Manama when he arrived with the other Van Zandt survivors.
Since then theyâd spent weekends together and gone hiking and camping in the Blue Ridge. Heâd been out to Charles County to meet her family. No promises, no commitments, just a strange sort of camaraderie, respect, and (he had to admit) great sex.
Neither had much time for the other. Or for much of anything but work. That was the price you paid, he figured, for being dedicated to what you did.
But sometimes he wondered if what you got was worth what you were charged. He came back to being naked, dripping, holding the phone and her saying, âI was calling because the base closing commissionâs going to be in Philly and I can make it an overnight. If you want.â
âSure. Weâre pretty busy here, butâsure! When?â
âThursday. Iâll have my assistant set something up. I donât think I want to be down near the shipyard area. Thatâs in South Philly, right?â
âYeahâwhy not?â
âHavenât you heard? About the Philly Ripper?â
âSorry, I havenât been following the news.â
âThey found one woman dead, and pretty badly mutilated. Another was attacked and escaped but couldnât give much of a description.â
âNo, I havenât heard about that. Iâve had my head inside these repairs. Thursday, fine, itâll be nice to see you. What timeâll you be in?â
She said she wasnât sure but would have her assistant call. She made a kissing noise and said good-bye.
A tap at the door: Foley. The seaman stared, then coughed into a fist. âExcuse me, sir. Quarterdeck wants to know where you wanna hold the progress conference.â
Dan grabbed for the towel. âUh, make it in the wardroom. Call damage control central, see if they can get the word to Mr. Armey to meet me there.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
HE was on his way when shouting came from a ladderway, a clang of metal on metal. He wheeled, dropped a deck, and came off the ladder into a pushing, shouting melee.
âMarshâ Mellows, the big chief master-at-arms, held two people apart at its heart. One was a livid Pakistani; the other, a snarling woman in coveralls and a yellow hard hat. âWhatâs going on?â Dan said as all eyes swung to him.
âGot a situation, is all,â said Mellows, still holding them both, the Pakistani and the woman, well separated. He did look like Mr. Clean, just as burly but sort of friendly at the same time, with knotted curly eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev. âYou donât need to get involved in this, sir.â
He liked Mellowsâhad come to depend on the chief master-at-armsâs calm efficiency, the way he seemed to know everything the crew said or even thought. Still, he didnât like the mix of angry sailors. âMaybe Iâd better.â
The chief said reluctantly, âSeaman Usmani here. Sounds like the son of a bitch couldnât keep his hands to himself.â
âHow about it?â Dan asked