21

Gina slept three hours before she stirred. Mark looked over at her from his phone call and recognized this time the movement was more than a shift to change positions. “Thanks, Bryce, for the news that it’s ready,” he told his brother. “I’ll plan to pick it up in the morning.” He tucked away the phone and watched Gina open her eyes and groggily move aside both kittens from their perch on her chest.

“Are you hungry now or are you craving more sleep? You can turn in for the night—I’ll lock up for you,” he said quietly. He knew security was around the house, but he’d make the checks just the same.

Gina sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m hungry, and I’d rather talk.”

He handed her the notebook with his notes. “I’ll reheat your dinner.”

He came back with a plate and saw the notebook on the end table. She was playing with the puppy.

“Has Pongo been out?” she asked. “I fenced the backyard for him.”

“Twice. He brought back a chewed-up work glove the second time.”

“He acquired it when I made the mistake of leaving the pair within his reach. He thinks it’s a game.”

Mark set up a TV tray in front of her with the plate, silverware, napkin and glass, then took the puppy. “Enjoy.”

She ate with an appetite he was pleased to see. “I’m sorry that Jeff, Daniel, and I were all unavailable when you printed the photo, Gina. That you had to make this discovery and realize its scope on your own.”

“God heard about it,” she said, and he heard sadness in her words. “I knew . . . early on I knew what was coming. Each pass through the data, every sparkle that resolved back to its originating point—I knew what it meant. Made me pretty sick the first 48 hours. But I’ve grown resigned to the reality. My life is forever going to be like this, Mark. Finding out stuff I don’t want to know, that I don’t want others to know. But I’m going to get wiser about what to do once it happens.” She looked over at him. “I want to burn that photo,” she said with conviction.

Mark thought it might be necessary. “You said no one else could create this particular photo. That the data no longer exists.”

“I’ve checked a number of the satellite archives. My cleaned-up file was retained, not the original file with the sparkles. These are very large data files. You don’t keep extra copies of them around without a reason.

“I corrupted my own copies of the instrument data. I ran an algorithm across the videos, intentionally removed some of the sparkles that were there, introduced new ones. The data will look normal to someone playing back the video image, but it can’t be used to generate a photo.”

She reached for the napkin. “The algorithms I used to build the photo have been isolated onto one of my data servers upstairs, and I physically pulled that card and have it stored in the safe. I can clear it with a powerful magnet and wipe it forever.”

“Good to know. Those are crucial security steps.”

Gina nodded. “I was thinking it might be possible to do a preemptive safeguard against someone else discovering this. If I can get my algorithm installed as part of the satellite receiver’s software, the sparkles could automatically be removed from the video. Most of these satellites use a common down-leg protocol. Call it a transmission-error cleanup algorithm. Solar flares are going to keep happening in the future. The key point to intercept and mitigate this is at the receivers.”

“I like the idea. It’s a solid way to play defense.” Mark reached for his notebook and jotted down the information. “I’ve got a short list of critical questions to ask, Gina. Let me ask them, then we’ll come back to this.”

“Sure.”

“After a solar flare,” he said, looking at the first page in his notes, “every submarine in the ocean is vulnerable to being seen from space for how long? Starting 60 hours after the flare and continuing for four days?”

“The peak visibility is early in that window, at about 72 hours. You might be able to start finding useful information 40 hours after a solar flare in the narrowest bandwidths. The reflections taper off with time into the longer radio wavelengths and have dissipated after four days.”

“How often do solar flares happen?”

“The sun has active cycles and dormant periods, lasting about 15 years. The sun is active right now. Solar flares in the upper right quadrant of the sun are those that affect the earth. High-energy bursts are hitting the earth once or twice a month right now.”

He glanced again at his notes. “Have you read any scientific paper, heard anyone at a conference, or come across any reference in the literature that suggests anyone else has wondered correctly about even small pieces of this science?”

“Satellite technicians trying to get data sent and received cleanly have made numerous references to the problem of glitches in the data stream, and it’s become accepted wisdom that the sparkles are transmission errors caused by a solar flare or other sun eruption. There are technical discussions on how sensitive to tune the receiver—you don’t want to be requesting constant retransmissions when it’s actually a data problem. I’ve seen nothing else that overlaps any other part of this.”

“You’re still an outlier right now.”

