by Jan Coffey
“How about a game of Sorry,” Barbara said, trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice. As painful as that game was for her to play, it was always good for at least an hour’s distraction.
Kaitlyn didn’t answer.
“No, thanks,” Zack murmured.
He drew his knees to his chest and laid his head on Barbara’s lap, his eyes on his sister and the window. The older woman ran her fingers through the young boy’s silky hair. She had to put the minds of these two at ease, somehow. The problem was that she wasn’t really in any better shape than they were.
She was worried sick about Amy. The young mother always called home from the shipyard at 6:30 on the dot. That was their morning routine, Barbara’s wake up call. They always had a few minutes of quiet conversation about how they’d each lasted through the night.
There’d been no call this morning. That was a first. The phones were working at 6:30, too. She wondered if it was worth it to try the phone again. Maybe the lines were operating now.
Barbara had experienced a very difficult time emotionally after her husband’s death five years ago. She hadn’t known where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. Her four kids were scattered around the country, living their own lives. She even had three grown grandchildren out on the West Coast. There was nowhere else she wanted to move to permanently. Three or four times a year, she traveled a week or two at a time to see her kids and grandchildren. But Connecticut was home, in spite of the frigid winters.
Having Amy and her twins move into the renovated school building in Stonington Borough had been an absolute blessing. Although they were strangers, she and Amy had become friends in no time. The young mother’s tireless energy and her dedication to her children were remarkable. But that wasn’t all of it. Being a single mother and holding a full time job didn’t force Amy to spend the rest of her time in a shell. She made a point of getting to know Barbara, involving the older woman in her family’s activities. Amy had forced her out of the cocoon she’d begun to construct around herself.
Before Barbara knew it, the four of them were a family. The fact that Amy actually paid her for staying with the kids was ridiculous. Barbara felt she should pay them for the joy they gave her. But Amy was as stubborn as she was proud. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
Barbara wasn’t a churchgoer—hadn’t been for years—but sitting in Amy’s apartment now, she found herself praying for these precious children and for their mother’s safe return home.
“Someone’s driving up the street,” Kaitlyn announced excitedly. She raised herself on her knees. Her hands and face pressed against the window. Drops of rain formed rivulets down the outside of the glass.
Barbara didn’t have the heart to remind the child that there were a dozen apartments in this building and the car could belong to any of their other neighbors.
“Two cars,” Kaitlyn reported happily.
Before Barb could get herself off the sofa, Zack was on the window seat next to his sister.
“Neither of them are mommy’s car,” he said.
“Oh,” Kaitlyn said, disappointment in her voice.
Barbara reached the window and looked out. A sedan, followed by an SUV and a third car, had turned on the street. A state police car brought up the rear. A little caravan.
Her heart pounded so loud that she could hear it in her head. A cold feeling of doom edged into her bloodstream. All the other excuses she’d been preparing for the children withered on her lips when the four cars pulled up in front of the building. As they looked down on the cars, people started to get out. Official looking people in raincoats.
“Who are they?” Zack asked.
Barbara’s knees were weak. She lowered herself onto the window seat next to the twins. They were walking toward the main entrance of the building.
“Strangers,” Kaitlyn answered her brother. “They have nothing to do with us.”
As the intercom buzzed from the front door, Barbara stared at the twins, wishing the little girl had been right.
~~~~
Chapter 19
USS Hartford
8:30 a.m.
At the sound of a key sliding into the lock, Amy jumped off the box.
She scrambled to pick up a wire cutter and her needle-nose pliers—anything sharp—and slipped them in her pocket. Quickly, she pushed the boxes of paper hard against the rest of the stuff she and McCann had piled against the door. She knew that none of this would stop anyone who really wanted to come in, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Now she jumped back up on the box and threw her shoulder against the door, too.
Her stomach jumped with fear when she heard a click on the other side. Someone tried to push open the door. It opened a fraction of an inch, but Amy slammed it shut again.
She doubted she could hold them off for long. She glanced at the hole in the outboard wall, where McCann had disappeared. She considered making a dash for it and trying to slither through the opening.
But Amy didn’t think she could make it. She also didn’t know if McCann had worked his way down to the torpedo room yet. She had to buy him time, try to hold them off as long as she could.
The next shove against the door was strong enough to bounce her away from it. The door opened a couple of inches this time, but Amy hung on and threw all her weight back against it, shutting it one more time. She heard someone curse in the passageway outside. The only chair in the office was within her reach, and Amy grabbed for it, looking for someway to use it to wedge the door.
“Commander McCann,” a muffled voice called through the door.
She didn’t know friend from enemy. She set her body hard against the door.
“It’s Dunbar, Skipper.” The voice became lower in volume, more confidential. “There are only eight of them aboard, sir. Brody and Rivera and I were able to break free. They had us tied up in the torpedo room.”
Amy stood her ground, not trusting anything that was being said. She told herself the only way she’d move away from this door would be when she heard McCann’s own voice.
