by Don Brown
The more he read, the more he felt his blood boil. Finally he tossed the memo down on his desk. “Are these people crazy, Charlie? What kind of horse-manure proposal is this?”
Wong adjusted his glasses. “Homeland Security has their lobbyists, Captain. On the political front, the Navy Legislative Affairs Office tells us the Republicans in Congress would favor allocation for drones to the Navy but would be reluctant to purchase them for Homeland Security. With the Democrats, it’s the opposite. They spend tons on Homeland Security but want military budget cuts.
“Right now, as you know, the Democrats control the senate and the Republicans control the House. So I’m told that to make this fly politically, we’ve got to throw in the Homeland Security component.”
Paul shook his head again. Why wasn’t he informed about the proposed Homeland Security component when he was ordered to take this job? Of course, he already knew. That was the Navy way—keep a lid on things until there was an absolute need to know.
What could he do about it anyway? Walk into the Secretary of the Navy’s office and pick an argument based on philosophical grounds? Bottom line, as a naval officer, he was duty-bound to obey the orders of his superiors and to go where the Navy ordered. But still . . .
“Charlie, why do I feel like I need to take a hot shower?”
Wong smiled. “I understand, sir. If it makes you feel any better, and I’m sure it won’t, the general consensus on the Navy side of the house is just like yours. There’s not a lot of appetite for sharing anything with Homeland Security. But it’s all about politics.”
“I hate politics and I hate politicians. I should have stayed with my ship.”
Wong laughed. “Unfortunately, sir, Washington’s full of politics and politicians.”
“Roger that, Charlie. The largest cesspool of rats in the country.” He picked up the memo again. “So as a practical matter, how the heck is this going to work?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m supposed to take you down to Pax River tomorrow for a joint demonstration flight of one of the drones. As you know, Pax River will be the operational command headquarters for the Navy’s East Coast drone ops, with San Diego the operational headquarters for West Coast ops. The Homeland Security operators will be on base, and we’ll launch from Pax River, swing out over the coastal waters, then fly inland over Washington and bring the bird back into Pax River. We should be able to get a feel for how it will work then.”
“Sounds like we’re going to have to have both Navy operators and Homeland Security operators in the same operational facility.”
“Yes, sir, which is the reason for part of the controversy. But I think we’ll get a better feel for it tomorrow.”
“Okay, Charlie. May as well make the best of it. Where’d you say that hot shower was?”
“I didn’t, sir. But it’s down in the locker room.”
CHAPTER 13
BASEMENT
D-RING
THE PENTAGON
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Wearing her summer white officer’s uniform and smelling French fries, Caroline walked past the short-order grill in the basement of the D-Ring. That told her the Code 13 spaces were somewhere in the area.
Today marked only the second time she had been in the building, and frankly, the endless corridors that all looked the same, except for the upper decks of the E-Ring, made for a confusing morass that would take some getting used to.
She made the turn at the next corridor. The sign to her left on the wall proclaimed “Navy JAG Code 13—Administrative Law.”
She checked to make sure her belt buckle was aligned, her medals were aligned properly, and there were no runs in her hose. Today she would stop in, say hello to the captain, meet a few of her fellow officers, and return to administrative matters inherent in a permanent change of duty.
Friday would mark her first day on the job. Today she would see P.J.
A dual sense of anxiety and excitement pervaded her on both accounts.
She put her hand on the door and then saw she needed the security code.
“Oh, that’s right.” She had forgotten. Her sponsor had told her about the security code and in fact had provided it to her in her welcome packet.
“What did I do with that thing?”
She stepped back, away from the door, because she didn’t want anyone to see her fidgeting in her purse.
There.
4-2-1-2.
She stepped back to the door and punched the code.
The locks unlatched, and she pushed the door open.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
The Code 13 command master chief, LNCM Richard Magadia, sat at the duty desk just inside the door.
“Afternoon, Master Chief. I’m Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick.”
“Oh yes, ma’am.” The master chief’s eyes brightened. “We’re expecting you Friday, as I recall.”
“That’s right, Master Chief. I’m visiting the captain today and then hopefully going on a little run with Commander MacDonald.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the graying master chief said. “Most of our officers are out right now for PT or lunch. But the commander and Captain Guy are here. Let me take you back to the captain, and then we’ll find Commander MacDonald.”
“Great, Master Chief. Let’s do it.”
“Right this way, ma’am.” Caroline stepped in behind the master chief, and as she followed toward the captain’s office, she sensed someone staring at her. She glanced to her left as they reached the captain’s office.
A redheaded female lieutenant with fiery green eyes hit her with a stare that screamed first-degree murder. Then she looked down at her desk just as Caroline heard Captain Guy’s voice.
“Commander McCormick. Welcome aboard.” Her new skipper stood, extending his hand for a warm handshake. “I thought you were reporting on Friday.”