“Yes.” She leaned her head back against the cushion of the couch. “You can’t convince me someone else is going to stumble on to this, Mark, simply on the predicate that other people are smart too. For me it was pure chance, essentially an accident. You have to have access to multiple satellite data transmissions across a wide variety of instrument types and have collected data in the days after a significant solar flare. You have to guess that the transmission sparkles are actually reflections, then have the skill to reconstruct original shapes from motion video in data that gives you an occasional point or two to work with. The odds of this sequence of events coming together again . . . well, it would be easier to be hit by lightning twice.”

Mark thought the odds were even longer than that, but he was looking at the exception, looking at someone who had actually figured it out. “Do you think there’s a more streamlined way to get this image, now that you know it’s possible to see into the oceans using solar flare reflections?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. The solar flare is a necessary requirement. Beyond that—” she paused a moment—“it’s only guesswork, but the multiple instrument types are likely a necessary condition. You need to see across the energy spectrum to gather enough reflections. Sparkle data from 5 satellites wasn’t effective, nor was 10. I needed 17 data sets to get the first glimmers that an actual object was there, 23 to see a shape, and all 32 to get the resolution necessary to distinguish one submarine type from another. Not to mention I had on average four days’ worth of video from each instrument to work with. Some combination of that data volume is going to be a necessary factor—the number of satellites and the hours of video.

“The strength of the solar flare is also likely a key variable. The stronger the solar flare, the better the photo. This was the strongest one on record since observation satellites have been aloft. A single reflection off a submarine isn’t useful data. I need a bunch of reflections off a hull in order to see a shape, compute its depth. There are tens of millions of high-energy particles thrown out during one of these solar flare bursts, but they still have to hit a very precise spot on earth and then have a satellite in the right location to record the reflection. Creating an image . . . again, it’s long odds.”

Hearing her lay out how many variables had to come together for her to make this discovery got his attention. That reality made their considerations about what to do even more layered.

“Hold on a minute.” He got up and took her plate back to the kitchen, giving himself some time to reflect on an idea that had been slowly taking shape over the last hour. He returned and handed her the ice cream carton and a spoon. “Pass it over to me when you’re done.”

He sat down, made several more notes, put his idea aside to come back to at a later time, then resumed his original questions. “A photo of where the world’s subs were positioned two weeks ago is interesting history, but a photo of where subs were at two hours ago is actionable. How fast can the satellite data be turned into a photo?”

“Throw several powerful computing clusters at this data, it could be fast. Maybe an hour or two?”

“Real time?”

“No. There’s a threshold number of sparkles that have to be captured. The photo resolution goes from a faint smudge, to fuzzy, to solid mass, to detailed enough to tell if it’s our sub or someone else’s. The software could be optimized to focus on only one part of the ocean, then look for the early clues, that it’s an object big enough to be a sub. A massive amount of computing power, a maximum number of satellite data sources landing on that key window of time about 72 hours after a solar flare—you might be able to get a fuzzy photo of subs in the northern half of the Pacific that is an hour old. That’s probably best-case: a photo about an hour old.”

An hour was actionable intelligence. And military history had taught him how important accurate, current information was to a situation. “Gina, I’ve got some thoughts beginning to jell. They range from destroying the photo to giving it to the Navy now, to a more finessed option of saying nothing about this capability until a situation warrants the risk—such as tensions rising, a war threatening to break out—and we judge the timing of revealing this capability against the risk that an enemy learns it can be done. I’ll be back in the morning with more detailed thoughts. Leave everything as it is for now, Gina. Don’t destroy the photo or the code. Give me that much as a promise.”

She finally nodded. “I do want to burn it, Mark.”

“That’s factored into my thinking, and it’s why I’m asking you not to do anything just yet.”

“I’ll leave things be for the night.” She passed over the carton of ice cream. “Are you staying at a hotel?”

“My brother wouldn’t hear of it. I’m staying with Bryce and Charlotte for the night. I’ll give you their phone number in case for some reason you can’t reach my cell.” He spooned a corner of the ice cream carton, glanced at her. “Why did you decide to tell me about this discovery?”

“I wanted to burn the photo and not tell you, not tell anyone. Then I thought about you getting back from patrol and knew you would come to have a conversation—” she paused and let out a long breath—“and I’d look guilty, and you’d ask what was wrong, and I’d have to lie and try to convince you nothing was wrong. It just seemed easier in the end to simply show you the photo.”

