12
SEAL Commander Luke Altman had them assemble in the USCG LORAN station’s rec room as soon as the Pave Hawk was back aloft.
“Lousy service,” Patty whispered in Mick’s ear.
He had to agree. The old station was cold and even though the room was oddly intact, it felt truly abandoned. White walls, linoleum floor, four-person Formica tables and rust-pitted-chrome and plastic chairs. Motivational slogans were peeling off one wall, and the bar—with its sign announcing a four-beer limit per person per night—no longer stocked beer, soda, or snacks.
Somewhere a generator groaned to life and the lights over the bar wavered on. Connie and Big John came wandering in.
“The fuel is old and thick,” John announced. “But it still fires off. They didn’t leave much in the tanks. We’ll have lights and s
