"No way."
"What's your plan? And it had better be good."
"Let's discuss it after we put the plane to bed."
"Don't have a memory-fade on me, hotshot."
"I don't think you'll be disappointed, trust me."
"Don't say trust me," Jackie warned, taxiing off the runway and heading toward a pair of two-seat TAV-8B Harrier trainers. "It always makes me nervous when you say that."
A dozen Marines were working on the attack planes. When Jackie brought the jet to a stop, a young member of Hartwell Prost's staff appeared at the cabin door.
Low key and quiet, Juanita Trujillo greeted Scott and Jackie, then gave them the keys to a rental car. Rooms had been reserved at the bachelor officer quarters and Mr. Prost had requested their presence for lunch at the officers' club at 1200 the following day.
While Jackie and Scott were unloading their luggage and flight gear, Master Chief D. R. Slocum and his men were relieved by a four-man squad from SEAL Team Three based at Coronado Naval Amphibious Base, San Diego. Slocum gave the SEAL leader a thorough briefing about security for the Harriers and the Lear, then approached Dalton and snapped a crisp salute.
Although he was not wearing a cover, Scott returned the courtesy. He warmly thanked Slocum and his SEALs. They chatted with the leader of the new arrivals for a few minutes. Scott exchanged satellite phone numbers with the new chief. While the SEALs went about their duties, Jackie and Scott walked to their car and loaded their gear.
"Where's Ms. Trujillo?" Scott asked, expecting to give her a lift. "She had a ride waiting."
"Okay," Scott said with a grin. "If you don't mind, I'll be the ground captain, since I know where we're going."
"And just where would that be?"
"We're not staying in the BOQ."
"Is that right?"
"Yep."
"Well, out with it."
"I have a friend who has a knockout home overlooking the ocean. Stan's a captain with Continental. He's on a trip, so he has graciously offered us the use of his home."
"No argument from me. However, Captain, we'd better find a supermarket and buy some provisions."
"I've started a list."
"Excellent — be sure to note that you still owe me dinner at the Grant Grill, and I have a very long memory."
"You're unmerciful."
"This is absolutely beautiful, stunning," Jackie said, entering the home's outdoor kitchen overlooking the tranquil Pacific Ocean. "It's like a postcard from paradise."
Complete with a large built-in barbecue and buffet table, refrigerator and ice maker, double sink, fireplace, soft lighting, concealed stereo speakers, and abundant seating, the combination kitchen/shaded patio was designed for entertaining.
"Yeah, you can't beat the view," Scott said, shading his eyes while he looked out to sea. "It's like a setting from some epic movie."
"It's incredible," she went on. "Soft, warm breezes and a view of the ocean and sky. What else could you want?"
"Nothing I can think of at the moment."
"Be sure to thank your friend."
"I already have."
Jackie took in the brightly colored flowers and plants, then inhaled the fresh air. A freestanding trellis next to a fountain and reflecting pool caught her attention. "I always enjoy the sound of burbling water."
"Then I'm sure you'll enjoy the spa." He opened a bottle of wine and partially filled two glasses.
They walked out to the built-in spa on the wooden deck and watched the last spectacular rays of sunlight slide beneath the shimmering Pacific. The soft, diffused twilight painted the sea in subdued pastels.
Jackie turned to Scott. "I'm curious about something."
"And what would that be?"
"You."
Scott chuckled. "What do you want to know — if I'm some kind of weirdo-wacko-psycho trying to masquerade as a normal person?"
"Seriously, after everything we've been through, I realize I don't know much about you. You never say anything about your background or your family — you do have a family, right?"
He quietly laughed. "Yeah, I have a family — a very nice one."
"All I know is that Scott Dalton flew Harriers in the Marine Corps and then went to the CIA."
Scott smiled and looked her in the eye. "Ms. Sullivan, would you like a resume?" he asked good-naturedly.
She ignored him. "I don't even know where you were born."
"Okay, take notes," he said with a smile. "I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, where my family kept a permanent home. I graduated. from Vanderbilt. My father is a retired Marine Corps brigadier general — we get along great. My mother was a navy lieutenant who resigned her commission after they got married, and she's the best of the best. I have one younger sister, and she is completing her internship at Johns Hopkins."
"Impressive. Maybe I'll get to meet your family one day."
"Perhaps."
"Did your sister go to Vanderbilt too?"
"Yeah, she graduated a couple of years ago."
"Interesting — I feel like I'm really getting to know you."
"Okay, that's it for this session."
Jackie eyed him for a moment. "Before we get too cozy, I have to ask you another question."
"I hope this is still personal and not business."
"Sorry, it's business."
"Oh, well," he said with a wink, "I didn't want to get too serious about our personal lives anyway."
"Just humor me for a few minutes, okay?"
"You have the floor." Scott stretched out on a thickly padded chaise lounge and inspected his wineglass.
"How do you think the Chinese are tracking us? You mentioned it in Denver, and I haven't been able to get it off my mind."
"Well, a bright red warning light flashed in my head after the smoke cleared in Denver. That's why I was hogging the Flitefone during the trip out here. I contacted the NCIS and then called a close friend of mine, a counterintelligence ace at the Agency."
"Would that be the Naval Criminal Investigative Support?"
"Yes, indeed."
"And?"
"Do you recall the gunny outside General Grunewald's office?"
"The gunnery sergeant? The Chinese-American sitting at the desk?"
"Yes. His name is Roger Wong, and I'm having him checked out from stem to stern — something just didn't feel right."
"What prompted the feeling?"
Scott slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the lounge. "After everyone calmed down in Denver, I thoroughly searched the Lear, every piece of our luggage, all of our flight gear, the SEALs' equipment, and their gear."
"Looking for a tracking device?"
"Right, and I didn't find anything."
"So you figure Sergeant Wong may be associated with the people who tried to take us out?"
"It's a possibility. If he's tied to the Chinese espionage faction, he could've passed our flight information to someone who ordered or directed the attack on us."
"You're talking about a network of Chinese secret agents, an alliance of spies, right?"
"Not just Chinese. It's bigger than that. There are other people involved in the espionage, including nationals from Russia, Israel, India, and U.S. military personnel and. Private citizens."
"After 'Lost' Alamos, I thought the Energy Department and the CIA had cleaned house and everything was sailing along smoothly."
"Not exactly. The Chicoms have more than three thousand seven hundred front companies, from the contiguous United States and Alaska and Hawaii to the far corners of the earth. They attempt to buy or pilfer every conceivable piece of advanced technology the United States has developed."
Scott lifted his wineglass. "This whole thing goes back to the Persian Gulf War. The Chinese were stunned by the enormous gap between U.S. military technology and weapons systems and their meager military capabilities. They realized that our military technology was anywhere from twenty to forty years ahead of their best systems."