And No One Came.

1988 – 1989:  He arrived on the Flight Line out of no where, and like me, he was not included in any of the Squadron Crew Chief Games. Ignored or Pranked were the only attention we received because I was the only woman in the Squadron and he was an F-15 Crew Chief on an F-16 Flight Line. I had started to play golf again on the Air Force Base, and I began running into him on the Range. Eventually we began playing Golf together on our days off. At some point, our Flight Line Schedules aligned and we were on the same shifts on the same days.

We spent six months together. He moved from the Base Dorms to the same Mobile Home neighborhood I was living.  We would carpool to the Flight Line together in his Truck with the over sized tires. I could walk to his house from mine – so it always looked like I was at home when in reality I was hiding out with him in his bed. 

Turned out, the Air Force put him in a holding pattern on our Base, in my Unit, while he awaited his next orders to Germany. In the entire six months we spent glued to each other’s side, he never once told me he was on the Base temporarily.

I don’t remember when I sent the call out to the David "Cage" Caggiano, the F-15 Crew Chief. It might have been 2006, before The Artist went to Arizona and I left for Nevada. But it could have been in 2007. I do know that when the Artist first asked me if I wanted to reach out in 2005, I hesitated. It was the second time I was asked that I finally said yes.

I may not remember the names or faces of the Men I have bedded over the years, but I always remember how they smell & taste.  Appearances change, names are meaningless, but how a Man fucks never changes.

The keywords Don Stovner used through out the ordeal were…. close. 

I was expecting Ice and he said Icicle.

I was expecting Glass and he said Glaze.

It was as if he was using BabelFish, in the early days of the Beta, to translate my life. As if someone who did not have a mastery of the English Language, or familiarity with English vernacular were providing him with the keywords.

Over the next few weeks, the US Air Force came up in our conversations more and more. I knew by then, for sure, that Don Stovner was a complete stranger.

When Don Stovner steered the conversation to the US Air Force, I focused on the things I knew to be De-Classified. Since I didn’t know what was open and available and what was still Top Secret, I simply lied about my Service. I told other Crew Chief’s stories, events that I witnessed, and retold them to Don Stovner as if the events happened to me. He obviously knew I was lying, or he guessed correctly.

The night I moved on the Red Flag, 08292009, we were in my house in Paradise.  The perfect conditions were in place for me to Trap the Syntax Error in the Data.  This was no different than chasing errant data in a system – it just happened to be a Real Life, not a Database, safely tucked in an office behind the blue glow of the Monitor.  It was nothing I had never done before. But then again, this would not be the first time I fucked my way out of trouble.

The casual languid moment was perfect. The entire scene from that night in the Mobile home in South Carolina was perfectly duplicated. I would know for sure if he was Cage.

“I know you” I whispered to him.  

It was imperceptible, a fraction of a millisecond, the tiniest skip in his rhythm. 

But it was the wrong rhythm, the wrong skip. I was waiting for the reaction, the imperceptible change in his physiology that only a Woman in Bed could detect. 

 Nope, not him. 

It is my belief that he revealed his access to my Military File exactly one week after that night in the Paradise House to keep me off guard. By then, I had already validated that Don Stovner’s claims of “knowing my Grandfather” were completely false.  However, he was clueless about a Fighter Jet Flight Line. He got so many details wrong and only a few right. Just like all the other keywords – so close but in the end, completely wrong. When he brought up Florida, I got very very scared. That was a Top Secret Training Mission and even if it was De-Classified by 2009, it would be heavily redacted.

“You hacked a Government Database?” I accused him. “You hacked a US Military Database?”

“I am a Certified Network Engineer!” he spat back, “I am a White Hat, I have access to any database I want at any time.”

That night in the Jacuzzi, my fear rose up, and reality settled in. I looked around the back yard, the cabana, the pool, the beautiful Ranch House, and I knew, right then under the September Moon Light, that Paradise was Lost.

I never really thought about the consequences of flushing out my Stalker. I was only focused on trapping him, prosecuting him and ending the constant fear and trepidation. I had forgotten the lesson I was taught at the tender age of 13 in a Condo Complex in Central Texas: 

If you are going to shoot anything, an animal or a man, you only have one shot, one chance. If you don’t take the animal or the man down in that first shot, your life would be forfeit because you are not strong enough or fast enough to out run the animal or the man.

I jumped out of the Jacuzzi, it was pure animal instinct to run. I stood there under the moonlight, completely naked, completely vulnerable.   I went from Hunter to Prey in 60 seconds, just like I was taught in Central Texas as a young girl, just as I was taught at Hellcamp as a 22 year old Senior Airman. 

“I’m not here to hurt you”, he said, “I’m here to help you.”
I didn’t move, just stood there staring down at him.
“Get out” I said quietly
“I’m not here to hurt you” he repeated.
“Get out of my house” I said, again, quietly and calmly.
“Are you worried about Tail Hook?” he asked. 

Oh yes, he had my military file and he had the entire thing, from Basic Training all the way to Green Flag and points in between.  But he was not the David Caggiano.  

He just kept talking, in a calm voice, never moving from the Jacuzzi.  Every other sentence was “I am not here to hurt you” or “I can help you”. Despite the exhaustion from the Drive home from California, we were both completely on edge – him calming a cornered animal, me analyzing every possible explanation and escape route.

I wasn’t sure then if I should run or stand my ground, but in that moment at 2 o’clock in the morning, standing naked by the pool, I knew one singular truth: If I was caught, so was he. I decided to do things differently, and this time, instead of just running, I would have a better plan. I got back in the Jacuzzi and calmly began lying.  He stayed in my house, and I kept digging at Don Stovner’s information. The lies I told that night in the Jacuzzi were probably too detailed, but they would be enough to buy me time to devise a plan.

About three weeks later, just before the Feast of Friends, he brought up the 1994 Earthquake. It was that exchange that I knew there was no more running. I knew, as he rattled off truth about 1994, using the correct keywords and revealing facts, that the information he had could only be stored in a Government Database.  

The married man with the Soviet wife and the 10 year old son, stood in the very small Kitchen of the Little House and hurled accusations at me, over the counter and into the tiny Living Room,

“You’re a Traitor!” he screamed. “You belong in prison for what you did to this country!”

For him to be so close but so wrong about the US Air Force and so absolutely right about 1994, I knew that I was caught, but by the wrong people.

I already knew he wasn’t smart enough or clever enough to have found this information all by himself.  I had spent the previous 3 months with him, and he simply was not intelligent enough to make the appropriate connections. No, someone gave him the information. Someone, maybe a Security Analyst who spoke English poorly, gave him the information and he was misinterpreting the data.

It was near the end of September 2009 that I knew running was not an option.
I waited for someone to come.
I waited for Cage.
I waited for Law Enforcement.
I waited for Black Suburbans and Crown Victorias.
I knew if this was legitimate, someone would come. There was no way this situation could be happening in a vacuum, and I was sure, somewhere in the intricate Military Industrial Complex, someone would come. They had to come – this was National Security and the man who rattled off my Military Past was a significant Leak.

They had to come because a Man with a Soviet Wife who traveled to the Ukraine every year had access Top Secret Classified Information within a Military Database. Somewhere within the Government that I trusted, somewhere within the US Military, someone was watching and they would come.

And then, the subject was dropped. No more talk of the Air Force or the Flight Line. No more talk of the 1994 Earthquake. He literally erased the entire exchange from our conversations.

I waited. That is when I was sure Don Stovner was the Stranger who hid behind the Audio Thief, using our communications and interactions to veil his Stalking.  And still, nothing happened. 

No one came.