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Jabo slept exactly twenty-five minutes after Hallorann left his stateroom, and when he awoke, he did feel much, much better. He knew it wouldn’t last, knew there would come a point early in the watch where no amount of coffee could overcome the sleep deficit he’d accumulated, but for the moment he just felt grateful for the one hundred and five minutes of sleep he’d gotten. And Hallorann’s fear had been accurate….he had no recollection of talking to him, or of the yellow sheet of paper that was sitting on his desk, lost among a sea of paper that was awaiting his review. But Jabo felt so good that he walked to the shower whistling, with a towel around his waist, and when he came back to the stateroom, ten minutes later, he was humming. Kincaid was back, sweaty and winded, taking off his running shoes.

“Did you violate those safety tags on the treadmill?” asked Jabo.

“I considered it. Fucking stupid. I ran in missile compartment upper level as best I could. I hate running up there.”

“I’ll talk to the cruise director.”

“Fuck you. I’m glad you got your nap in, slacker.”

Jabo laughed at that, started stepping into his poopie, while Kincaid nosed around his desk. He held up the yellow paper and laughed.

“I see that nub found you with this…he was trying to get everybody to look at it, we finally realized you are running the investigation, sent him down to you.”

Jabo took the sheet, began to vaguely recall the conversation with Hallorann. More clearly he remembered seeing the yellow paper in the master chief’s Polaroids. He looked at his watch. “I need to take the watch,” he said. “I’ll take a look at it on the conn.”

“I have a feeling if you don’t, that nub will come after you. He seems like a determined type of guy.”

• • •

Molly Hein came to Angi’s house already in her workout clothes, and then they left together in Angi’s car. They were already a little late for the step aerobics class in the gym base that they attended every Tuesday and Thursday when the men were at sea. The instructor was Dee Dee Hysong, the ridiculously fit, ridiculously blonde wife of a lieutenant on Alaska.

“We’re going to be late,” said Angi. “Dee Dee is going to glare at us.”

“That’s why I like being late,” said Molly. “But that’s not why she glares at us. It’s because you’re in better shape than her. She can’t tolerate that.”

Angi patted her belly. “If that’s true, she’ll be happy to see this.”

“How much longer do you think you can do stuff like this?”

“As long as they let me. Then we can just start going to McDonald’s and getting fat together.”

“You’ll never be fat,” said Molly. “You’re one of those mutants.”

Angi laughed. “Just because you drag me to these classes. You’re a good influence on me.”

“You’re a bad influence on me. I’m going to tell Jay I want to have a baby now.”

“God, don’t blame me for that…”

“Hey, if I can’t get a job, what the hell…I might as well stay barefoot and pregnant.” Molly, like her husband, had a degree from MIT. But with the frequent moves and the limited opportunities in a navy town, she’d been unable to get a career started. Angi had studied to be a teacher at Vandy, and was fully licensed to teach kids with learning disabilities — in Tennessee. After arriving in Washington State, she learned that the requirements and licensing were sufficiently different that it would take half their sea tour, and an equally significant chunk of Danny’s sea pay, for her to obtain her Washington state license. She sympathized with her friend’s frustration.

Angi turned on to Trigger Road, the short drive complete from her house to the gate. Cars were backed up as uniformed marines checked every ID and looked over every auto. A stern gunnery sergeant was supervising the stepped up inspections.

“Heightened security,” said Molly. “Must be because of all the China stuff.”

“The protestors are here, too,” said Angi. There was a small cadre of them just outside the gate, aging hippies in tie-dye, peasant skirts, and white pony tails, handing out flyers with large smiles on their faces. They’d had a long-standing agreement with the base, who allowed them to show up on Tuesday mornings and exercise their freedom of speech just outside the gate while submarine sailors worked to defend that right inside. One of them approached Angi’s car, and she started to roll down here window.

“You actually take their flyers?” said Molly.

“Usually. Just seems rude to say no.”

“God, you are a such nice person.”

Angi took the paper from an older looking man wearing a peace-sign medallion and a crucifix. He nodded thankfully and moved on to the car behind them. She looked it over.

“AMERICAN NUKES TO PROVOKE CHINA??!!!” There was a black, cartoonish silhouette of a surfaced submarine above the headline, with a nuclear trefoil symbol, as well as the red stars of the Chinese flag.