Undetected

by Dee Henderson

  “I never used it with Melinda,” he assured her, understanding what lay behind the question. “I simply look at you and that’s the word that comes to mind.” He took her hand. “Have one for me yet?”

  She wordlessly shook her head.

  “You can practice if you like, try out various ones.”

  She looked at him with a shy smile. “Maybe.”

  Over Gina’s shoulder, Mark watched the photo develop. He was looking at the future of submarine operations—being able to see where everyone was positioned. The data was six days old. He’d told Gina to focus not on the speed of developing this photo but simply the steps necessary to generate it, so he could watch the whole process. That had been fine in theory, observing what she did, but after his first contact with the multitasking involved, he’d settled for a general awareness of the process. His arm across her shoulders, he looked at the screen and hugged her. “Nice job, precious.”

  “Thanks. Resolution will improve as it processes. But that’s the picture of the world for December 23rd, 14:10 hours.” The subs were becoming distinct forms. “When it finishes processing, I’ll be able to classify most of them by type and give exact locations and depths. The flare triggered more data than I expected.”

  He nuzzled her hair. “You smell good.”

  “Quit getting distracted.” But she smiled and nudged his chin with her head. “You’ll give this photo to the Navy as well?”

  “I will.”

  “This means we head to Bangor.”

  “After New Year’s Day. I want a bit more time without gold crew able to find me. Can I watch the video this afternoon?” He’d been watching sections of it as she created the computer-generated illustrations, but she hadn’t shown him the opening yet. She’d done at least five recordings that he was aware of, probably snuck in a sixth after he left her last night. She was nervous, and he’d like to help get her past that.

  “I’ll show it to you after dinner. I’m going to tweak a few things.”

  “After dinner,” he agreed.

  She turned in her chair to face him. “When we get to Bangor, when I turn my focus on getting the speed of processing the photo refined, I’m going to get lost in the work, Mark, and you’ll need to let me. I promised you my time, and I meant that. But I can feel the wall of work to be done, and I don’t want to disappoint you over the next few months with how completely absorbed I am in this job.”

  He understood her concern, but he wasn’t worried. “I’ve watched you the last couple of weeks, watched your thoughts disappear into a problem you were trying to solve. I’ve got no illusions the job ahead of you is going to be easy or quick. To get that photo to process within an hour, you’re going to have to do some of the most brilliant work of your career. We’ll figure out the balance, Gina. That’s a promise. There will be time for us and for the work.” He tipped her face up to his and smiled. “You’re talking to a boomer captain. I understand the pressures of work. I also know how critical this project is.”

  “Thank you, Mark.”

  “For what?”

  “Seeing me.”

  He didn’t entirely understand what was driving her remark, but he understood the emotion in her voice. “I don’t feel like you’re choosing between work and me when you spend time solving a problem, Gina. It’s not a competition between work and a relationship. You’re doing what needs done. I approve, if you need to hear that put in words.”

  “When Kevin . . .” She bit her lip and didn’t finish. He waited, but she didn’t say anything further.

  “Gina, I think you give work your best effort when you’re dealing with a problem. When you’re with someone, you also try to give that person your best. Maybe you’ve not been as comfortable with people and relationships as you are with science, but it’s not for lack of getting your priorities right. I’m a smart guy—if I need an hour of your time on a busy day, I will tell you so. I won’t leave you guessing. We can fit a good relationship into the tempo of things. I’ll prove that to you over the next few months. Just watch and see.”

  She finally nodded. He read in her face the doubt she felt, and wondered at the history she still didn’t talk about. At least this concern he was sure he could fix, showing her over the next few months how it was all going to work out. Their responsibilities were big in both their lives, but a relationship could still thrive in the midst of that.

  By mid-February, Mark Bishop knew the routine of the Tactical Command Center as well as he did the functioning of his own gold crew on the Nevada. He could, at a glance, recognize when men were back in the room, back on duty, and when it was not their shift. This was one of those nights. The TCC was busy and on alert, though conversations remained low-key and the lighting subdued.

  China was undertaking a major fleet exercise, and a significant number of its 62 subs were at sea. Japan had countered by deploying a number of its surface ships and most of its 20-strong submarine fleet to observe.

  A solar flare of moderate intensity had erupted 70 hours ago, giving them a well-timed look at the world. Gina had the processing time down to under four hours now. For a test of a photo, this was as authentic as it would get in peacetime conditions.

  Mark watched the photo develop. The stretch of waters from Taiwan to North Korea had always been a volatile part of the world, and China’s military exercise only made it more so. There was a great deal of activity in the East China Sea and the Sea of Japan. It was South Korea and its 14 subs that were the wild card in the deck. They had always made port calls in Japan, but four were now all the way south watching China’s military exercise. It was a recipe for trouble and risked an incident that could spiral into something much bigger.

  Farther out in the Pacific, the number of subs dwindled to a handful. Given the overlay they could map from other information, two of those developing smudges in the photo concerned him.

