“I’d say his spots are red, white and blue,” Sophia said.
“I’ll take that.”
“You missed me mum and da,” Sophia said as Walker came up from the cabins. He was showered, shaved and his iron gray hair neatly styled. Not bad for four hour’s sleep after a nearly twenty-four-hour run.
“Heard them, could tell they were friends, went back to sleep,” Walker said. “Any food left?”
“We made more,” Sophia said. “When I heard you getting up I made fish tacos.”
“You, Skipper, are a drunkard’s dream,” Walker said, uncovering the dish and spooning some of the meat onto a pita.
“Da was curious about you,” Sophia said. “And a touch paranoid.”
“Why?” Walker asked.
“Because I know a fraud when I see one,” Sophia said. “Which isn’t quite right. You’re not a fraud in the classic sense. You’re just not saying everything.”
“True,” Walker said, shrugging. “If that’s an issue I will, reluctantly, ask for a transfer.”
“I told him you were former military,” Sophia said. “Certainly more than four years. Probably a retired senior NCO although you’ve been an officer. Probably an instructor in something technical with combat experience. From the languages and combat experience, that says Special Forces. And you’re not really like a gunny or a sergeant major. And that I didn’t consider you a threat or I wouldn’t have given you a weapon. Also that I’d pitch a tantrum if he tried to pull you off my boat being a ‘good da.’”
“You, young lady, live up to your name,” Walker said, smiling. “Correct on virtually all particulars. Is it an issue?”
“Nope,” Sophia said. “As long as it’s not an issue. Da said most people who change their background can’t change their spots. I said yours were red, white and blue. If that’s not the case, then there’s probably an issue.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite so patriotically,” Walker said, shrugging. “I’ve never been one to wrap myself in the flag. Probably because many who do didn’t really accept all that it represented, good and bad, and others did so for personal gain rather than true patriotism. But what I do wrap myself in is what this squadron represents. Soldiers do not, by and large, create. They destroy. The question always is whether what they are destroying promotes the value of civilization and the advancement of man and specifically Western concepts and philosophies or degrades them. If it degrades them, valid target. If it promotes them, invalid target. Terrorists? Valid targets. Infected? Valid targets.”
“That makes sense,” Sophia said. “One question, pure curiosity between the skipper and her crewman. Senior NCO or senior officer?”
“If it’s truly between you and me,” Walker said. “Both. Serially. NCO then officer then senior officer. And this may be a trust issue for you. I’ve been in contact with General Brice. I knew her before the Plague. On a purely personal note, I was pleased to know Shelley survived.
“Shelley and Under Secretary Galloway are onboard with me just cruising for now. There are many reasons. Your father has things under control. As much as it is possible given the conditions. He has the, the term is ‘social capital,’ to pull this off. The majority of this squadron is not made up of professionals, and long-term social bonding items are in disarray. Your father and your family act as a social bond for this squadron, which is much more post-apocalyptic gypsy tribe than a professional military force.
“I could probably take more useful roles than being a deckhand on a boat. However, the addition of my expertise would be relatively minimal and I’m enjoying what we do. I also enjoy training bright young officers. A point of which General Brice is fully aware. So absent objections from yourself or Squadron, or your da, here I remain. Unless things change and my former position becomes necessary.”
“Now I’m going to have a hard time not calling you ‘sir,’” Sophia said, her brow furrowing.
“You’ve always been polite, Ensign,” Walker said. “Mr. Walker more than suffices. Tom is fine. Neither is my real name. Calling me ‘Walker’ works best. It was part of my handle.”
“What was your handle?” Sophia asked. “If I may ask.”
“Skaeling, actually,” Walker said. “It means Night Walker.”
“More like ‘Boogie man,’” Sophia said pointedly. “Those who walk in the dark. Things that go bump in the night. The Native American tribe that drove out the Vikings from Newfoundland.”
“And in Dari it turned out to translate as prostitute or street walker,” Walker said, grinning. “Caused a bit of an issue at one point.”
“Dari?” Sophia said.
“One of two dialects of Persian used in Afghanistan,” Walker said. “The other being Tajik which has the same translation. General Kamal of the Northern Alliance found it quite amusing to call me by my handle. I should probably go see if anyone wants to come back to the boat, ma’am.”
Steve tapped his fingers on his desk in thought, then hit the connection to The Hole.
“Duty officer,” Lieutenant Colonel Justin Pierre said. “Good…evening your time, Captain.”
“Good evening, Colonel,” Steve said. “I have an unusual request.”
“Glad to be of service if I can, Captain,” Colonel Pierre said.
“The service record extracts you have,” Steve said. “Do they include aliases or handles?”
“In some cases, Captain,” Colonel Pierre said, his brow furrowing. “Do you need me to run a name?”
“Yes,” Steve said. “Thomas Walker.”
The colonel had leaned forward into his keyboard, hands set to type and now leaned back, raising his hands and folding them.
“Could I get back to you on that, Captain?” the colonel said. “Something’s come up.”
“Certainly,” Steve said blandly. “Hope things are okay.”
“Fine, just…something’s come up. Be back if not tonight than tomorrow early.”
“All right,” Steve said. “Have a good rest of your shift.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk again, then sighed.
“Something is fishy in Omaha….”
Steve was just out of the shower, drying his hair and contemplating the fact that Stacey had been rummaging in her lingerie drawer when the phone in his quarters rang. Since that invariably meant some sort of emergency had occurred, he was not in the best of moods when Stacey, wearing not much more than a lacey bra and panties, handed him the phone.
“General Brice,” she said, her hand over the mike.
“General,” Steve said. “You rang?”
“Sorry to call you so late, Steve,” Brice said. “But I didn’t want to leave you hanging on the call you made to us. Thomas Walker.”
“I’d wondered, when the colonel so abruptly changed the subject, ma’am,” Steve said. “I don’t mind having the pros back-channel, ma’am. Considering everything, it’s necessary. But putting someone on my daughter’s boat was sort of…”
“That I didn’t do,” Brice said. “It was more happy coincidence. Happy because you couldn’t get a better guy to be on your daughter’s boat. At least not alive and in contact. I’ll give you two statements about Walker and that is all you’re going to get. Along with an order. Just leave him be is the order. He’s fine where he is at the moment. That’s my decision and the under secretary’s. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said thoughtfully.