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and sail into a large civilian port—New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles—and we wouldn’t have much reaction time.
    â€œOnce that ship is within seven miles of the coast, depending on where it’s coming in, it would be hard to get aircraft or other vessels in place quickly enough to stop it. So the Navy has come up with a solution. It’s called Operation Blue Jay. Some of you may have heard of it. But the plan is to deploy thousands of drones, up and down both coasts and along the Gulf of Mexico, to be on station twenty-four hours a day to guard against terrorism and drug infiltration.
    â€œThe Navy has been awarded the contract, subject to final approval by JAG and final approval by Congress.” He looked her way, flashing a quick smile. “Which we don’t see as a problem. Just a formality, you know.”
    He followed the smile with a quick wink, making her weak in the knees. Captain Paul Kriete should be illegal. At least, it should be illegal to turn him loose in the presence of a single woman. Thank goodness she could think about P.J. The prospect of reuniting with P.J. excited her.
    â€œAnyway, I’ve been selected to be the officer in charge of the project. So while you gentlemen are sailing to the west, I’ll be headed east. To Washington.” He looked at her again. “To the Pentagon, where I am honored to become commander of the very first littoral drone fleet in U.S. Navy history, the brand-new U.S. Navy Drone Force.”
    Another glance in her direction. An impish smile as he reveled in the applause and adoration of his men, which set her heart into such a loud pound-a-thon that she could barely hear their applause. She felt herself growing angry. So that was what this was about. He called her here to drop a bomb on her. He was going to Washington too. From the head of the table, more clings and dings on water glasses. This time Commander Turner took the stage.
    â€œGentlemen, gentlemen.” Like Kriete, most naval officers, at least the largest single block of naval officers, were southerners. But Turner spoke with an accent that sounded Bostonian. “Your attention, please.” Ding-ding . “I think I can speak for Lieutenant Commander Carber in saying that we are honored and humbled to step into what will be a great leadership vacuum to replace a great man.”
    â€œHear, hear!”
    â€œHear, hear!”
    Caroline smiled plastically and nodded. Why the sudden urge to get up and walk out? Perhaps because all the adulation these officers had for their captain made him that much more irresistible? When she wished he were resistible? Perhaps she worried about the dynamic of going to Washington, of going to the Pentagon and facing both Paul Kriete and P.J. in the same building. A Washington-spiced love triangle was the last thing she needed right now. For now, she had to sit tight and resist Kriete internally. A hard task, but hopefully doable.
    â€œEvery officer strives for command.” Turner’s voice cracked. He looked reverently at Paul as if grasping for words. “But, Skipper, no one strives to take command in this way.” He put his hand on Paul’s broad shoulder. “I shall work hard to fill your shoes, sir.” His voice cracked again. “Which will be next to impossible to fill, but I will do my best.”
    â€œYou will do a great job, XO.” Kriete stood, shook Turner’s hand, and patted him on the back.
    More applause.
    The XO spoke again. “Gentlemen”—he, like Turner, apparently forgot that not all officers in the wardroom were gentlemen—“I want us to fully grasp what has happened here.” He looked at Paul, then at his officers. “What’s happened to our captain is not a relief from command but rather a major-league promotion as the initial commander of what will become one of the most powerful commands in the U.S. Navy—the U.S. Navy Drone Force.”