Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  “Why would this individual be after Admiral Sherman?

  What is this stuff about an incident back in Vietnam?”

  Karen hesitated. “Admiral, he asked me not to reveal that part of it. At least not within the”Navy hierarchy,’ as he calls it. I think he’s afraid that the story might create a scandal if it got out now.”

  Carpenter frowned. “He did, did he? The”Navy hierarchy’? And yet you just told me he shared this story with the civilian police?”

  Karen colored but did not reply. He looked at her and nodded. “Right. I forgot. He’s a pretty boy. Okay, let’s stop with the games. Sherman is a flag officer, but you work for me, not him. Besides, a basic rule of life applies here: When you’re in trouble, you don’t hold things back from your lawyer. Ever.”

  “But are you his lawyer, Admiral?” she asked. And then she caught her breath when she realized how impertinent that question might sound.

  Carpenter surprised her with a quick grin. “Good point, Commander. But in a sense, I am. I’m the JAG. I’m the whole uniformed Navy’s lawyer.

  Not to be confused with the Secretary of the Navy’s general counsel, who is the Navy Department’s lawyer. But practically speaking, I’m ‘of counsel’ to that flag-officer hierarchy that Sherman’s still so afraid of. Hell, he’s still acting like a captain. If he wasn’t such a brand-new flag officer, he’d have known to come see me a long time ago.

  Now, give.”

  She recounted the facts of the Vietnam story, and of the night visitation in San Diego. She was surprised when he interrupted her. -

  “What was the name again? Galantz?”

  “Yes, sir. HMI Marcus Galantz.”

  Carpenter was writing down the name. “And he was a SEAL?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s one of the reasons I am definitely going to need Mr. von Rensel’s help. I’m waiting for Galantz’s record to come back from the archives. Oh, and Admiral Sherman feels that, given the circumstances, Galantz was probably listed as MIA.”

  “He does, does he? Why isn’t von Rensel in here with you right now? Does he know all this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “He’s over at NIS right now, sir. He and I-” She ran out of words.

  “You and he what? Disagreed? Let me guess, you think Sherman is being screwed over, and von Rensel thinks he’s guilty of something. Am I right?”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “Tell-me something,” he said. “What was his recommendation regarding this bullshit about keeping back information from the Navy hierarchy?”

  “He told me that I should tell you everything.”

  Carpenter nodded with satisfaction at her answer, but he did not comment out loud. Instead, he went back to Sherman’s situation. “And the good admiral has no proof of the letter, or of that long-ago nocturnal visit from this supposedly MIA SEAL, right?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s true.”

  The admiral turned in his chair, his face scrunched up again in a frown as he stared out the windows at nothing.

  “For what it’s worth, Admiral,” Karen said. “I don’t think Admiral Sherman is making this up. Or that he’s involved in the death of Elizabeth Walsh. Nor do the police, as best I can tell.”

  Carpenter wheeled the chair around slowly to face her.

  “And this feeling is based on what facts, precisely?”

  Karen paused before replying. “Admittedly, just a gut feeling, I guess.

  He didn’t have to tell us about the discrepancies he noticed at Elizabeth Walsh’s house. Or, for that matter, the mysterious letter, or the incident back in 1972.”

  “Unless he’s a really clever devil. He is a flag officer, after all.”

  Karen managed to keep control of her face, but Carpenter caught the effort. “You can think it, Commander,” he said with a frosty grin. “But you’d better not say it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” was all she could manage, glad to have the tension broken.

  “Okay. What I was getting at, of course, is that by offering up some morsels, he could be running a game on the cops-a dangerous game to be sure, but a game nonetheless.”

  “But what about the syringe business?”

  “It was in your locked car, after you and he had taken a ride to the restaurant. Do you know that he didn’t just plant it, make a quick call to the cops from the restaurant, and then go through some charade with the patrol cops, all in order to make it look like someone was watching the two of you?”