“Skipper, are you in there?” the man asked. “Time is running out. We need your help if we’re gonna do anything to take back the sub.”
Amy put a hand in her pocket and took out the pliers. Pressing her heels into the deck, she pushed her back against the door.
Her eyes fell on the cables dangling from the ceiling. Did they think she was stupid? It was no coincidence that right after she started doing some real damage to the wiring, they’d showed up at the door.
Her gaze swept across the rest of the room, searching for anything that she could use to fend them off. A printer at her feet, the paneling they’d peeled off the far wall to her right. None of it would be any help.
The next blow on the door was harder than any of the earlier attempts. Amy wasn’t prepared for it. She cried out as she was thrown forward and into the file cabinet to her right. Before she could regain her balance, the door was shoved open, pushing into her legs all the trash she and McCann had gathered up. Someone kicked the chair at her and it struck her in the shoulder as she ducked away. When Amy whirled to face her attacker, the first thing she saw was the barrel of the gun pointing at her.
“What the fuck is that?” the one holding the gun blurted.
There were two men, both dressed in seaman’s coveralls. The first one was in the room. The second hovered in the doorway. At least, the distraction caused by the hole in the wall had extended her life for a few more seconds.
“Let Mako know McCann is loose,” the first man ordered. The second one immediately backed down the passageway out of her line of vision.
The gun lifted to her head, the barrel actually touching her forehead. Amy didn’t know where she found the strength or the courage, but it was kill or be killed. She shoved the gun to the side and threw herself against the man holding it, stabbing at his stomach with her needle-nose pliers.
The attacker grunted, not in pain, but in annoyance. The damage she caused must have
been minuscule. His layers of clothing, the coveralls, acted like a shield. She’d only managed to throw him off balance for a moment, and he stumbled backward over the trash.
Cursing, he pointed the gun at her head again before regaining his feet. She kicked at his groin this time, with less effect than her previous effort, and she threw the pliers at his face.
Before the attacker had a chance to recover, a wrench swung down through the doorway, connecting with a sickening thud on the man’s skull.
The intruder sank down into the debris before turning face down onto the floor with a loud thump. Amy looked up in relief to see McCann standing in the doorway with an oversize wrench in one hand.
“There are two of them,” she whispered quickly.
He nodded, reaching down and collecting the weapon before slipping back out of the room. He came back a moment later, dragging the body of the other man. He piled one on top of the other and reached for some plastic cable ties.
Amy crouched down, trying to help him bind their hands and ankles. But he was too fast, efficient. Or maybe she too slow because she was in shock. She remembered that sometimes that happened to people. She dismissed the thought, though, because shock meant numbness, and she was hardly numb. A range of emotions raced through her. Relief fought with waves of anger and fear.
“One of these two said his name was Dunbar,” she said accusingly. “I think your crew was involved with this.”
“Not all of them,” he responded in a sharp tone, standing up. He gestured with his head for her to follow him.
“Don’t I need a gun?” she said at his back. He’d collected both of the pistols.
“Do you know how to use one?” He looked up and down the empty passageway.
“No, but there’s always a first time.”
His snort told her that now wasn’t going to be that time. As she started after McCann, her boot caught on one of the men’s legs. The leg of his coveralls had ridden up, and she saw a knife in a sheath he had strapped to his ankle. It was a vicious-looking thing. Amy reached down and grabbed it, slipping it into her belt. She gave a final look back at both of them. They didn’t look to be dead. In fact, the one who’d been holding the gun to her head was starting to stir again.
She couldn’t just leave him. He could be yelling for help at any minute. She’d never hurt anyone before. She hadn’t even done a good job of fighting him when he’d been ready to shoot her in cold blood. She thought, growing angrier, that her efforts had been little more than a joke. Totally ineffective.
Frowning, she picked up the printer off the floor, held it above his head, mumbled an apology, and dropped it with a crash.
Her attacker stopped stirring. She bent over to see that he was still breathing. He was.
McCann’s head appeared in the doorway. He looked at the two motionless men, at the printer, then back at her.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
She must have been too slow, for McCann reached inside the room, wrapped his hand around her wrist, and physically dragged her out.
“I’m coming,” she whispered, following him.
He signaled to her to be quiet as they hurried down the passageway.
Amy was relieved when he gave her wrist back, and she kept up with him. She didn’t know what his plans were or where he was headed, but she figured she wasn’t going to be left alone again.
McCann had different ideas. In a moment they turned into one of the ship’s crew’s quarters. She lingered by the door. He took a quick look around and did a search of the bunks.
“You stay here until I come for you.”
“No,” she said, blocking his exit.
“Amy.”
“I refuse, Commander. You can court-martial me when we get back, or get me fired or whatever, but I’m not going to be a sitting duck again. I refuse to hide in a closet and not have a chance to fight for my life. I’m coming with you.”
“That’s impossible. The only thing I want to think about right now is how to get this sub back. Having you with me is a distraction.”
