“I thought there were a lot of rumors about him.”

“Nobody talks about him that I know of. But listen, Corrie.” Again he leaned in, beery breath washing over her. “Listen, we can talk about McGurk or whatever else you want. But maybe

we could do it someplace, you know … quieter?”

He swayed forward as he said this.

“I like it here.”

“Come on, my truck’s just—”

Corrie finished her beer, placed the glass back on the counter, and stood up. “No, thank you.”

“Come on, darling … hey, wait, don’t go!” He swayed forward again and pitched facedown, as Corrie neatly stepped back to avoid him.

There was a small commotion, then a man in an officer’s uniform smartly stepped up and came between her and Billy, who was struggling to get up.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, placing a hand in the small of her back and guiding her off. “Let’s get away from him.”

Now Billy’s friends were crowding around and dusting him off, while the bartender was telling them to get him the hell out.

The man continued to steer her expertly toward a table. “Will you join me for a drink?”

“Sure.”

She took a seat, and he sat down opposite her. He had a silver bar on each lapel of his shirt, which was khaki, not camo, and a little different from most of the other outfits people were wearing in the bar. Intense blue eyes, late twenties, fit and handsome, ramrod military bearing. This was more promising than Billy.

“Name’s Ben. Ben Morse.”

“Corrie Swanson.”

He shook his head. “That guy’s really a disgrace to the military. Maybe I should report him.”

“Please don’t. He’s harmless.” That was the last thing she needed: to be dragged into some sort of disciplinary situation.

He looked at her and smiled, eyes crinkling. “Okay. For your sake.”

The waitress came by, and Corrie ordered another beer, while Morse ordered a gin and tonic. Corrie realized this beer had better be her last if she was going to drive home, so she decided to cut to the chase. She gave him her prettiest smile. “I’m kind of ignorant about the military, but those bars—what rank is that?”

“Lieutenant. Lieutenant Morse, at your service.” He gave her a mock salute.

“Oh, you’re an officer, then?”

“Yes, I am. Just a JG, but I’m due for promotion to full lieutenant. In fact, I’m leaving for San Diego the day after tomorrow.”

Lieutenant JG... “Wait. So you’re navy?”

His smile broadened. “Of course. What else would I be?”

“I don’t know, I … ” Corrie stopped. “Well, this is an army and air force base. And we’re in the desert. The nearest navy ship must be hundreds of miles from here.”

“We do other things besides sail the ocean,” Morse said. “For example, I work at the VLF array.”

“The what?”

“The naval radio station. It’s in the northern part of the range, about six miles northeast of the Trinity site. West of Abajo Peak.”

The drinks came. He raised his glass and clinked hers.

“Radio station? What do you play: Oldies? Top Forty?”

Morse chuckled. “We only have one class of listener: submarines.”

“You’re joking.”

Morse shook his head. “Low-frequency radio waves can penetrate both the ground and seawater. That lets us forward orders to submarines. The conditions here are close to ideal—that’s why we’re a tenant command on an army base.” He paused a moment. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t say any more about it.”

“That’s okay, I totally understand.” She understood something else, too: the way he’d said “tenant command” in a bitter tone he couldn’t fully conceal.

“It must be rough duty, though,” she said. “I mean, I’m just guessing. But far from sea, on a little patch of turf in the middle of army types who probably look on you guys as trespassers.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said, but again his tone held the whiff of disgruntlement.

“Do you ever, ah, run into General McGurk?” she asked, in a way that she hoped sounded like she was intentionally switching subjects for his benefit.

His glass paused on the way to his lips. “You know him?”

“No, not at all.” She thought fast, sensing a fresh edge to his tone. “It’s that I had a friend, an officer, who didn’t have a lot of good things to say about him.”

He nodded. “Not surprised.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t like to talk out of school, but … ”

Corrie waited, her heart accelerating. All of a sudden, it seemed like this crazy, stupid mission of hers just might work.

“These WSMR commanders come and go. Most of them have respect for how things are done, understand the routine is there for a reason. But since McGurk’s father was posted at WSMR as a lieutenant back in the sixties, he seems to think that gives him legacy rights to do whatever the hell he wants.”

Corrie was surprised to hear this: The father was also at WSMR? She quickly covered up her reaction. “That explains what my friend was saying. What kind of stuff, for instance?”