It had arrived at one of the deep-sea docks a half hour before. They had some kind of big dividers or something set up on its deck. As if they were actually hiding the damn wreckage or something.

She stared at the boat, trying to decide which pissed her off more: that they’d stuck her here without explanation or that someone else was doing her job.

What was also great was she’d tried to call her boss to get her the hell out of here, but there was no service. There was Wi-Fi, but it was password-only, and what do you know? No one at the base would give any of them the password.

Ruby wanted to find Lieutenant Martin to complain, but he was conspicuously absent.

Out of bitching range, she thought. He’d move up quickly.

Just called out here to stand down, she thought as she looked at the stupid navy ship. Which really, really wasn’t working for her since she was supposed to be on leave by now helping her sister, Lori, due in less than twenty-four hours.

Ruby shook her head as she pictured Lori by herself out in Lake Charlene, waiting for her water to break. If it hadn’t already.

“Screw this,” Ruby mumbled as she crossed for the door.

It was incredibly humid outside, the hot air still, the sun beating. She walked down the mess hall’s rust-tinged steps and across the bleached concrete base yard. There were some more rust-flaked steps onto the deep-water dock on the other side, and she was already sweating like it was going out of style as she came up them.

As she walked along the three thousand–ton navy ship’s looming football field–length of gray steel for the boarding ramp, she could hear some clanking coming from it, faint voices, the hum of equipment.

It sounded like a crane up there or a Bobcat or something moving things around. People working up there, arranging the wreckage.

But not Naval Safety people? she thought, looking up at the ship, huge and gray and still. She swiped sweat off her forehead with her blue camo blouse sleeve. Some other mysterious people up there, the Keebler elves of the navy or the Smurfs maybe, up there stealing her job.

“I’m sorry. You can’t be here,” called down a sailor way up on the ship in a booming voice as she arrived at the other end of the gangway ramp.

He was a tall blond guy with a goatee and a bullet-shaped head. A petty officer first class, by the three red stripes on his shoulder.

Unbelievable. Why would they put such a heavy hitter at the ramp? she wondered.

“I’m Lieutenant Everett from Naval Safety. Is the plane up there? The jet they found? I’m supposed to be working on it,” she called back.

“Sorry,” he said. “No one can come aboard, Lieutenant. Captain’s orders. Call your CO.”

“I can’t. I don’t have the damn password for the Wi-Fi.”

The sailor at the other end of the gangway shrugged his large shoulders.