Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 49

Brendan watched the sky pinken over the western coast of Australia. Port, finally.

The last ten weeks at sea had given him new respect for his surface warfare classmates from the Academy. Putting this many people in this small of an area for that long defined a whole new level of stress for Brendan. It seemed like even the smallest issue — watch schedules, dinner menu, cleaning rotations — blew up into a big deal. As skipper, it was his job to solve it, and he was tired of it.

Well, that’s what leave is for. A few days and he’d be back in Minnesota and as far away from an ocean as one could get on the continental United States.

Still, the last mission to Iran proved to him that he belonged here, onboard his ship, not back with the SEALs. He knew he was a step behind his spec ops buddies now, not up to the task of jumping out of helos or assaulting targets. But here, here he was making a difference. Their trip from the Arabian Gulf down to Australia had been another success for the program. Who knew the Indonesians were using Russian-made Rezonans-N long-range air search radar? Dot guessed they’d installed it after the loss of Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 in March 2014. Thanks to the crew of the Arrogant, that piece of data was now in the hands of the intelligence guys to figure how and why it had happened.

Gabby poked her head up from the cabin. “Coffee, skipper?”

Brendan nodded. He checked the sails, which were tight under a brisk morning breeze. At this rate, they’d be in Perth before lunchtime.

Gabby handed him a steaming mug and took a seat next to him on the bench. Her dark curls were tousled and her eyes still puffy with sleep. A gull rode the wind overhead. She half-rose to see if anyone else was awake, then huddled deeper into her sweatshirt.

“I’m going to put in for a transfer while we’re in refit,” she said in a low voice.

Brendan kept his face still and stayed silent.

“I think it’s best — for both of us,” she continued.

That part was true, at least. He closed his eyes, hoping she wasn’t going to bring up the Maldives again.

The situation with Gabby had come to a head during a port visit in the Maldives.

To bolster their party boat image, they had all dined together in an expensive restaurant out on the town. The food was wonderful, a blend of French with an Indian flair, served on a platform that cantilevered out over the crystal-clear water. When the sun went down and the water darkened, the restaurant turned on underwater lights that attracted the local sea life.

The combination of the soft sea breeze, the wine, the fabulous food, and good company made for an evening to remember. It was Dot who suggested they go dancing. Brendan shrugged. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but if the rest of them wanted to go, he was happy to play the host.

The nightclub was called “The Wave,” and he slipped a fifty-dollar bill to the doorman to get them a table overlooking the dance floor. Someone ordered champagne, and a silver bucket appeared at their table. Like magic, it was empty and another replaced it, although he scarcely remembered drinking any of the first one.

The pumping music made for difficult conversation, unless you leaned into the person and almost shouted directly into their ear. So Brendan drank, and watched while the rest of the crew hit the dance floor.

Except Gabby.

She was wearing a short skirt and some kind of glittery gold top that stretched tight across her breasts, but left her back bare. She slid across the leather sofa until she was right next to him and said something.

“What?” He knew perfectly well that she’d asked him to dance, but he was searching for a way out of it. Sure, they had a cover to keep, but as a naval officer he had lines he couldn’t cross, and sleeping with a crew member was the biggest, brightest line he could think of.

She leaned into him, her breast resting heavily against his bicep. Her hand touched his thigh lightly, and Brendan felt himself stiffen. Gabby put her lips next to his ear, the scent of her hair and wonderful mocha-colored skin strong in Brendan’s nostrils.

“Dance with me.”

Her breath puffed softly against his cheek, and she might have used the closeness to nip his earlobe. Brendan stood and helped her up. She kept hold of his hand, leading him down the steps and onto the crowded dance floor.

Bodies, sweat, damp heat. The crush of dancers forced them so close together that Gabby’s nipples poked him through the thin material of his shirt. A few tendrils of curly dark hair had come loose from her hair clip, and they framed her face softly. She looked up at him, and Brendan bit his lip. Her hips ground against him and his breath stuttered in his throat as his body responded to hers. He lowered his face toward Gabby, and she was already moving to meet his lips.

Then it happened. The DJ hit a strobe light; the world went freeze-frame all around him.

And Gabby’s face changed. Her features sharpened, the mass of dark curls transformed into a sleek bob, and he was looking at Liz.

He jerked his head back. Gabby opened her eyes when the expected kiss didn’t happened. “What’s the matter?” Liz/Gabby mouthed to him in stop-motion.

Brendan gulped. He stopped dancing and put his head close to her ear. “Liz — I mean, Gabby, I can’t—”

Gabby’s head jerked away from him. She pushed him back into the group of dancers behind him. Brendan lost his balance, falling on his ass in a circle of Indian girls who glared down at him, looks of disgust on their faces.

The DJ started the strobe again as Brendan struggled to his feet. The combination of too much to drink and the freeze-frame of the lights meant it took him a long time to get back to the table. Brendan flopped onto the couch next to Scottie. “Where’s Gabby?” he gasped.

“She grabbed her purse and left a minute ago,” Scottie said in a shout. He peered at Brendan’s face. “You okay?”

“Did she look upset?”

“Skipper, I’ve been married three times. If you want to ask a man if a woman looks upset, you best ask someone else.”

It would have been funny if he wasn’t so angry with himself about the whole situation. He threw a sidelong glance at Gabby. She had her beautiful brown eyes focused on him.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

Brendan nodded. There was nothing he could say to make this better, so he decided to just shut up.

Gabby looked away and Brendan breathed a sigh of relief. He’d already made his clumsy apologies, multiple times. It was time to let it die.

“Who’s Liz?”

“What?” Brendan’s head snapped around.

“Who’s Liz? That night at the club, you called me Liz. Who is she?”

“Uh, she’s a friend. Someone I went to school with.”

Gabby plucked the empty coffee cup from his hand. She placed a hand on his knee, the injured one. Her touch was familiar, but lacking intimacy — not like the way she’d touched him before the Maldives.

“Hey.” She waited until he looked up at her. “What we were about to do on the dance floor was way beyond friends, skipper, and you called me by another woman’s name. Not what any woman wants to hear.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Get your head straight, sir. Liz is way more than a friend.”

Brendan blew out a deep breath as Gabby disappeared into the cabin below. The sun came up over the horizon.

Less than a week and he’d be back in Minneapolis.