Alice Pritchard had been standing by the drawer with nothing to hold on to, so she fell on top of Maggie’s left side, adding to the propulsion and pinning Maggie’s left hand, preventing her from grabbing the safety rail as she slid under it. But the rail almost knocked Alice unconscious. She managed to grab the rail with her right hand and caught a vertical stanchion with her right foot as she lunged for her friend, who was grasping back desperately for her. Most of the larger woman’s body was already over the edge and starting to fall as the equipment drawer headed for the dark sea directly below them.
Their hands caught, their eyes locked, and Alice tried to pull Maggie back to the safety of the deck. But as the ship came around to the left, the relative wind went from calm to almost fifty knots, and her best friend became a very heavy pendulum, buffeted by the strong wind. Alice screamed and pulled, but she just didn’t have the strength. Maggie was ripped from Alice’s grip as she grasped wildly back to her friend, her mouth working, but no sound coming, and she fell into the cold Mediterranean Sea.
Alice screamed, then yelled, “Man Overboard!”
Teri Slocum had moved inside the bridge when the left turn began, and like everyone else she was watching the carrier, not the starboard side, as Maggie Simpson crashed behind her into the water. It was only on Alice’s third desperate yell that Teri heard her over the noise of the collision alarm, and she rushed, almost falling, back to the starboard wing. She looked up and saw Alice holding on for life, pointing to a spot fast receding, and screaming.
Teri yelled to Henry Early, “Man Overboard!” just as the captain reached the bridge.
“CIC—mark the spot. Continue your turn.”
As they all watched and held their breath, the aircraft carrier Eisenhower passed very, very closely down their starboard side, meaning that Petty Officer Simpson was somewhere in the dark, broiling sea between the two ships.
The instant the immediate danger from collision passed, Lt Early turned to the task of trying to locate the spot where their crew member had just disappeared. But the delay to let the carrier pass, the dark, and the wind made it very difficult. With one eye on the captain, to see if he would take the conn, Early ordered the helmsman to continue all the way around to the course Early judged they had been passing through just before Teri yelled. As they approached that heading, he ordered, “Rudder amidships. All engines stop.”
The man overboard detail had been called out, meaning that there were men stationed along all the railings, watching and listening. The signalmen traversed their signal lights across the dark water.
“Who is it? Do we know?” the captain asked Teri.
She was about to explain what she had seen when the chief boatswain’s mate opened the door at the back of the bridge and half escorted, half carried Petty Officer Pritchard up to the two of them. Lt Early conferred with CIC by telephone to check the probable location, and they all ignored for the moment the radio call from the admiral on the carrier.
Desperately trying not to sob, fighting back her tears, Alice Pritchard explained what had happened. “I...I had her,” she concluded. “She was there. But...the wind...she was just too heavy. I...I’m so sorry. Oh, Lieutenant Slocum, I’m so sorry. Will they find her?”
“We’ll stay here till dawn if we have to,” Captain Robertson replied, trying to sound optimistic. But they all knew it was December, it was dark, and Maggie Simpson didn’t have a life jacket.
RALEIGH—Mary motioned for Cynthia Williams to come in and take a seat while she finished her telephone conversation.
“Okay, dear. Have a safe trip, and I know your speech will be great. God bless...Yes, goodbye.”
She hung up and smiled across the desk at her friend.
“Thanks for letting me come by, Mary,” Cynthia said.
“Hey, thank you for bringing lunch. We real estate magnates have a reputation for eating high off the hog, but on most days sandwiches are the reality. Everyone’s scrambling to buy homes, it seems, before interest rates go up.”
“Yes, so I’ve read,” Cynthia said, passing Mary a deli sandwich and some chips. “Is Graham going somewhere?”
“He’s the incoming president of his engineering association, and their annual convention starts tomorrow in San Francisco. He’s been working on his speech for weeks—mostly about business ethics. Should be interesting. I told him to call tomorrow night, even if it’s late.”
Cynthia had been one of Mary’s strongest prayer partners in Moms in Prayer over the years. She and her husband, Tom, had a son in Sarah’s class, and an older boy away at college.
After they’d each taken a bite from their sandwiches, Cynthia opened her large purse. “I need to show you this. I couldn’t describe it on the phone.”
She pulled out a copy of Pet Girl International “This is a little embarrassing, though not as bad as when I bought it yesterday.” She tried to smile. Then her look turned serious as she hunted through the magazine for a page she had marked. “Here, look at this.” She opened the slick journal and passed it across the desk to Mary. “Our son David phoned Tom from college—he’s obviously heard about the virtual reality computer from his younger brother. Anyway, David told Tom to check out this ad.”
Mary put down her sandwich and looked at an expensive two-page color advertisement near the front of the magazine. Besides the attractive couples and the provocative language describing the delights one could experience, there was a picture of a computer and terminals that looked exactly like the equipment that had been shown to them at the special PTA meeting in April. Called simply the “Sex Machine,” the computer, special hook-ups, and software were being offered at an introductory price of only $1,995; first deliveries were expected in March. A toll-free number for credit card calls was provided, and one could receive a special certificate suitable for giving as a Christmas present while awaiting the arrival of the real thing.