  Mark pointed at the screen, with Strong looking on. “These are going to resolve into the Alabama and the Maine.” He marked the two U.S. subs. “This we know is the Brits’ Triumph. But these two over here, at least one is likely to be the Chinese Kilo that put to sea last week, the one we lost track of. I’d recommend we get the boomers out of the way.”

  “Agreed.” Strong wrote down the coordinates and passed the note to the lieutenant handling communications. “Send informational EAMs to the Alabama and the Maine, ‘Possible Kilo within a hundred miles of the following locations.’”

  The officer nodded and turned to code the messages.

  Strong, studying the photo, said, “I’m not sure how this kind of time- delayed photo will play out during a war setting, but for simply keeping two opposing forces apart, it’s ideal.”

  “We can guarantee our boomers clear, safe seas,” Bishop agreed, deeply appreciating the security this photo gave them. “Our tabletop gaming of scenarios keeps pointing to the confirmation factor as the most valuable part of these photos. The TCC is plotting locations and movements of submarines worldwide, and now there’s a way to check the work and know if the assumptions on the board about sub type and place are accurate. Those we have lost track of are suddenly back on the board—the photo fills in the question marks. That certainty fades away as time elapses between solar flares, but it all shoots back to high confidence when another picture arrives. Coming every 10 to 14 days isn’t as ideal as every few days, but it’s a workable number.”

  Strong nodded. “The smaller-footprint submarine operations—sonar, the addition of a cross-sonar ping, listening for silence—give our boats a good analysis of what’s around them, and they can see the near contacts of more immediate concern. It’s on the big picture where this solar flare photo matters.”

  “I think so, sir. If a nation is preparing to go to war, if a threat is more than rhetoric, we’ll see indications of it in the deployments. Knowing one boat location is useful, but knowing every boat location—that’s deep-level intel.”

  “A year from now we’ll have collected the p
attern of deployments for every nation, be able to map routes they like to use, know patrol days at sea—basically read their playbook. It’s going to be a fun year, Bishop.”

  Mark saw Gina, looking relaxed, coming their way with a bag of pretzels in her hand. She’d be around the TCC monitoring the photo processing, but her work was basically done once the photo began to appear.

  “A nice job, Gina,” Captain Strong said.

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  She held out the pretzel bag to Mark and then Strong, offering to share.

  “Want to slip away for some dinner?” Mark asked her.

  “In another few hours maybe,” she replied, studying the developing photo. “I’m thinking the development time might be directly tied to the solar flare strength. The hotter the flare, the more reflections, the faster the photo processes. It seems like common sense, but I need to run the math to be sure. Should take me about an hour. It’s either the solar flare strength or it’s the orientation to earth. Maybe a coil that pops right toward us provides more reflections than a hot flare that’s at an angle to earth. It would be nice to predict how long this processing would need to run before we can get enough resolution to put a class-type name to a sub.”

  “Go tug at the idea. I’ll be around.”

  She nodded and disappeared toward her office on the north side of the TCC.

  “She’s getting more comfortable here,” Strong noted.

  “She is,” Bishop said, watching her enter the office and slide shut its glass door.

  “Officially she’s here working on the integration of the new seabed topology maps. That introduction works most of the time, but occasionally someone will narrow his eyes, and you can tell he’s realized that her classified badge is several levels higher than topology maps would warrant. Sometimes they’ll ask ‘Cross-sonar?’—trying to confirm a hunch—but only a couple have asked her directly about the latest cross-sonar upgrades. The number in the know on this photo remains less than 20. It’s confined to the TCC’s chain of command. Gina still has some privacy.”

  “That’s good to know.” Bishop felt his phone vibrate and glanced at the message. “Nevada gold final fit reps are in,” he said.

  “Good crew?”

  “Looking to be my strongest yet,” Bishop replied, pleased. Nevada blue would be touching the pier in six weeks. Three days later, Nevada gold would have “their boat” back. He understood the crews’ proprietary feelings about it, and he was ready to take over command. He glanced toward Gina’s office, could see her already focused on the computer screen. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, sir.”

  “I’ll call if something changes,” Strong told him.

  “Appreciate that.”

  Bishop gave her two and a half hours, then returned to Gina’s office, saw she was still writing in a composition book. A bag of M&Ms lay open on the desk. He took a handful and settled into the extra chair. When he’d been setting up the space for her, he’d made sure there was an extra chair, bought her a couple of colorful paperweights, added a dozen fiction paperbacks to the shelves for when she needed to fill time while data crunched, and removed the clock so she wouldn’t keep thinking about how she was working late.

  He couldn’t fix the fact she worked just off the TCC in a basement without windows, but he’d done what he could to brighten her office with photos and posters, fresh flowers on the desk, music of her choice. He’d tucked a small refrigerator into the corner and kept it filled with apples, oranges, cold drinks, and water bottles. Three large flat-screen monitors dominated the desk space.

  The screen showed the emerging photo, and every smudge was now a tightly defined form. Getting the final level of resolution to tell a British sub from a Russian one would be another hour, he thought.

  She finally stopped writing and looked over at him. He asked, “So what’s the verdict on a solar flare?”