“I am, sir. I wanted to stop by and say hello, and then Commander MacDonald is going to take me out for a run.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Guy’s eyes lit like a lightbulb had turned on. “You and P.J. were at RLSO San Diego together.”
“Yes, sir. We used to PT along the San Diego waterfront, and the commander offered to show me this famous running route across Memorial Bridge over into the District that everybody’s talking about.”
“Great run. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m looking forward to it, sir. And I plan to be in first thing Friday morning to report officially.”
Guy’s phone buzzed. “Captain Guy, Admiral Brewer is on line one.”
“Excuse me, Commander. Duty calls.”
“See you Friday, sir.”
They stepped out of the office. Caroline noticed the redhead’s laser-beam stare again.
She was distracted when a smiling, handsome young officer, wearing the shoulder boards of a Navy lieutenant and who could have passed for Tom Cruise, walked up from another direction. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Ross Simmons. I’m over in 133. Welcome aboard.”
The master chief interjected, “The lieutenant works with Commander MacDonald over in our legislative affairs subcode. He’s just been deep selected for lieutenant commander.”
“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Caroline said. “I’ll look forward to working with you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Commander MacDonald speaks highly of you, and we look forward to having you at Code 13. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed out to PT.”
“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.” Simmons walked away. She looked at the master chief. “Speaking of Commander MacDonald, where is he, Master Chief?”
“Right this way, ma’am.”
“Did I hear a familiar voice calling my name?”
She caught a whiff of his Geoffrey Beene cologne, a fragrance that tantalized her, even before she saw that irresistibly appealing face.
She wanted to hug him. But that would breach military protocol and professionalism, especially at the Pent
agon.
Her heart raced in her chest.
“Long time no see, stranger.” She blurted the only thing she could muster, unable to suppress her smile. “Where is everybody?”
“Everybody is either out to lunch or still at the gym or on a run. Only ones in right now are me, Captain Guy, the master chief, and Lieutenant Fladager.”
“Well, are you going to introduce me to your friend, P.J.?” The ice-cold voice came from over her shoulder. Caroline turned, and there stood the gorgeous redhead, flashing a superficially fake smile, casting a stare that burned with apparent anger.
“Uh, yes. Excuse me.” Squeamishness saturated P.J.’s voice. “Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick, meet Lieutenant Victoria Fladager. Victoria is an action officer in our Ethics Division, Subcode 132.”
“Nice to meet you, Victoria,” Caroline said.
“And likewise. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Caroline.” She extended her hand.
“Yes, ma’am.” Victoria shook Caroline’s hand with a handshake that felt as cold as an ice cube.
What was up with this lieutenant? Wait a minute. Could she and P.J. be . . .? Caroline dismissed that thought.
“Anyway,” P.J. interjected, “since we’re all going to be working together, I volunteered to take Caroline out on our jogging route.”
“Oh, I see.” The lieutenant cut her eyes at P.J. “That’s very nice of P.J. to volunteer to take you out. He’s a hospitable guy. But, P.J., I’m surprised you have time to PT today, with your big paper due to the Secretary tomorrow.”
“Well, I—”
“You know, I’ve been trying to get P.J. out on the running circuit all week, but he’s been bogged down with this sensitive project. So I’m not sure how you convinced him, ma’am.”
“Please,” Caroline said. “It’s okay to call me Caroline. I’m sure you’ll be picked up for Lieutenant Commander soon anyway.” She looked at P.J. “From what I hear, Code 13 pretty much guarantees it.”
“Thank you, Caroline.” She looked at P.J. “Say, P.J., if you’re in a big-time jam today because your opinion letter’s due tomorrow, I’ll be glad to take the commander out for a run.” Victoria shifted her eyes back and forth between P.J. and Caroline. Something was going on here. “I’m sure the commander and I could spend the time getting to know each other.”
“Thanks, Victoria.” P.J. looked guilty. “But the opinion letter’s almost ready to go. In fact, I’ve got two different letters ready to go, so all the work has been done. It might do me some good to get out and run to clear my head.”
Victoria beaded her eyes like a viper ready to strike, all the while smiling coyly. “Well then. I suppose you have a point. Anyway, Caroline and I will have plenty of time to get acquainted.”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.” Caroline forced a smile.
“Well,” P.J. said, “we should be going. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Have fun.” A sarcastic tone.
P.J. opened the door and Caroline, with her purse and a small blue gym bag over her left shoulder, stepped out into the D-Ring. The door to Code 13 shut behind them.
“This way to the locker rooms,” P.J. said, and they turned left, walking in the direction opposite from where she came in. She thought he might comment on the lieutenant’s behavior, but he seemed to clam up, clearly uncomfortable with the encounter that had just taken place. Something was up with those two, which was fine with her. After all, she and P.J. had broken up, and they both were free to date whomever.
Whatever. “Okay, here’s the ladies’ locker room. Meet you in a few.”
“Okay, I won’t be long,” she said.