He smiled. “I appreciate that. Marry me, Gina. You need me. I want you as my wife. There are worse reasons to get married.”

“There are better.” She bit her lip. “I don’t love you, Mark.”

“Yet,” he qualified. “You don’t love me yet.” He considered her, then dipped the spoon back in the carton. For her sake he was working hard not to show how much it hurt to hear her say that. But he also heard the underlying tone, and he understood more than she might like him to. He’d go hug the woman, but she wouldn’t understand the emotional spectrum playing out inside him tonight.

“I’m going to guess you don’t know what you feel right now,” he finally said, “besides a layer of fear, a tangle of ‘why is he interested in me?’ and a wish you wouldn’t have to make another important decision right now.” He didn’t wait for a response but headed to the kitchen to put away the ice cream. When he reentered the living room, he leaned over the sofa and kissed her. “Come say good-night, lock up behind me. I’ll be back at nine a.m. sharp with some possibilities.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had some work to do.”

Mark looked up to see Charlotte leaning against her kitchen doorway. He’d appropriated the table to work on a decision tree, factoring through different crisis situations and what a photo of the sea would do, both pro and con. The months at sea had beaten him up physically, but he could still drum up focused concentration when it was necessary. He glanced at the clock. It was three a.m. “I’m making progress,” he said.

He tossed a couple of kitchen towels across the pages that were classified as Charlotte came into the room, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of faded blue socks. She made herself a cup of tea. “I find it fascinating that you went to the sea, your brother Jim went to space, and Bryce is content to stay on terra firma and be a businessman.”

“He’s got a good head for it,” Mark replied with a smile as he took a long stretch. “And unlike Jim and me, he doesn’t need a rush of adrenaline with his job.”

She brought over the pan of brownies she’d baked earlier that day and took a seat at the table, sliced off a sliver for herself, passed him the pan and the knife.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“Sometimes it bothers me waking up to a guy in the room,” she admitted softly, “even when it’s my husband. You have questions about me. It’s nice of you not to have asked them.”

“My brother adores you, and you love him back. I figure the details matter, but not that much.”

“I’m Ruth Bazoni.”

He managed to stop the shock from showing on his face, but she smiled slightly, and he registered he had let the brownie drop.

“I’m sleeping with your brother, literally, or trying to, but I’m not very good at making it through the entire night yet. He’s a patient man. We’ve managed to get to a very nice good-night kiss. Another five years, maybe we’ll have progressed to second base.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

“So am I. It’s three o’clock, so tonight was actually a good night. I keep a private bedroom suite upstairs with double locks inside the door as a security blanket, but I consider it a step backward when I need to retreat there. When the memories of the past mean I can’t stay with Bryce, I tend to head to the studio to get some work done.” She gave him a smile. “My career has been thriving lately. Anything you need before I go there tonight?”

“I’m good.”

She got up from the table. “You’re worried about your Gina.”

“Yes.”

“Patience is a good answer most of the time.”

“For her own good, I’m going to have to rush her. She needs a buffer, some protection. That can’t be done well without the leverage of being her husband.”

Charlotte nodded. “Being a bit of a white knight runs in your family, I’ve discovered. I’ll leave you to your work, Mark.” She walked through the kitchen to the studio at the back of the house. Soft music soon drifted into the kitchen.

Ruth Bazoni. Twenty years ago, she’d been at the center of the most famous kidnapping case in Chicago history. Three ransoms, four years, before cops found her two abductors, shot them, and rescued her. And she’d married his brother Bryce. Mark considered that fact and slowly nodded. Bryce was the right man for her. None of the Bishop brothers ever did simple or easy. He smiled. If Gina found the courage to say yes, she’d find she fit in well with his family.

Gina offered to fix waffles for breakfast, and Mark wisely said yes to give her something to do, also mildly interested that she could cook. He sat at the center counter and watched her work. She stacked two waffles on a plate for him along with butter and syrup. She ate hers with melted butter and powdered sugar, cleaned up the kitchen, and finally stopped and leaned against the far counter. “Okay. I’ve eaten. Had my second cup of coffee. Give me the bad news.”

He smiled, appreciating her matter-of-fact attitude, though he was sure it was not easy for her to maintain. “It’s not all bad news, Gina.” He picked up his coffee, needing the caffeine after a night with barely three hours of sleep. “As I see it, you have three good options, and a few other decent ones.” He nodded to the stool beside him. “You might want to sit down for this.”