“I can be a help,” she argued. “Honest. You won’t even notice I’m with you.” She turned to walk out ahead of him, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back through the door.
She heard men’s voices coming up the ladder from the lower level. They turned in the passageway, headed in their direction.
McCann shoved her into the closest bunk, drew his weapon, and aimed it at the door.
~~~~
Chapter 20
Pentagon
8:35 a.m.
“We can’t just write this off as unrelated,” Sarah argued. “Of all the people who work in management for that shipyard, how many of them are going to have a submarine officer as an ex-husband?”
“I’m not big on coincidences, either,” Bruce Dunn replied, shaking his head. “But it’s too far-fetched. Ryan Murray was only a communications officer before he transferred to the surface fleet two years ago.” He thumbed through the file she’d been looking at before. “Amy Russell looks squeaky clean. Look at this—mother of twins, active in school PTA, volunteer at a local shelter. That’s in addition to having an excellent work record. She has no excessive debt, no criminal file, not even a speeding ticket.”
Looking at Amy’s file, Sarah was reminded of what was missing in her own relationship with Darius. Even when their romance had been in bloom, she knew that he was looking forward to leaving the navy someday, moving into some three bedroom suburb, having half a dozen kids, and just spending time with them. He was looking for the kind of life he had growing up. Family mattered to him. A lot. The relationship he had with his siblings and his parents was unlike anything she ever had with her own.
He’d never popped the question with her. She didn’t think he’d ever even come close to proposing.
Sarah hadn’t been ready for that back then, anyway. Her career was on the move. She enjoyed the challenge of the job, the lifestyle. She wasn’t sure she would be ready for marriage now, either.
Across the table, she looked at the picture of the young women.
“I’m not accusing her of masterminding this operation,” Sarah said reasonably. “What I do believe is that there had to be some serious coordination involved to have the right players at the right places for this hijacking. She could have served a function at the EB end of things, and that was why she happened to be on board at the precise time Hartford left the dock.”
“What do you mean, ‘the right players in the right places’?”
“The most obvious is the X.O., Lieutenant Commander Parker,” she told him. “I find it extremely coincidental that a parked U-Haul truck should roll down the street and smash into his front door at three in the morning, resulting in McCann being called, in order for Parker to leave the ship.”
She saw Dunn scribble Parker’s name at the bottom of a long list he was keeping on a legal pad.
“Whoever is behind this wanted McCann there for the reasons that Admiral Meisner already listed. They also wanted a navigation officer and someone in maneuvering, and—”
“You’re implicating the entire crew. Basically, what you’re saying is that the hijackers wanted specific members of Hartford’s crew there, and these men are cooperating.”
She sat back, feeling frustrated. “No, what I’m trying to say is that there had to be someone knowledgeable enough to run the reactor and the engine room and fire a torpedo with accuracy. That means the hijackers have successfully gotten the right people on board. Now, as far as whether they’re cooperating or not, your guess is as good as mine.”
Dunn tapped his pen on the pad a couple of times. “I agree with your hypothesis regarding McCann. He is their key to arming any nuclear warheads, not that they can’t do plenty of damage with the conventional weapons they’re carrying.” Dunn thought about that for a second. “And I agree with your idea about the accident in front of Parker’s house. It looks as phony as a televised town meeting.”
Sarah w
as pleased that he was listening.
“I’ll even go so far as to question why Paul Cavallaro was left on board that sub.” He reached for the navigation officer’s file and opened it up in front of Sarah. He pulled out a copy of the rejection report that was left at the NAVSEA office in the shipyard. “It was his call that brought Hartford back to EB.”
She looked at the document. Darius’s signature was also on that piece of paper, but she didn’t want to go there. In her mind, McCann was one hundred percent innocent. She was going to be smart enough to keep that opinion to herself.
“At this point, it’s too big a stretch for me to believe every other person on that boat was put there for a purpose. Amy Russell, specifically, was only given the assignment the night before. She had specific qualifications that made her right for the job, but could have been one of several ship supers. In addition, Russell was only scheduled to be going aboard at 0600 with a crew and not before. No, I think she surprised them. I think she was in the wrong place at a wrong time.”
“And Darius McCann would never have escorted her aboard Hartford if he thought something was about to happen,” Sarah asserted.
Dunn scratched his chin and nodded gravely. “Unfortunately, if our assumptions are correct, then she’s of no use to them.”
“Which means…” she paused.
“Which means,” he continued grimly, “there would be no reason for the hijackers to keep her alive.”
He closed Amy Russell’s file folder and slid it across the table. As the file came to a stop, a sheet of paper protruded from the file.
Sarah glanced at the heading as she pushed the paper back into the folder. She’d read the information on that sheet. It pertained to the woman’s personal life and referred to her children. An unexpected sharp pang ran through her.
“Do you know if anything has been done about seeing after her twins?” she asked.
“We had the locals and the Family Services people pick them up.” He looked at her intently. “We wanted to bring them in before the sharks got to them.”