Panic Switch

EPILOGUE

“Follow me,” Anthony Pacino said to Rachel Romanov, leading her to the rear of the Naval Academy chapel, where concrete steps led down to a black brass double door. Pacino tried the knob, but it was locked. He pulled the knob upward and the door groaned. He pulled on the knob and the door slowly opened.

“What are you doing? Are you breaking into the chapel?” Rachel asked.

“This door has been rigged for decades,” he said. “A secret that only midshipmen and grads know.”

“Why doesn’t the admiral-in-command have it fixed? Isn’t he a graduate?”

“It’s this way on purpose. Sometimes, in the middle of a dark night — or a dark night of the soul — midshipmen need to sneak down here. I used to. All the time. And in fact, once I met Admiral Murphy, the Superintendent, when I was here at three in the morning. Turns out he did the same thing I did.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” Pacino opened the door and guided her in. She gasped as she entered.

“Oh my God. What is this?”

The beige marble floor led to an octagon formed by eight dark marble columns. In the center of the columns, a massive gleaming black sarcophagus was supported by four marble dolphins, the circle of floor beneath the coffin gleaming black. An inscription was engraved on the floor.

“Captain John Paul Jones,” Pacino said, “meet Lieutenant Commander Rachel Romanov.”

“I’m absolutely speechless,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Come over here and sit on this bench. This is where I used to sit when I’d come down here to talk to Captain Jones.”

They sat on the marble bench that had a view of the coffin from the side.

“It’s beautiful. It’s amazing. I can see why you’d come here for inspiration.”

“Not only inspiration,” Pacino said, “but for luck.”

“Luck?”

“I’d come before final exams. Or after I’d typed a term paper. There was a bad semester when I was sure I was going to get kicked out.”

“You?”

“Yeah, I was okay in academics but I was a bit of a conduct case. Sneaking out to go to Chick’s Diner out in town in the wee hours. Drinking in a Baltimore strip club as a third-class midshipman when a first-class midshipman came in, recognized me, and put me in for a class-A conduct violation. So yeah, Captain John Paul Jones and I talked a lot that semester.”

Rachel laughed. “I’d say he gave you lots of luck,” she said. “Maybe that’s why your submarine operations go so well.”

“All that death, Rachel. I don’t think this last one went well at all.”

“You lived and came back to me, Pacino,” she said, looking adoringly into his eyes. She put her hand on his face. “That’s all that matters. But why do you need luck now?”

“Because I’m going to ask you a question.” Pacino stood, pulled something out of his pocket and sank to one knee.

“Oh dear God, no, Pacino, what are you doing?”

He opened the ring box, looked up at her and said, “Rachel Romanov, will you marry me and change your last name to Pacino?”

She’d clamped her hand to her mouth and tears suddenly streamed from her eyes, her cheeks wet with them.

But she looked at him through the tears and started laughing.

“What?” he said, feeling foolish, still kneeling.

“No way I’m marrying you, Pacino,” she said, laughing. She plucked the ring from the box, admired it, and put it on her left ring finger, held out her hand and stared at it, smiling. “But I’m not an idiot, I’m keeping the ring.”

Pacino stood up, his heart sinking. But when Romanov saw how his face fell, she stood and pulled him over to her, hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. But we can’t do it now. They’d send one of us to a different ship or even a different base.”

He looked into her wet eyes. “We could get married in secret,” he offered.

“What good would that do? The whole purpose of getting married is to announce to the world that we’re a couple and not to mess with us. And believe me, I can’t wait for my last name to no longer be ‘Romanov.’ Rachel Pacino. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“What about the ring?” Pacino asked. “You can’t wear that.”

“I’ll get a chain for it tomorrow and wear it around my neck. Next to my heart. Pacino?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can wait?”

“It’ll be years,” Pacino said.

“I could always quit the Navy to be with you,” she said.

“Hell no,” Pacino said to her. “Are you kidding me? I’m not an idiot either. I have an executive officer — and acting captain — who dances to my tune. Why would I give that up?”

“Dances to your tune? Listen, mister, not only do I outrank you, I wear the pants in this family.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her face. “Until you take the pants off me, that is.”

Anthony Pacino smiled at Rachel Romanov, touched her face, brought her in to kiss her, then just hugged her hard as they stood silently in the crypt. He looked over at John Paul Jones’ sarcophagus and mouthed the words, “Thank you, Captain Jones.”