She took the seat beside him as he cut into the last bites of his waffle. “Bottom line, the Navy needs the photo, Gina. You can’t burn it,” he said simply. “That wasn’t my initial reaction, but that’s where the possible outcomes have led me. For the foreseeable future, during the years the U.S. is the only one with this capability, it comes close to guaranteeing there will be peace on the high seas. We will know where everyone is—at least after sizable sun flares.

“In the longer term, the implications are that submarine warfare becomes similar to chess. Every piece on the board is seen, and how you move your pieces determines the victor. It would no longer be a battle fought in the dark. Seeing exactly where the other’s boats are at—and the U.S. dominates with the number of assets we can deploy—it’s poker where you can see the other guy’s cards. That’s a better game to play, a safer one, than information we’re working with now. How long till somebody else figures this capability out is unknown, but I don’t think it happens anytime soon. We’re probably talking years if not decades before anyone else has the capability. The Navy needs the photo.”

She listened without offering a comment. He slid back his plate and gave her a reassuring smile. “How that might happen is where you have options.” He thought about the order to present those options.

“First option is, you do a video, write a paper, package your software algorithms—as you’ve done for your other discoveries—and hand it off without ever coming to Bangor. Stay in Chicago and continue with your JPL work. Step back from this. Let me deliver it for you. I’ll make sure no questions or comments come your way, that is, if you want to take a hard break from all this.”

He waited a moment, but she only nodded.

“Second option, you guide someone else into discovering the same thing you did, have someone else produce a photo. How we guide that person to figure it out—that might be more fantasy than reality, but we can work through it. This has advantages for you, chief among them being your peace of mind, as someone else will be credited with the discovery.”

She nodded again, but didn’t comment.

“Third option, return to Bangor with me,” he continued, “show the Navy the photo, accept what you found, don’t run from it, and let me help you. There’s more for you to do. Getting the photo created in the shortest amount of time, working out the minimum solar flare strength and number of satellite data sources necessary to create the photo. And you’re able to do that faster than someone else who would have to come up to speed on the details. Operationally it’s also safer—limiting this capability and the details of how it’s done to just you for now. I prefer this third option, as I think you need to stay involved—up to the point that everything’s refined and ready to be passed on—but I’ll understand if you prefer one of the other options.”

“You really think a photo of every sub deployed around the globe makes U.S. submarines safer?” she asked.

“I do.” He reached over for one of the oranges in the fruit bowl and peeled it with his knife, then looked at her. “There’s warning time, Gina. When a solar flare happens, the U.S. will still have a couple of days to position its submarine fleet where it wants them to be before the lights turn on. Cross-sonar clears out safe zones for the boomers to move into. Fast-attacks move into precautionary positions. When the photo shows where our submarines are, where any enemy ships are, there will be no weak spots. We’ll be ready. And as others move, we can move to counter them. Tactically a photo makes the U.S. fleet safer. And with the capability to know for certain where others are, we could begin to deploy and operate the fleet very differently than we do now.”

She thought about it for a long moment. “And if I told you I still wanted to destroy the photo?”

“I’d have to think hard about what to do, Gina. I think I’d have to tell Rear Admiral Hardman what I saw and point the Navy in the right direction for the research. I’d do what I could to minimize how much attention came back to you, but I do think my pledge to the country, to the Navy, might make it necessary to inform Hardman that this concept is possible.” He held out one of the orange slices to her. “We’re going to disagree occasionally, Gina, on what is best to do with a discovery. That’s one of the reasons these kinds of decisions are never simple. There are two perspectives, and both might be valid. I’d like to think you’ll come to trust me on these difficult calls.

“But whatever your decision regarding this photo, it doesn’t change the bigger picture. I want you to marry me. I’d like you to marry me before we show this photo to the Navy. I’d have more influence as your husband to control what may unfold, to push back for you.”

She didn’t say anything, her eyes directed toward the window. He let the silence linger, finished the orange, and waited.

Gina finally looked over at him. “It’s not going to be possible to steer someone else into making this discovery. It’s a nice ‘what if,’ but there are too many pieces to sort through and put together. I’ll have to be the one to show the Navy the photo. But even if I agree to do that, there’s no reason to view that decision and getting married as linked.”

“Gina, I want to be your husband. And getting married now could be a good buffer for you. You could say ‘See my husband about that’ when the questions start coming. I can tell the Navy to go through me on any concerns, that I have the authority to speak for you. You’ll find life is a lot easier—maybe even happier—if you marry me before this goes any further.”