  This is just what Train was saying, she thought. “That’s all possible, I suppose,” she said. “I’ve made a note to see if the cops can tell where that call came from. I’m pretty sure they caller-ID all nine-one-one calls as a matter of policy.

  “Okay, you do that. Now, tell me precisely what Mr. von Rensel is doing with all this. And why you think you need NIS’s help.”

  “Because Galantz is-was-a SEAL. SEALS work in the unconventional warfare area-which has ties to the world of intelligence. Mr. von Rensel used to work for the Office of Naval Intelligence. And with the FBI on foreign counterintelligence cases. I believe NIS is better equipped to translate Galantz’s service record information into a productive search than the cops are. Besides, I think-“

  “Yes?” He was giving her that stare again.

  “Well, actually, Admiral Sherman thinks that it might be in the Navy’s best interest to have the first look for Galantz.

  A Navy SEAL who’s gone off the reservation could be pretty embarrassing—especially if it looks like something’s been covered up.”

  Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. “Well, now, in this day and age of Navy scandal du jour, that’s a valid point. The Navy is under siege, Karen.

  Admirals who draw lightning go home. I want a copy of that personnel file as soon as it comes in.”

  “Yes, sir.” She made a note.

  “Now, do you know very much about Mr. von Rensel?”

  “Just what’s on his bio. When we talk about this case, he gives me the impression he’s not convinced that Admiral Sherman is… is, um, entirely innocent.”

  Carpenter nodded again. “He thinks like a cop. Okay.

  Tell him I said that he and NIS are hereby formally tasked.

  I’ll make sure their head shed gets the word. And, Karen, listen to him from time to time. His reputation is formidable among the senior NIS people. Now, new subject. You mentioned something about OP-03 himself taking an interest in this little problem.”

  “Yes, sir.” She went on to describe in detail the meeting in Admiral Kensington’s office. “I think that’s part of what Admiral Sherman is nervous about.”

  “I’ll just bet he is. Vice Admiral Kensington isn’t bashful about making his feelings known. Okay. Let me offer you some more advice. I know you have your papers in and all that, but please take care when you get around the so-called flag-protection circuits, especially in the surface Navy world. If you have any more contacts with Kensington or his executive staff, make damn sure they know you’re working for me and not for Sherman. Admiral Vannoyt didn’t seem to know that.”

  “That sounds ominous for Admiral Sherman.”

  Carpenter gave her that flat stare again, reminding Karen that flag officers did not take kindly to commanders who presumed to know anything about that world. “Let’s just say, Karen, that this whole situation has taken Admiral Sherman, who is, need I remind you, a frocked captain, a long way out of the politically conventional channel. You don’t even want to be in the same ocean with him if a thunder lizard like Kensington trains the business end of those three stars around on him.

  Got it?”

  Karen recognized the dismissal. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she said, getting up, but Carpenter was already back on the phone, making his next call.

  Fifteen minutes later, Captain Mccarty let himself into the JAG’s inner office.

  “You buzzed, Admiral?”

  “Yup. Sit down. Let me tell you a story
.”

  When Carpenter was finished, Mccarty sat back in his chair, closed his notebook, and rubbed his fingertips together slowly. “I’m damned sorry to hear about Galen Schmidt,” he said finally. “There were a lot of people who had high hopes he would be CNO.”

  “I was one of them. But getting back to this mysterious SEAL story-what’s this sound like to you?”

  Mccarty thought for a moment. “It sounds like the lumpy-suit crowd up the river.”

  “Bingo. Which is why I want you to pull the string with those people whenever Karen Lawrence gets this HMI Galantz’s personnel files in from the archives. I told her to get us a copy of his file. Oh, and give me the cheat sheet on our archive database; I’m going to check something out.”

  “We can have somebody do that for you, Admiral.”

  “I know, but I can work a computer, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. Back to Langley-I want you to go over there, back-channel, and ask if they’ve ever heard of this Galantz guy. Maybe get somebody in their general counsel’s office to broker a meeting.”

