Undetected (11 page)

“I've got relatives that number close to a hundred when you count second cousins, all wondering at the string of bad luck I'm having getting to the altar. So you are looking at a guy who's still hopeful but also realistic.” He shrugged, then concluded, “Life probably is going to throw an additional curve or two at my plans to settle down and raise a family in the best Southern tradition.”

“I admit,” Gina cautiously offered, “that I've heard stories about guys like you, and I thought they were more legend than fact.” She looked over at him briefly. “I've got a more negative track record. I've now had three serious breakups. Kevin was the latest. We'd been seeing each other for two years, and I'm still not sure why he called it off.”

Daniel reached over to take her hand. “I'm sorry for it, Gina, but for my sake, I'm glad he did. I'd like very much to get to know you better. There's not a sonarman in the Navy who hasn't heard the rumor that it was a college student who created cross-sonar. Jeff told me it was you when he asked if I'd like to come to dinner and meet you. I would have been thrilled at the introduction even if you were recently engaged. The fact he set up the evening as something of a double date—I feel like that phone call was a gift, and I'm still wondering at my good luck that Jeff called me.”

She found it interesting to hear how a sonar guy saw things. “I know cross-sonar is a big deal—I began to realize how big after the Navy classified everything I'd written and created a department just to handle it—but at the time I was working on it, I didn't understand that part of it. To me it was a Ph.D. thesis and a practical attempt at helping my brother to be safer in a sub.”

“It's been a very useful tool in the fast-attacks and boomers' tool kit over the last several years. Are you back in Bangor to work on more sonar ideas?”

“A couple of them I'm mulling over. Mainly I'm back to see Jeff and take some time to decide what I want to focus on next.” She spotted the ice cream shop ahead. “How about we not discuss work any longer? I love it, I know you do too, but it's . . . well, work.”

Daniel chuckled. “Agreed,” he said as he swung open the ice cream shop door for her.

Gina finally chose two scoops of ice cream in a bowl—pralines and cream, chocolate marshmallow. Daniel chose a waffle cone with a scoop of raspberry swirl, another of caramel vanilla with pecan clusters.

They walked back toward the restaurant where they'd had their dinner, but at a slow pace to enjoy the evening and their dessert. “This beats a piece of pie,” she said around a bite.

“An excellent idea you had,” Daniel concurred.

“Jeff told me a few things about you,” Gina said. “You were born in Georgia, have three older sisters. I know you play the guitar and are on the Bangor baseball team.”

“Jeff told me you're his little sister,” Daniel said, “that you're smart, kind, good-looking, and good company. I was amused that he led the list with a reminder you were his little
sister—probably a not-so-small warning he's watching out for you. But first impressions, I think he was spot-on with his list.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I do like music a great deal and I'm not bad on the guitar. There's a concert next Thursday, opening night at the Seattle's Best Festival. I happen to know two of the guys in the band featured that night. I play backup for them at church when they're leading worship. Would you be interested in getting a bite to eat, taking in some music, and then meeting a few musicians?”

She didn't know much about music but thought it all sounded interesting, experiencing a concert with someone who was so passionate about it. “Sure, that sounds fun.”

“Pick you up at five at Jeff's place?”

She smiled. “It's a date. Thank you, Daniel.”

“I'll enjoy sharing the evening with you. You can think about the food you like best, and I'll make us reservations somewhere that would be considered upscale casual. Jeans are fine; we'll be walking a bit.”

“I'll plan for comfortable shoes.” She finished her ice cream. “Would you mind if we did seafood? I know you have it often, living here, but I'm still on Boulder's version of restaurants where seafood is more expensive than steak.”

“There's an offbeat restaurant called Burrie Bark—a neighborhood place, not too noisy, with a good variety of fresh-caught seafood. And with a hat-tip to the chef with origins in Louisiana, they have a great Cajun chicken on the menu that I like occasionally.”

“Perfect.” Gina tossed her empty bowl and spoon into a trash can, wondering at the ease of this evening and how
smoothly it had become planning a second date. Life was looking up. He was a guy near her age with a history of hoping to get married. With merely the evening to go on, she liked him a great deal. She glanced over at him.
Could he possibly be the one
?
The idea percolated through the back of her mind as he turned the conversation toward family and asked about hers.

Her parents had died in an accident seven years ago. Family for her now meant Jeff, which wasn't much of a conversation point. “Let me see the pictures you have in your wallet,” she suggested, knowing there would likely be more than a few. From comments throughout the evening, Daniel was all about family.

Daniel dug his wallet out and simply handed it to her. The first photo under plastic was an older couple. “My parents,” Daniel confirmed. She turned the sleeve. “My three sisters.” He smiled, then flipped the sleeve to the next. “Half a dozen of various cousins. I'm the designated water-ski instructor. When they hit age 16, they come see me for lessons when I'm home.”

“You enjoy the water.”

“I like living near an ocean. I love to watch a sunset while out on the boat. Like most guys at Bangor, we trade around our boats. Whoever is just arriving, getting transferred, or retiring will be looking to get rid of a boat or buy one. I keep changing the one I'm using. I like to buy a beat-up one, fix it up, and resell it—gives me something to do that keeps my free days busy, and I like tinkering with a motor. I'm decent with a sail but prefer a motorboat.” He glanced over at her. “Could I put a placeholder down for a day on the water with me?”