He waited a moment and smiled. “I’m going to make one last pitch, okay? My best one. Then I’ll let this topic drop, I promise.” He waited for her to glance up. “I know the package may not be ideal. I’m older, I’ve been married before. But the ‘content,’ those characteristics you’re looking for, are what you want. We share a deep faith in God, a strong work ethic, a sense of ambition, alongside a personal life that is quiet and, for the most part, peaceful. We have a willingness to be open with each other—a verbal intimacy, if you will—a desire to listen and share what we’re thinking and feeling.

“I love your smile. I love the way you light up when someone compliments you and offers approval for what you’ve done. I love the fact you’re smart, that you haven’t pulled back from what God created you to be. I enjoy your company, Gina. That might sound simplistic, but it sums up a lot of good qualities. You don’t nitpick, you don’t complain, you try to adapt to situations. You and I would have a good life together.”

She bit her lip, and he reached over, gently brushed a thumb across her mouth. “I’m a good risk, Gina. Take a leap and make the decision that your future is with me. Trust me, trust the fact I love you. I’m not asking you to have everything sorted out and not have any doubts. I don’t need that from you. What I need, what I think you need, is a yes.”

He watched her face as he pulled a small box out of his pocket, opened it, and removed a ring. He took her hand, gently placed the ring in her palm, closed her fingers around it. “Please say yes, Gina. I had it made for you. I think you’ll like it.”

She opened her hand to look at the ring. He’d commissioned it before he left for patrol. It was a beautiful ring, he thought. Gold, with rose diamonds set around an oval-cut white diamond, the ring had been made at his brother’s jewelry store with input on the design from Charlotte.

“How long do I have to think about this?” Gina whispered.

“Ask anything you like, but when your questions run out, make the decision,” he counseled gently. “I’m thinking the end of the week. Tell me then what you want to do about the photo, and what you want to do about the proposal. More time than that isn’t likely to make this any easier, for you or for me.”

She finally nodded, staring at the ring nestled in her palm. “Okay.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Please say yes, Gina.” He considered it a good sign that she didn’t give him back the ring. She slid it onto her right hand ring finger for safekeeping.

“I can see why you enjoy working here,” Mark said, following Gina down the steps of the university library. The campus was a peaceful place to visit, even with December classes now heading to finals and students in a hurry filling the walkways. The snow overnight had coated the grounds and it clung to trees, making the scene into a clean vista. He shifted the two books he carried for her and reached for her gloved hand.

“I’ve spent a good portion of the last 15 years wandering this place, talking to people, listening, learning,” she replied.

Gina was relaxed for the first time in the last three days, Mark thought. He thought she had made a decision, but he didn’t push to hear what it was. She’d suggested a walk this morning, and he’d been glad to oblige. She’d tell him her decision about the photo and about his marriage proposal when she was ready. He could give her another few days—not much more than that, but for today he could wait.

“Have you ever thought about teaching?” he asked. “Seminars, one-week concentrated classes, something on a topic you love?”

“And if I had a speech freeze?”

“It hasn’t been a problem lately.”

“It’s a mystery when and why it happens, but I still try to avoid situations where it’s going to be an embarrassment to me and others if it occurred. Besides, teaching isn’t my thing.”

“I’ve got a lot of questions, Gina, that I’ve never asked and would like to about your speech. Let me give them to you, and you can decide if there are some you might be okay with answering, or not.” She shrugged, but nodded, so he asked what would help him to know. “Do you feel it start? Do you have any warning? What are you thinking during those moments when you can’t talk? What does it feel like as the words return?”

She smiled briefly at the scope of the questions. “I have a thought I want to express and find I can’t. I think my jaw begins to lock up, the muscles around my throat begin to feel stiff, and the words shut off. They get tangled up, and then it feels like everything that goes into talking is simply frozen. It’s deeply frustrating.”

“Scary?”

“When it lasts a while. I’m actually more alert and aware than normal when it’s happening. Speech is a no-thought-needed kind of action, much like breathing. When it stops working, and I’m mentally trying to remember how to speak, to intentionally move to make sounds, it’s nearly impossible to get my body to cooperate. I feel a sense of adrenaline and panic, frustration, a lot of embarrassment.”

“Is there anything you would prefer I do if it happens?”