  Mccarty made some notes. “You think they would tell me?”

  “Don’t know. Sometimes, with those gomers, it’s what they won’t discuss that tells you what you want to know.

  Go see them. See how they react, what their attitude isstonewall, indifference, or even, heaven forbid, some cooperation.”

  “That would be a first. And I presume we don’t want to sidebar first with our own DNI?”

  “Precisely. The Navy Intelligence wizards would feel obligated to act like they knew the answer; then they’d just go ask Langley themselves.

  And Langley, as a matter of professional courtesy, tends to give the military intelligence people diddly-squat. Especially now that they’re being coerced into cooperating with the great unwashed hordes over in the FBI. No. Go direct.”

  “Got it. Would it not be wise for you to direct Mr. von Rensel personally on’this matter?”

  Carpenter shrugged. “Not initially. Let’s see what he’s made of. See if he has it figured out. If he’s as good as they claim, he ought to know which wires not to grab, unlike Karen Lawrence, who, I’m afraid, has fallen somewhat under the dashing young admiral’s spell.”

  Mccarty nodded thoughtfully but did not reply.

  “What?” Carpenter said, recognizing the signs that Mccarty was not entirely in agreement.

  I’m not sure,” Mccarty said., “I just have this feeling that’t’this one might get away from us. That maybe we ought to pull Karen out and let von Rensel run with it. I mean, we’ve either got an admiral or an ex-SEAL committing murder. Karen’s an admin specialist. She’s never worked anything like that.”

  “I think she’s finding this pretty interesting. Remember the objective.”

  Captain Mccarty closed his notebook. “Yes, sir, I understand,” he replied. “But I can’t tell if you want Karen Lawrence to succeed and thereby be enticed to stay, or if you’re just testing her.”

  “Bit of both, I suppose, EA. We’ll have to promote her to captain if she stays, so I guess I need to know if she can work off-line in a real investigation instead of just second guessing other people’s work.”

  “But if this Galantz problem turns out to be spooked up, then will you pull her off this thing?”

  Carpenter studied the blotter on his desk for a moment, somewhat annoyed at his EA’s persistence. “Don’t know.

  My job is to keep the Navy’s skirts clean, not hers. One step at a time, EA. Get thee to Langley.

  Mccarty nodded and stood up. “On my way. But my take is that she’s going to bail, no matter what.”

  After Mccarty left the room, Carpenter picked up the phone, but then he put it back down again. HMI Marcus Galantz. He was pretty sure he recognized that name. But what the hell was going on here? An MIA. He made a note to look at that record when it came in. Marcus Galantz. He sighed. This better not be what he thought it was. On the other hand, there was still plenty of time to control this situation. And Mccarty was worrying about nothing. He couldn’t imagine that Karen Lawrence was in any danger.

  The Galantz files had arrived while Karen was in with Carpenter. She riffled quickly through the package. There were three folders, one containing his enlisted service record, the second his medical record, and the third, a single card of microfiche, which should contain his leave and pay records.

  She stopped to examine his Page Thirteen, the chronological listing of assignments and administrative actions. The final entry caught her attention. Galantz had been officially declared missing in action on I June 1970 by direction of the Chief ‘of Naval Personnel.

  An official MIA, she thought. Wait a minute. There should have been an investigation conducted by his parent command, Naval Forces Vietnam, following his disappearance in the Rung Sat zone. It would have been a JAG in vestigation, which meant it should have been forwarded to Navy JAG for final review. To the very office you’re working in, she reminded herself. So their own archives ought to have a copy. She kicked herself mentally for not thinking of this before.