After studying the ad Mary said, “This has to be the same equipment our kids are using.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“I wonder how we could find out for sure?”
“Tom said to tell you that if you’re game, the three of us can visit the BioTeam Company and ask them, face to face.”
“I wonder what Principal Perkins will say about this wonderful educational device if it’s being advertised like this.”
“We don’t know, Mary, but we thought you’d like to go with us.”
“Count me in,” Mary said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to those people for a few weeks now anyway. Can I show this to Graham?”
“Sure, just bring it with you when we go. I’ll call BioTeam after lunch. Hopefully they’ll see us soon.”
ONBOARD USS FORTSON—Twenty minutes had passed since the ship came to a stop at Henry Early’s best estimate of where Maggie Simpson fell into the icy water. The captain had gone below to use the radio handset in his cabin to return the admiral’s demand for an explanation of what had happened, but he left orders with Lt. Early to be recalled to the bridge if Maggie were spotted.
The other seven ships had proceeded on course, but with word of the man overboard, the carrier launched two helicopters with powerful searchlights to join in the effort to find the missing petty officer. Unfortunately, given all the circumstances and the lack of visual references in the open sea, Henry Early and Thomas Dobbs, who was overseeing the surface plot in CIC, knew that they could already be several hundred yards from her real point of impact; and with each passing minute they were being blown further downwind.
Hugh Harrison had walked several times between CIC and the bridge. Although he didn’t have a direct role to play in this effort, he had spoken a few words of consolation to Lieutenants Early and Slocum for how well they had handled both emergencies. Hugh had just called down to sick bay to ask the ship’s “doctor,” a corpsman chief, for a sedative for Alice Pritchard, who was standing forlornly in the back corner of the bridge, when Electronics Chief Garnett Ellis suddenly burst thr
ough the door from CIC.
“Is it Maggie?” he asked loudly to no one in particular, looking wildly around the darkened, quiet bridge. “Is it Maggie?” he asked again, recognizing Hugh Harrison standing near Petty Officer Pritchard.
“Yes, chief, it is,” Hugh replied.
“Awww, “he wailed, closing his eyes. Turning and almost cowering over the seaman at the ship’s wheel, his rage building, he yelled, “You! I heard how you screwed up the helm order and caused this mess! I’ll knock your head off, you stupid little—”
Hugh moved toward the enraged man. “Wait a minute, chief, we don’t know—”
“I know that the only woman I’ve ever really loved is probably dead right now, thanks to this son of a—” His eyes, adjusting to the dark, now saw Alice Pritchard, cowering in the corner. “And you! Some help I hear you were. Crying as usual, doing nothing. I don’t know what Maggie ever saw in you. You’re so unlike her. You—”
Heny yelled, “Chief Ellis, we’re trying to find Petty Officer Simpson. You’re not helping. I order you to leave this bridge.”
The chief’s exploding rage now burst and turned to tears. Those on the bridge who had been watching him turned away as the thirty-year-old chief stood in the middle of the bridge and wept.
The door opened again, and the captain and Doc came in together. The captain almost ran into Chief Ellis. Unaware of what had been happening, he asked, “Henry, any news?”
“No, sir. No change. We’ve ordered the helicopters to work upwind. Their rotors are so loud we couldn’t hear a yell from the water if one came.”
While Early spoke, Chief Ellis quietly slipped past the captain and left. Hugh whispered to Doc and showed him Alice Pritchard, who had now slumped to the deck, her arms wrapped around her, head bowed.
As Doc helped Alice stand up to leave, Hugh glanced over to see Teri, who was standing on the port bridge wing and desperately searching the dark sea for her leading petty officer, wipe tears from her eyes.
WASHINGTON AND NEW YORK—“So, what about this polygamy thing?” Leslie asked, the telephone balanced on her shoulder, as she used her computer to draft an outline of the president’s response to the Supreme Court’s ruling.
“Sounds great to me,” Ryan replied. “I’m working up an application form now. I’m expecting a strong response. Should I send you one?”
“No way. I don’t share. You want more than one wife, you’ll have to start with someone else.”
“Well, how about a ten-year exclusion clause? After ten years I can bring in a younger model, still keeping you around, of course. That’s the nice thing about this—divorce won’t be necessary. I can just bring in a relief pitcher from the bullpen and keep the team together.”
“Bull is right! Can we get serious for a second and talk about this story?”
“I was serious.”
“Okay...look, apparently there have already been twenty or so polygamous relationships—harems?—that have ‘come out of the closet’ today, just since this morning. We’ve got local news teams in Salt Lake City and Memphis running them down, so we should have video footage soon. Most of them seem to be one man and two or three women, but in one case there are apparently fifteen wives and twenty-six children!”
“Good heavens. What did the president say?”
“He released a statement through Chris White denouncing the ruling as anti-family, anti-children, and—get this—unbiblical!”