Gina couldn't think of a reason to decline more substantial
than the fact she didn't much like being out on the water. Yet maybe she'd like the water more on a boat with Daniel. “I wouldn't mind a day where you could show me the docks, your current boat, and we could take a brief outing so I could tell how the water and I do together. To be honest, I haven't had much experience on the water.”

“A calm day, a few hours out there, and you'll have your answer,” he put in reassuringly. “I'm not going to get crushed if you're one who doesn't take to the sea. My mother won't step foot on a boat, even mine, and I rather love her anyway.”

Gina felt herself blush and dodged the charming smile directed her way. She motioned toward the restaurant up ahead and glanced at her watch. “We've been an hour?”

“Right at that.”

She paused as he laid a hand on her arm. “It's been a pleasure, Gina. And I promise to tell your brother as little as you would like me to say about the evening.”

She laughed. “Whatever you like, Daniel, as Jeff and I eventually do talk about most things. Although if he asks me about you, he'll know I have an equal opening to ask about his interest in Tiffany, so I don't expect many questions.”

Mark Bishop finished a call with his brother Jim and set the phone aside. He'd established a routine for the days he didn't need to go over to the base. Make coffee, eat breakfast with the newspaper at hand, then work on the home project of the day, which at the moment was in rehabbing the deck. He'd spent the morning buying the new wood he needed, then began tearing up the old planking. He paused for lunch around noon, flipping through a dog-eared cookbook his
wife had nearly worn out. A dessert in the oven was a good reminder this was a home, not just a house. He'd get something baking before he fixed himself a sandwich.

It was a beautiful, sunny Tuesday, and he was in no hurry to get back to pulling up old planks. Mark stirred up a batch of brownies, following his wife's notes to improve on it with extra chips and sweetened condensed milk. He had just swiped a finger along the edge of the spatula to taste the chocolate when the doorbell rang. He laid the spatula across the measuring cup, then walked through the house to the front door to see who had stopped by. A good percentage of gold crew eventually found their way to the commander's house to chat, ask a favor, or check out a
Nevada
rumor.

He opened the door. Surprise caused him to still. He shook it off and smiled. “Hello there, Gina. Come on in,” he said, pushing open the screen door and stepping out of her way. “I'm just finishing up some brownies. Give me a minute to get them in the oven and I'll be right with you.” He walked back to the kitchen, letting her decide if she wanted to follow or not.

He knew she got embarrassed when her speech froze, and it happened too often around him for his comfort, most often in the first few minutes they were together. Delaying the start of a conversation had always seemed like a smart way to finesse the problem. He reminded her of someone, he thought, somebody who'd teased her in the past. He'd ask her, but if he was right, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear that story. And if it wasn't that, then it was because he personally made her nervous, and that would be even more painful to accept.

She joined him in the kitchen.

“Can I get you something? Water? Tea? A soda?” he offered while he scraped the batter into a pan.

“I'm fine.”

She walked over to the colored glass bottles displayed on the shelf by the kitchen window. “Your wife collected beautiful things.”

“She did,” he replied easily. “Melinda liked to hunt garage sales and flea markets for colored bottles. She insisted I not buy them for her at antique stores—too expensive, she thought—but to let her find them by chance. Do you collect anything?”

“Models.” She looked faintly embarrassed. “My Chicago home is full of them. Engine cutaways so you can watch various parts move, anatomy teaching models, papier-mâché creations of whatever I'm trying to understand. Models force you to simplify things. I use a lot of food dyes, along with a child's plastic toys when I'm modeling water dynamics.”

He smiled at the image. “That sounds like fun.”

“A holdover from childhood. The majority of the models I've collected are now badly out of date. These days you can get working models of nearly any system, from blood vessels in the body to the skeleton of a trout—if you visit the websites of various universities. . . .” She drifted to a stop.

Puzzled, Mark glanced over at her, saw the color in her cheeks and watched her push her hands into her back pockets.
Worried she's talking too much
.
He really was making her nervous. “Don't knock what works,” he reassured her. “Models are hands-on. I'm going to guess Jeff added a good model of the
Seawolf
to your collection?”

“I've got my own submarine fleet,” she replied with an embarrassed smile.

“What brings you by, Gina?” he asked matter-of-factly as he set the temperature for the oven to preheat.

She picked up her bag, pulled out a folded page. “Would you be able to add this configuration into your sea trial planning?”

He took the page, looked at it, then back at her.

“I can't explain why,” she said, “but I need to see that data.”

He assessed that statement, nodded. “Okay. Not a problem.” He set aside the page, then waved her to a seat at the kitchen table. “Join me for lunch. I hate to eat alone. I'm having a ham sandwich and chips. Do you want yours heated or cold?”

He really didn't give her an option to say no, and she didn't try to decline. She pulled out a chair. “Cold, please.”

He opened the refrigerator and got out deli slices, cheese, Miracle Whip, lettuce, and opened a drawer for a package of hamburger buns. “Your page looks clear enough, but give me the color of it—tell me about the data you want gathered.”

“In the various ocean noise profiles, I need the boomer to go silent, provide as minimal a noise signature as possible.”

“All-quiet,” Mark mentioned. “The command is called ‘all-quiet' when we become a silent ghost in the water.”

“That's a perfect description of it. I need the other two subs to start cross-sonar and look for the boomer. It's fine if they begin right next to it and can easily see it—I just need them to go out to a distance of about 100 miles running cross-sonar. I need them moving away from the boomer, toward it, below it, and above it. I especially need some solid data with the boomer silently above them. Whether they can see the sub or not isn't important. What I need is the raw acoustical data from the two subs running cross-sonar.”