When he arrived in the small space where the Black Knights stored their flight equipment, Smitty and another Marine pilot were already there getting dressed for the first event of the day. He had never felt embarrassed or ashamed to be in the presence of other fighter pilots, but the dark cloud of his damaged reputation hung over his head and was impossible to ignore. He just wanted to get his gear and leave.
“I can come back,” he said, starting to back out.
Smitty turned. “Forget that, dude. We’re almost done.”
The other pilot gave Colt a nervous smile, then turned to Smitty. “I’ll meet you on the roof.”
Smitty nodded, then watched his wingman skirt around Colt to leave the cramped room and waited until he was gone. “Grab your shit and I’ll walk with you to the ATO.”
The Marines who took care of their flight gear had already packed his away in an olive drab parachute bag. After finding the right bag, he stuffed his duffel inside, zipped it closed, then hefted it off the floor and slung it across his back. Smitty led him out into the main passageway, then turned toward the ATO. Every few steps, he looked over his shoulder to see if Colt was following, then stopped in a vacant stretch.
Colt spoke first. “I really appreciate your offer to help, Smitty.”
“Dude, don’t worry about it. That’s what we do, right? We look out for each other.”
He looked up and down the passageway, but aside from a woman in jeans and a red hoodie several frames forward walking in their direction, they were alone. He lowered his voice anyway. “Did you talk to Jug?”
Smitty nodded. “Called him on the POTS line just before my brief.”
The POTS line, or Plain Old Telephone Service, was a phone that could be used like any other landline. Normally only squadron commanding officers and other higher-ranking officers had access to the service, but enterprising aircrew often found ways to work around the restrictions so they could call home. Colt felt his heart beat a little faster. “And?”
Smitty removed a scrap of paper from his flight suit pocket and handed it to him. “He’s expecting your call.”
Colt saw a number scrawled on the sheet of paper and slipped it into his pocket, overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude for the Marine pilot. He had only known Smitty for a few weeks, but already he felt as if they had known each other much longer. “Thank you, brother.”
Punky walked hesitantly through the main passageway, stepping through knee-knockers as she looked for somebody who could help. Up ahead, she spotted two pilots talking to each other, but unlike Chief Cooper’s prediction, they didn’t appear bored or overly eager to help. One wore a high-and-tight haircut and was outfitted in cumbersome flight gear, but the other only carried a bulky gear bag on his back. She stopped when the two men embraced.
The acoustics weren’t great on the ship, and a deep humming sound radiated through the steel bulkheads around her. But it was quiet enough that she could just barely make out their hushed voices.
“Keep me posted,” high-and-tight said.
The blond nodded. “I’m going to figure out what happened.”
“I know you will.”
Punky cocked her head to the side, wondering if she was reading too much into what she had overheard. The blond’s comment could have meant anything, but she latched onto it and figured she had nothing to lose by playing her hand early. She stepped through another knee-knocker and approached them.
“Excuse me,” she said, flashing them her credentials. “I’m with NCIS and looking for a pilot who might have been the target of sabotage last night.”
The men looked at each other, then back to her. “What’s the pilot’s name?” high-and-tight asked.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could help me find him.”
The blond looked at his watch, then moved to step around her. “I’m sorry, I’m going to be late for my flight.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m on the next COD, and if I miss it…” He trailed off before adding, “Excuse me.”
She watched him walking toward the ATO, where Chief Cooper had just deposited her, then turned her attention to high-and-tight. “What about you? Got somewhere to be?”
“I’m actually heading to the flight deck for the first event.” He paused. “But if you walk with me, I can take you to our ready room on my way. Somebody there ought to be able to help.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
With a resigned sigh, high-and-tight glanced at the other pilot once more, then started walking aft. Punky was tall and had long legs, but she found that she needed to quicken her pace to keep up with the pilot. Either he was late or deliberately trying to make it difficult for her to follow, but she didn’t have a choice. She needed to find the pilot before it was too late.
“So, you said something about sabotage?” high-and-tight asked over his shoulder. “What happened?”
“I don’t really know,” she replied. “Just that a jet was supposed to have crashed, and now a pilot is in danger because of some information he downloaded. I don’t know anything about—”