“You handle it well, Mark. You relax and wait. That’s what I need to do as well, relax and wait for the problem to clear itself. But I find that very difficult. I feel like I should be able to fix what’s wrong, but I don’t know how, particularly when I don’t know what just went wrong.”

“What’s the longest it’s ever lasted?”

“About 17 minutes. I was 15 at the time. Even Jeff was beginning to cry when I got so emotional about it. The panic was probably why it lasted so long. If there is a trigger, I think it’s being put on the spot to say something, having others waiting on me to answer. I need some time to organize what I want to say, then say it clearly, and when I get to feeling rushed—” she waited a moment, then finished—“it’s like my words trip over each other and stop. The only word I can find to describe it is freeze.”

He tightened his hand on hers. “I’m so sorry it happens.”

“So am I. Being in college at 14 didn’t help matters, though I’ve never had a doctor directly come out and tell me that was one of the reasons this developed.”

She pointed to the building up ahead. “I wouldn’t mind seeing if Professor Glass is in town. He teaches chemistry. His sub-specialty is high-energy particles, and I find his personal library very useful.”

“Sure.”

If she decided to stay in Chicago, she’d be returning to this campus as part of her routine. She was known here, and he watched as people came over to say hello, to ask her questions, and fill her in on details about research topics that quickly went into depths he couldn’t follow. She had a place here and belonged. She would need that if her answer was to stay in Chicago, and he was glad to see it for himself. He would prefer she be in Bangor with him, with Jeff, but at least Chicago was an option that would be familiar ground to her.

Part of the equation he was quietly sorting out was how to give her the best future possible. What was needed in their lives was what was best for them both. He wouldn’t mind teaching military history if the best for him was to retire from the Navy. Part-time professor, spend some hours working with Bryce, find a business they could dig into and build together. Maybe locate a leadership forum where he could serve as a speaker. Being a civilian would be a workable transition for him.

“What are you thinking about?” Gina asked.

“Life.”

“You were smiling.”

He squeezed her hand. “Life is good. Tell me about Professor Glass. You had him for a class?”

“Four classes, when I was 15 to 17. And he let me spend a summer semester as his grad student when I was 18. I love chemistry, how atoms build objects, and how atoms themselves are built. Chemistry has some of the best mathematics of all the sciences. All of it is interesting—there are no boring parts.”

Mark laughed. “I saw some of your molecule models at the house. I could tell you liked building them.”

“Colored balls and straws—chemistry construction sets were my version of kids’ building blocks. The objects that got built actually meant something, and that’s what always fascinated me. I could shape the molecules that made up wood, then imagine my model shrinking down in size to be one small spot on the tabletop. From chemistry I learned a love of microscopes, and then the opposite direction—telescopes. Things get very small and very large. I love that about creation. It’s never just about the obvious you see. Everything is made up of more parts.”

“Tell me more about your summer as a grad student,” he said, slowing their pace down a bit. “What did you work on?” Mark found it fascinating how Gina changed when she talked about science. Her voice grew more animated, and she relaxed further. She might be young, not comfortable on more general topics, but she had a solid confidence about her work. She needed that confidence on personal matters too, and he wanted to be part of helping her find that.

“You’re smiling again,” Gina said. “Come on, give. What are you thinking about?”

They had reached the top of the stairs into the building. He reached over and opened the entry door for her, saw the hall was empty on the other side, and took the opportunity to lean over and kiss her. “I love you,” he replied. “I was thinking about that, and the fact you have a face I never tire of looking at. I also like listening to you talk about your science.”

She didn’t know how to respond. His hand on the small of her back directed her inside. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

He smiled. “Say yes. You won’t regret it.” He saw a directory for the building on the facing wall. “Which floor do we need?”

She glanced around, blinked. “Two.”

“That I can get you this flustered should tell you something, Gina.” He chuckled, and her blush deepened as she headed up the stairs. He caught up and slipped his hand around hers again. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t mind. Only stop doing that.”

He laughed again but did his best to talk only about the school as they continued the tour.

Gina followed the puppy through the snow as she walked beside Mark, the moonlight reflecting on the piles of white pushing back the darkness.

She had said no to Daniel Field because she thought it was the best decision for him. She had wanted to fall in love with Daniel, and she finally had to accept it wasn’t going to happen.