  She put a call into OP-32. First, she verified that the admiral had returned to the Pentagon from Admiral Schmidt’s house. Then she left a message with the duty yeoman that she would be in her office until eighteen hundred and that she had the Galantz file, and that it had a picture. Then she made copies of the file for the front office and called one of their yeomen to come down to pick up Admiral Carpenter’s copy. Then she waited. The IR office was empty. Train n Rensel had apparently not returned from the NIS heidvo quarters over in the Navy Yard. Everyone else appeared to have gone for the day.

  Thirty minutes later, the OP-32 yeoman called back and asked her to come down to Admiral Sherman’s office. She locked up and hurried down there.

  “Appreciate your hanging around, Karen,” Sherman said as his deputy went out and closed the door behind him.

  “Actually, if that record isn’t classified, perhaps we could go somewhere else. Otherwise, my staff is going to have to hang around.

  They can’t secure the divisional spaces if I’m still here.”

  “Yes, sir, of course. The JAG spaces are already secured.

  Let me think-“

  “How about the Army-Navy Club? It’s fifteen minutes by Metro. We could have a drink and discuss what we’re going to do with this information. I need one after this afternoon.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were ensconced at a comer table in the second-floor lounge of the Army-Navy Town Club. Karen showed him the three parts of the personnel record, then let him peruse it for a few minutes.

  Sherman extracted the print of the official black-and white photograph from the record and put it down on the table in front of him. He spent some time studying it.”Me picture had been taken of then Hospital Corpsman Third Class Galantz in 1963, which meant he had been advanced quickly to HM I by the time of the incident. It was not a very clear picture, having been printed from a microfilm frame, but a steely determination was evident in the man’s face. He looked almost Eastern European, with closecropped unruly black hair and intensely dark, if not black, eyes.

  “Did you see that last entry on the Page Thirteen?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Formally declared MIA.”

  “Do you remember precisely when he came to see you that night in San Diego?”

  “Yes, I do. It was February 1972.”

  Karen nodded. “I’m embarrassed to say I thought of something earlier today,” she said. “His parent organization should have done a command JAG investigation when he first went missing. A copy of that investigation should ultimately have come up to Navy JAG for final review. I did a quick search of the Navy JAG archives index for investigation reports dating back as far as 1970, and, in fact, I have found something, or at least an index listing of something. I can’t get it until Monday, but there’s definitely something on file in our archives.”

  “That’s terrific, Karen,” he said, his face
lighting up. He looked as if he had seen a ray of hope. She realized that he had probably begun to doubt his own memory of those events long ago. Then she pressed ahead with the first of the two questions she really wanted to ask. “Do you believe now that Elizabeth Walsh’s death was a homicide?”

  He sighed again and then nodded.

  Karen was silent for a minute. Then she took a deep breath and asked the other question that had been on her mind since talking to Train.

  “First Elizabeth,” she said slowly, her voice almost indistinct in the rising background noise of the lounge. “And now Galen Schmidt. Your lady friend, and then your mentor.” She looked over at him, waiting for him to understand.

  He frowned and then put his drink down. She thought she saw his hand tremble.

  “Galen? Are you suggesting-“

  “Admiral, I don’t know what to think,” she said hurriedly. “Other than that’s a lot of coincidence. Two people dying, unattended, within a week, both connected to you in a significant and personal way.”

  “Judas Priest!”

  She leaned forward. “The police are saying that Admiral Schmidt’s death showed no evidence of being anything but a heart attack. And his own doctor participated in the examination, and he says it was a heart attack. A notunexpected heart attack. It’s just-“

  He was nodding slowly. “Yes, I see where you’re going with this. And you’re right, perhaps more than you know.

  Galen Schmidt was more than a mentor. I followed him to job from the Bureau. He was my personal pillar of a sea strength when my wife finally hit bottom with the drinking.

  He kept me from making all the political mistakes ambitious officers usually make. Even when he had to retire, I kept going back to the well. it’s fair to say that he became the father I lost when I was growing up.”

  Karen nodded. “But the question is, if someone did something to Admiral Schmidt in order to hurt you, he would have had to know about this relationship.”