  She swiveled her chair toward his, stretched her arms to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “A loop shooting toward earth is much more important than the amount of energy being released. A small pop at us is better than a wallop that glances by.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like common sense to me.”

  “Still nice to know now it’s true. I’m going to lower the threshold for assuming a solar flare has useful data. We might actually be able to get a smudged version of a photo every seven days or so—not enough reflections to be able to identify one sub from another, but enough to say one is there.”

  “That would still be very valuable and useable data.”

  She nodded and found her shoes under the desk. “Are you ready for dinner? I’ll need to come back.”

  “I’ll bring you back,” Mark said. “I’m thinking Chinese. I’d like some won tons. How about you?”

  “Works for me.”

  He was still trying to decide what would be best for Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t dropped any hints, and he wondered if she was even aware it was two days away. He was leaning toward a few dozen roses and a concert he had heard was good, but he might be misjudging that part. He wished Daniel was onshore so he could get a recommendation on the music. Valentine’s Day was up there on the same level as her birthday—days a guy needed to handle with care, and some elegance. He glanced at the ring on her right hand. He wasn’t going to propose again on Valentine’s Day, it was too soon, but he’d like that ring on her other hand.

  Gina split open her fortune cookie as they walked out of the restaurant. Evenings were still cool enough to need a warm jacket when they walked at night, and she pushed the plastic wrapper into one of the jacket’s pockets. “Daniel gets back with the Nebraska next month.”

  “I’m aware,” Mark replied, interested that she had brought it up.

  “Tell me you’re going to be okay if we invite him over for steaks on the grill.”

  “He’ll decline.”

  “We should still ask.”

  Mark nodded. “I’ve got nothing but goodwill toward Daniel. We’ll invite him to dinner, and when he thinks up an excuse, just mention you’re going to invite him again. A long patrol, coming back to find you’re dating me—it’s going to sting even as he adjusts to the reality. Give him a month or two, Gina. He’ll handle the news as graciously as he did your decision. Just for the record, I’m fine with him being around, whether I’m there or you’re on your own. I trust the man. I trust you.”

  “That helps, Mark. He’s a friend.” She was quiet for a minute. “I want to show him the photo.”

  “I already told Hardman we should bring Daniel in on what’s going on with the photo. If he’s willing to take on the role, I’d like him to be your buffer when Jeff and I are at sea.”

  “That would be very helpful. Do you want me to mention it?”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Mark said. “I’d suggest leaving it be for a while, let Daniel choose the time and place to re-engage. He will when he’s ready.”

  “I’m hoping that’s the case. It was hard, this last year, trying to be fair to both of you.”

  “I know.” He felt her look his way.

  “I did make the right choice—just in case you’re wondering—to say no to him,” she said. “But it still hurts like crazy that I had to disappoint him.”

  He reached over and lifted her hand, kissed the back of it. “Daniel will be fine. Just give him some time before you expect too much, Gina.”

  Gina sat in Mark’s living room, idly thumbing through a magazine while the kittens tumbled over her feet. Dating Mark was so different from what she had expected. Given how certain he was that things were going to work out, how sure he was that she would eventually return his love, she had assumed he would continue to press his case. He hadn’t. His proposal was never far from her mind, but he didn’t mention it. They went out to dinners and to movies, took long walks, did the more ordinary things together—grocery shopping and errands and projects around his house. She spent her off-hours with him. He’d had her building bookshelves with him the
prior weekend, the puppy and kittens scampering across the boards he’d cut to fit the space. He was showing her his life, inviting her into it, and she appreciated that more than she could put into words.

  Most mornings he would pick her up at Jeff’s and drive her to work at Bangor, meet up with her for lunch or an early dinner. She had come to count on his hugs, the way he would smile when he first saw her. He said “I love you” often, and the nonverbal ways he showed her that truth meant as much as the words themselves. He reached for her hand whenever he could. And after an evening together, he would take her to Jeff’s, kiss her good-night on the front steps, not follow her inside. Mark was playing fair.

  For Valentine’s Day he had brought her two dozen roses of all colors and arranged a limo so they could travel north into Canada and see the sights around Vancouver. They had talked for hours during the drive up and back, about nothing in particular, but it had been the best date she could remember.

  Trying to return the favor, she’d taken the afternoon off and fixed Mark dinner at his house—pork chops with dressing and an apple pie—and since he’d demolished two chops, she concluded the meal had been a hit. Mark had pushed her out of the kitchen; he would do the cleanup since she’d fixed the excellent dinner.

  She set aside the magazine and picked up the oversized sack she’d brought in. She knew Mark’s house well enough now that when she needed a pair of scissors to remove the tag from a new dog pillow for Pongo, she pulled open the first drawer of the side table in the living room.

  She pulled out the pillow and placed it in the nook by the front door. Pongo had pulled one of Mark’s socks from the hamper upstairs and triumphantly brought it down to play with. Gina rescued the sock and took it into the laundry room. The dog followed, and she picked up Pongo and hugged him.

  She would have tossed in a load of laundry for Mark, but it felt like that would cross too far over the line of being a wife. She put Pongo down and did open the dryer, tugging out and folding the towels they’d used after giving the puppy a bath.