Saying no to Mark Bishop as well . . . she didn’t want to take that step. She didn’t want to say no. But she wasn’t ready to say yes either. She glanced over at him, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets, a calm, relaxed certainty about him. He’d handle whatever she decided, about the photo, about his proposal. He had a steadiness she envied.

She liked him. A lot. She trusted him. But love? That was the crux of the problem. She didn’t love him. Maybe he was right, and it was a matter of timing. She didn’t love him yet. Maybe she could love him. Or maybe it was going to be months of time with him, and she’d reach the same conclusion she had with Daniel. Wanting to love him, wishing she could, but never reaching that point.

She’d never imagined a man like Mark as her husband. She was still struggling to get her mind around the possibility. The few times he’d kissed her, she’d wanted to lean in against him and just let him fold her in his arms and hold her. She’d once thought that if she let him, he was the kind of guy who would take charge of her life, take the decisions and the weight of it for her. He’d protect her. The idea had great appeal tonight. And yet she couldn’t embrace it. He was a good man. He was convinced they could have a good marriage. But he was so far ahead of where she was in her thoughts and emotions.

She could avoid the conversation for another day, but it would only delay and not change what she needed to say. She was turning down good guys and it was breaking her heart. “I’ve made some decisions, Mark.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I know.”

She heard the quiet steadiness in his words, but felt his tension in the hand that gripped hers. She was oddly comforted by that fact. “You’re moving too fast for me,” she whispered. “I hear the words I love you, and I know you mean them. It breaks my heart that I can’t say the same in reply. I don’t love you, at least not yet, Mark. You’re too far ahead of me. I can’t accept your marriage proposal right now.”

He stopped walking, and she saw him close his eyes. Then his hand holding hers tightened. “You’re not saying an absolute no.”

“I want us to see each other until you have to go back on patrol in May. I need more time. I’ll give you my answer before you deploy.”

He turned and folded her into a hug, let his chin rest against her hair. He didn’t say anything for a long time. “You’ve got a boyfriend and a steady date from now until May,” he finally replied. “Just promise me you’ll give me as much of your time as you can over these next months. Don’t run scared, and don’t over-think it. Don’t walk away from something good because it seems like too much of a risk.”

She nodded because the words weren’t there to reply. She wanted to cry, because she was breaking this man’s heart. He knew she was stalling and tipping toward telling him no.

He nudged up her chin and gently kissed her. “I promise I’ll do my best to play fair. You can trust me, Gina, with your heart and your future. Give us a chance. A good chance.”

“Can I keep wearing your ring?”

“I’d like it a great deal if you would.” He eased back a step, visibly forced himself to relax. “Come on, you’re cold, and the puppy is going to bury himself in a pile of snow.” He put his arm around her and turned them back toward the house, holding her close against the cold.

They arrived at the house, stepped out of boots and pulled off coats, while the puppy shook himself, then raced into the living room. Mark led her into the kitchen. “I don’t know about you, but snow burrows the cold right into my bones.” He pulled out a stool for her, got mugs down, poured some of the remaining coffee for himself, made hot chocolate for her. The temperature had been cold enough to numb fingers, and she appreciated the warmth of holding the mug. She caught his gaze when he smiled at her, this man who wanted to be her husband. She felt the warmth of that smile and offered one of her own, still tentative but genuine.

“Will you agree to show the photo to the Navy?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” She drank the hot chocolate, grateful to have it to occupy her attention. “And given that—tell me the plan. What happens next?”

If she felt nervous, he seemed calm, as if he’d already absorbed her decision about marriage and adjusted his plans. “We’ll fly to Bangor, show Rear Admiral Hardman the photo. He’ll have some questions.”

“An understatement,” she offered under her breath.

Mark heard her and smiled. “What I’ll need is for you to write a paper, maybe create a video, similar to the last two presentations. Hardman will take the photo and paper to the SecNav. Then the goal will be to refine the process to generate the photo in the shortest amount of time possible. You’ll need access to the various satellite data feeds, with computing power at your disposal, and, at the right time, we’ll identify the people skilled enough to take this over—that’s going to be my priority.” He set aside his coffee. “You should come back to Bangor, Gina,” he suggested. “Jeff is at sea. You can stay at his place, and your pets can stay with me.”

“I was thinking I could stay in Chicago,” she said, “write the paper here, create the video to explain what this is, then transition to Bangor to work on the algorithms and the processing speed.”

