"I heard that, but our Predator still has greater speed and range than your drones. We launch right from the vertical tube. Subs rigged like this have ten-thousand-foot periscopes, so to speak. Trust me, you'll be glad we're up there. Now what's your story?"

Diaz adopted a singsong tone, deciding she would have a little fun with this jock. "Well, sir, I certainly don't have the talent to be a naval aviator, but I like playing around with ranges, working numbers in my head for projectile drop and wind compensation. I like slowing my heart rate, taking a deep breath, letting half out, and squeezing off the round between beats. I like listening to old Bee Gees songs and watching some bad guy's brains splatter over a fifty-foot area from the kinetic energy imparted on impact. I call that a woman's touch."

Moch blinked hard. "Alicia, why don't you step into the wardroom, fill a chair, and let me buy you a cup of our fine navy coffee?"

She chuckled under her breath. "You don't have any bourbon?"

Mitchell found Jenkins in the torpedo room, along with Beasley, Hume, and Smith. The men were doing another inventory of the gear and double-checking batteries.

"Bo, can I speak with you?"

"Yes, sir."

They crossed over to one corner of the room, where Mitchell leaned on the bulkhead and said, "So it's the future, and you're captain of your own Ghost Team."

Initially, Jenkins was confused, but finally his brain caught up to the moment. "Okay, sir, but, uh, I made it through college?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, that's good."

"Play along. So you're captain, and it's the day before a huge operation. You know that you need every guy with a clear head. You know you can't afford any distractions. But you also know that there's news from home that will affect several members of your team. What do you do? Do you give them the news? Or do you wait until after the mission?"

Jenkins swallowed, took a deep breath, and he could no longer look Mitchell in the eye. "I don't say anything, sir, because the mission is more important. The news can wait."

Mitchell thought a moment, then slowly nodded. "Bo, I'm not trying to take myself off the hook."

"I know. I had a dream about him last night. Do you believe in the afterlife?"

"Haven't made up my mind yet. But for now, we're the only ghosts I believe in."

"What about fate?"

"Bo, we have to believe that what we do matters. I don't think it was all figured out for us. I could've stayed home, worked on cars, built furniture, but I decided to change things. I did that. Not fate."

"Yeah, but maybe there are all these doors in our lives, and we're moving through them. Some close behind us, and some don't. Sometimes we control them. Sometimes not."

"Who knows, Bo."