“That’s a new one for him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Maybe he’s sticking up for his older sister, after the piece we did last month on her family’s faith.”
“Okay, Leslie, sounds like we’ll have a lot to say tonight on this one. We’re checking in Chicago now on what the National Real Estate Society thinks will happen to home designs and bedroom sizes as a result of this ruling. But, seriously, what do you think of it?”
“Well, it’s kind of new and hard to take in. I really don’t think I’d want to be part of it. But if it’s equally available for men and women, and it’s an alternative lifestyle that someone really wants, I don’t see how I can be against it. If I opposed consensual polygamy, then I’d have to think again about a lot of gains we’ve already won, which I don’t want to do. So I guess the president and I part ways on this issue.”
“Yes. And I hear the vice president is upset, too. She disagrees with you—dunks it’s anti-women. Listen, I’ve got to run. Keep your ears open for any more of these Bible references from Harrison. That’s odd enough to be a little troubling, all on its own.”
“Will do. Oh, and thanks for the wonderful weekend.”
“Maybe we should buy a condo in Philadelphia.”
“Naw. The hotels with room service are just fine, thank you. See you later.”
WASHINGTON—“I’ve got Senator Dempsey on the line,” Barbara Morton said over the intercom to the president, who had asked her to return the earlier call from the senator from Ohio. They had not talked in private since his call to the White House back in June.
“John, how are you?” the president asked cordially, but still subdued because of the day’s events.
“Fine for an old politician, Mr. President. Just fine.”
“What can I do for you today?”
“Well, I was going to call you even before the ruling, but as soon as I read your statement, I picked up the phone.”
“It’s pretty bad. Think about almost any important subject, and this ruling will affect it. Negatively.”
“I know, Mr. President. But what I had planned to call about anyway was to tell you that I’ve been watching closely, and I wanted to let you know that I must have been wrong about some of the things I said to you back in June. You’ve played it straight, and I particularly admired your initiative to tell the voters the truth about your programs. Then I was really proud of what you said today. Most people may not have noticed, but I did. The subtle reference to the Bible. Something’s different, or else I’ve lost my touch on judging people.”
William was silent for a while as he thought back to their last long telephone conversation. “Different. Yes, John. And don’t apologize for what you said—and did—back in June. Unfortunately, you were right on target then. But there has been a difference, one your father would have understood. It’s simple, John. Not many people know. It’s God. I gave up to Jesus, and I’m trying to let him influence my life now. But today hasn’t been good. Those Supreme Court appointments we made back in March swung this vote, and I’ve been asking for God’s forgiveness all day. I feel awful about it. Several of my decisions—not just these appointments—have turned out to have had terrible consequences. I’m really kind of down, to be honest. To think that I could have helped cause yet another blow to families...”
John Dempsey’s voice was reassuring. “Mr. President, nothing is ever as good or as bad as it’s first advertised to be. I share your faith. There must be some reason for all this, for you being in office. God is at work. Trust him.”
“Oh, I do, for me and my family. But our nation worries me. It really worries me.”
“Then let’s pray about it now.”
“On the phone?”
“Sure. I do it all the time. In fact, there’s a group of us who get together this way...nobody knows.”
“Well, okay. And I’d like to join that group, if you’ll have me.”
The President and the senator prayed out loud, interceding with their heavenly Father that he would forgive their nation’s sins and heal their land.
RALEIGH AND WASHINGTON—Sarah Prescott was lying on her bed that afternoon, doing her homework, trying to quell the feelings churning inside her after her experience with the virtual reality computer that day, when the phone rang next to her.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
Sarah’s face lit up and she adjusted a pillow behind her head. “Hi, Katherine. How are you?”
“Great. We’ve been so busy at school since Thanksgiving I haven
’t had a chance to call. Did you have a good time down there?”
“Yeah. The usual. Mom always fixes way too much, but it was really good. How was Seattle? Where did you stay?”
“On an island! Some industrialist built this awesome house on an island in Puget Sound years ago, and somehow we got to stay in it. We went out by boat, but Dad flew in to meetings in a helicopter.”
“ Cool...So what else is happening?”
“Not much. I’m surviving this year much better than last. The Secret Service has let up a little more. Mom and Dad are, I don’t know, just different. They’re getting along much better. They hold hands and stuff. It’s stupid, but it’s kind of cute. Anyway, I’m so nervous about college I can hardly stand it. Aren’t the first rounds of early admissions due out next week?”
“Yeah, I’m nervous, too. I sure hope we both make it.”
“Me, too. Anyway, are all of you coming up to Camp David for Christmas?” Katherine asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Sarah said. “At least that’s what Mom said yesterday. It’s sure nice of Uncle William to have us back again.”
“Hey, islands are okay, but I think we’d go crazy at Christmas without everybody. Mom and Dad still think Easter was like real special, so it should be great. I hope it snows.”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it?”
“So, how’s Matthew?”
Sarah smiled. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s already heard that he got into State.”
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