He thought about it and nodded. “That works too. You and I could go out to Bangor for a two-day trip, show the Navy the photo, then come back here for a few weeks—spend Christmas and New Year’s in Chicago. I’m sure my sister would be willing to take care of the pets while we’re gone. We could drive back to Bangor in early January, take the animals with us then. I’m going to predict that in about six months you’ll have your work finished and handed off to a skilled group of people able to create the photo. Then you’ll only be needed if something unusual occurs.”

She thought a moment, then nodded. “When my job winds down, yours will just be getting started—what to do with the information contained in a photo when it prints.”

“The Tactical Command Center is going to take the brunt of that impact, and I think it’s likely Hardman assigns me to that working group while I’m onshore,” Mark agreed. “I won’t minimize how much this is going to change the Navy. Combined with the prior two discoveries, the photo will mean a radical rethinking of how submarines deploy. My workload will be both intense and heavy for at least the next year, and in the middle of that I’ll be heading back to sea on patrol in May for 90 days. That’s going to make its own set of pressures for us.”

She blinked, realizing he still was talking about the future on the assumption she would say yes. She couldn’t help her smile, oddly grateful he was still willing to be sure of her decision. She needed one of them to be that confident. She wanted to be loved, she wanted what he offered. She just hadn’t reached the point she could say “I love you” to him, and accept what he so willingly offered. One of them needed to hold on to the faith that this would have a happy ending.

Mark took the empty mug out of her hands and got up to pour her the last of the coffee. “You’re still cold, so drink that, please.” He slid the sugar bowl over, then leaned back against the counter.

She stirred sugar into her mug, glanced up at Mark. For the first time in months, at least for the moment there were no more immediate decisions to make.

“We’ll be okay, you and I,” he said.

“Promise me that?”

He nodded. “I love you, Gina. I got to the final destination before you, that’s all. I’ll wait. You’re going to arrive there too—I have faith in that fact.”

He took the last swallow of his coffee. “I didn’t say this earlier, because it wasn’t appropriate to bring further pressures into your decision, but I want to mention something I see.”

She straightened on the stool, giving him her full attention. “Okay . . .”

“You’ve been turning on the lights in the ocean this entire year. This photo is simply the latest in a series of discoveries. A cross-sonar ping can actively search out a sub. Listening for the silence created by a sub’s presence can locate a sub at great distances. Now, for a brief few days after a solar flare, the oceans yield an extraordinary photo showing us the locations and types of all the submarines out there. I don’t think your discoveries this year have been random accidents.

“I don’t think it is chance that you had a deep familiarity with the oceans, were handed such a wide array of satellite data after a solar flare, were curious about the sparkles, and had the intelligence and technical skills to figure this out. I think God put you at this place and time for a reason. There may be a purpose for why these discoveries have come now.”

She was startled at the idea he was suggesting. His tone was serious; this wasn’t a casual thought, but something he’d been pondering for a while.

“If there ever was a reason God might change what we know about sonar and visibility at sea,” Mark continued, “it would be when nations are heading toward a collision. China and Japan are edging toward war. North and South Korea are an incident away from conflict. Russia and Iran once again are the center of new global tensions. Maybe with the right knowledge, the U.S. can influence what comes to pass. Maybe God just turned on the lights so we can see what’s coming. And He used you to do it.”

“You believe that?” she whispered.

Mark nodded. “There’s a statement in Hebrews that talks about Jesus, now at the right hand of God, sustaining everything by the power of His command. He is in charge. He’s building His kingdom with the church. Governments are in His hands, to rise or fall as God decrees. I don’t think it’s happenstance you’ve spent this year shining a spotlight deep into the ocean. I don’t think God wastes our time or our talents when we follow Him. I believe He knows these discoveries are going to be necessary in the days ahead. And He equipped you to find them.”

“Do you have any idea the pressure that makes me feel if you’re right?”

“I didn’t mention it to cause that, Gina, and there’s no need for it to feel like pressure. Do what you were made to do—continue to discover things, be curious. You don’t have to figure out how everything fits into the big picture. That’s God’s territory. He’ll put together the pieces where He wants them to be. But I’m intrigued that what’s unfolding right now might be something we’ll look back on decades from now and see as the moment when God rearranged scientific capabilities for His own purposes.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” she finally replied.

“It’s fine to be skeptical of the idea,” Mark said. “Just consider a year from now if I wasn’t on to something with the thought.”