The Right Stuff. Merline Lovelace
Читать онлайн книгу.
test control center had been flown in from New Mexico along with most of the personnel now manning it. They’d staked a claim to this isolated stretch of south Texas beach to conduct their deep-water sea trials. Heavily armed marines from the nearby naval air station patrolled the perimeter of the test site. The coast guard had added its small Padre Island fleet to the navy ships that kept fishing trawlers and pleasure craft away from the test sector.
By the time Pegasus roared out of the rolling surf, a small crowd of uniformed officers had spilled out of the van. They hurried across the hard-packed sand as Cari killed the engines. Blowing out a long breath, she patted the console with a hand that shook more than she wanted to admit.
“Way to go, Pegasus.”
Her craft settled on the sand with a little hum, as if every bit as satisfied with its performance as she was. Smiling, Cari climbed out of the cockpit and made her way to the rear hatch. When she stepped into the bright sunlight, a tall blond god in an air force flight suit broke ranks with the rest of the uniformed officers. Ignoring the surf swirling around his black boots, he strode forward, wrapped his hands around Cari’s waist and swung her to the sand.
“You took Pegasus for a helluva swim, Dunn!”
She grinned up at the sun-bronzed pilot. “Thanks, Dave. I think so, too.”
The rest of the officers crowded around her. Army Major Jill Bradshaw shed her habitual reserve long enough to thump Cari on the back.
“Good job, roomie.”
Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave, a senior weather scientist with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Service, hooked an arm around Cari’s shoulders and gave her a fierce hug.
“I just about choked when the weather-service satellites picked up that squall developing out over the Gulf,” the leggy redhead admitted. “What a relief it blew south, not north.”
“No kidding!”
Doc Cody Richardson, the U.S. Public Health Service representative to the task force, ran an assessing glance over her face. In addition to providing expertise on the chemical, biological and nuclear defenses aboard the craft, the doc also acted as the cadre’s chief medical officer.
“Did you experience any dizziness or nausea?”
“None,” Cari replied, wiping out the memory of those few seconds of belly-clenching fear before Pegasus began his climb up the ocean floor.
Doc nodded, but she knew he’d be poring over the data with the bioengineers later to study her body’s most minute reactions during various stages of the mission.
“Nice going, Dunn.”
The gruff words swung her around. Major Russ McIver stood behind her, a solid six-two of buzz-cut marine. She and the major had locked horns more than once in the past few months. Mac’s by-the-book, black-or-white view of the world allowed for no compromises and tended to ruffle even Cari’s calm, usually un-rufflable temper.
This time, though, Mac was smiling at her in a way that made her breath catch. For a crazy moment, it might have been just the two of them standing on the beach with the surf lapping at their heels and the south Texas sky a bright, aching blue overhead.
Mac broke the spell. “Think you can get Pegasus to swim like that with a full squad of marines aboard?”
The crazy moment gone, Cari tugged off her ball cap and raked back a few loose strands of her mink-brown hair. “No problem, Major. We’ll add some ballast and take him out again tomorrow. Not much difference between a squad of marines and a boatload of rocks.”
Mac started to respond to the good-natured gibe. The appearance of the navy officer in overall charge of the Pegasus project had him swallowing his retort.
Cari whipped up a smart salute, which Captain Westfall returned. His weathered cheeks creased into a broad grin. “Good run, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I could feel the salt water coursing through my veins the whole time you had Pegasus out there, testing his sea legs.”
With the closest thing to a smirk the others had yet seen on the naval officer’s face, Westfall reached out and patted the vehicle’s steel hide. Cari hid a smile at his air of ownership and glanced around the circle of officers.
They represented all seven branches of uniformed services. Army. Navy. Air force. Marines. Coast guard. Public Heath Service. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
Months ago they’d assembled in southeastern New Mexico. Since then they’d worked night and day alongside a similarly dedicated group of top-level civilians to see Pegasus through its operational test phase. Now, with the deep-water tests underway, the end of their assignment loomed on the not-too-distant horizon.
Regret knifed through Cari at the thought. She’d grown so close to these people. She admired their dedication, cherished their friendship. The knowledge that their tight-knit group would soon break up was hard to take, even for an officer used to frequent rotations and new assignments.
Without thinking, she shifted her glance back to Russ McIver. Her stomach muscles gave a funny quiver as she took in the strong line of his jaw. The square, straight way he held himself. The bulge of muscles under the rolled-up sleeves of his camouflage fatigues, known for unfathomable reason as Battle Dress Uniform or BDUs.
Her regret dug deeper, twisted harder.
Frowning, Cari tried to shrug off the strange sensation. She had to get a grip here. This was just an assignment, one of many she’d held and would hold during her years in the U.S. Coast Guard. And Mac…
Mac was a colleague, she told herself firmly. A comrade in arms. Sometimes bullheaded. Often obnoxious, as those who see no shades of gray can be. But totally dedicated to the mission and the corps.
“It’ll take an hour to download the data and run the post-test analyses.” Captain Westfall checked his watch. “We’ll conduct the debrief at thirteen-thirty.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
An hour would give Cari plenty of time to draft her own post-test report. Still exhilarated by the success of her run, she headed for the silver van and its climate-controlled comfort. Early October in south Texas had proved far steamier than the high, dry desert of New Mexico.
Racks of test equipment, communications consoles and wide screens filled the front half of the van. The rear half served as a work and mini-conference area. Captain Westfall went forward to talk to the test engineers while the others filed into the back room. Eager to record her evaluation of the run, Cari settled at her workstation and flipped up the lid of her laptop. A blinking icon in the upper right corner drew her gaze.
She had e-mail.
None of the officers working on Pegasus could reveal their location or their activities. The techno-wizards assigned to the Pegasus project routed all communications with families, friends and colleagues through a series of secure channels that completely obscured their origin. For months, Cari’s only link with the outside had been by phone or by e-mail.
She didn’t have time to communicate with her large, widely dispersed circle of friends and family now, but she’d do a quick read to make sure no one was hurt or in trouble. A click of her mouse brought up a one-line e-mail.
Marry me, beautiful.
“Oh, hell.”
She didn’t realize she’d muttered the words out loud until Kate Hargrave glanced up from the workstation next to hers.
“Are you having trouble bringing up the post-run analysis screen? That last program mod is a bitch, in my humble opinion.”
When Cari hesitated, reluctant to discuss personal matters in such a cramped setting, the weather officer scooted her chair over.
“Oh.” Understanding flooded Kate’s green eyes. “I see the problem. How are you going to