CHAPTER 14
INTERSECTION OF MARYLAND ROUTE 235 AND PEGG ROAD
U.S. NAVAL AIR STATION “PAX RIVER”
GATE 1
LEXINGTON PARK, MARYLAND
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Sitting on the peninsula at the convergence of the sparkling blue waters of the Potomac River and Chesapeake Bay, the massive and picturesque Patuxent River Naval Air Station, known as “Pax River” within U.S. Naval circles, provided for the United States the principal base for land-based U.S. Naval air power in the middle Atlantic.
Located sixty-five miles from the center of American military power, the Pentagon, the Pax River Naval Air Station, like the Pentagon, entered service to the U.S. military in 1943, in the middle of World War II. But that was about the only commonality between the Pentagon and Pax River.
None of this was lost on Captain Paul M. Kriete, the newly appointed commander of the U.S. Navy Drone Command. The physically chiseled, cleft-chinned captain, who years ago had passed up an appointment to the Coast Guard Academy to pay his own way to Duke, where he entered into the Naval ROTC, looked out the passenger window as the car began to slow on its final approach to the base. His mind raced with thoughts of his action-packed agenda for the day, even as the Navy lieutenant driving the car that contained Kriete and his chief of staff, Wong, pulled up to the main gate.
Paul exchanged salutes with the SP at the gate, then unloaded on Wong as the staff car rolled through the gate. “Makes a heck of a lot of sense, doesn’t it, Wong? You set up the operational command for all these drones here at Pax River but put the commander of the operation back at the Pentagon.”
Wong shook his head as the car rolled through the gate.
“No kidding, Captain. When did anybody in Washington propose solutions that made sense economically?”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been told they’ve got the command at the Pentagon for political purposes, until we can get this contract finally approved by Congress. Once that’s done, all the operation commands will be at Pax River and San Diego. Right now, Charlie, it looks like we’re going to have to put up with a bunch of bull until we can get this baby off the ground.”
“I hear you, sir.”
“Okay, here we are, gentlemen,” the driver said.
Paul looked up at the blue sign outside the three-story stucco building.
U.S. NAVY DRONE COMMAND
EAST COAST OPERATIONS
TEMPORARY OPERATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
“Home sweet home,” Paul said. “They should be waiting for us. Let’s check it out.”
Paul and his party stepped out of the staff car, and he paused to enjoy the refreshing, salty Chesapeake Bay sea breeze.
For a Navy man, nothing proved more refreshing than taking in the scent of the sea and breathing ocean air deep into his lungs. Already the stark contrast of the sea versus Washington’s smells of asphalt and exhaust fumes made him long for his ship.
Perhaps he should have stayed with his ship. Yes, the appointment was an honor, and yes, it would fast-track him to admiral. But would it be worth it?
Yes, Washington wanted him to take the job. But he had enough seniority as a senior captain that if he had pushed hard enough, they would have passed him over and selected another officer.
He almost told the detailer to find another officer to command the first-ever U.S. Navy Drone Command. After all, he was a ship driver. Not a remote-control airplane pilot.
But he had to make a decision, and in a now-or-never decision that might be his only chance to ascend to admiral, he took the now.
But more than once he had already second-guessed himself.
Would he ever even return to sea in command? Or would he trade his love of the ocean for stars on his collar, swanky cocktail parties, and the classic butt-kissing and bull manure that one had to endure to move up in the ranks?
Of course, one redeeming quality might make Washington worth enduring: the most gorgeous blonde he’d ever laid eyes on. And the fact that she wore a naval officer’s uniform made her even hotter. And the fact that she was a lawyer wearing a naval officer’s uniform shattered the thermometer as far as he was concerned.
Of course, it remained to be seen whether Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick would ever give him the time of day. Of course, i
f she didn’t give him the time of day, his Washington tour could prove quite boring and even more regrettable. But he wasn’t too worried about that possibility at the moment.
Captain Paul Kriete usually got his way, as Caroline McCormick would soon find out.
That thought made him smile.
Enough daydreaming about her. Time to get back to work.
As they stepped into the entry area of the building, they were greeted with a barrage of sailors and junior officers jumping to attention.
“Attention on deck!”
“Attention on deck!”
“At ease,” Paul said.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Master Chief Gonzales, your operations master chief.”
“Master Chief.” Paul nodded.
“Sir, Commander Jefferies sent me down to escort you up to the ops center on the second deck.”
“Very well. Lead the way, Master Chief.”
“Right this way, sir.”
The master chief led the triumvirate into an elevator, where he entered a code and then punched 2.
“The commander’s been looking forward to having you aboard, sir, to give you a firsthand idea of what we can do once this drone fleet gets fully developed.”
“I’ve been looking forward to that myself, Master Chief.”
The elevator stopped and the doors parted. The master chief stepped out and shouted, “Attention on deck!”
Officers and enlisted men jumped to attention at Paul’s entrance, with one exception: six middle-aged-looking men, two with potbellies, two more balding, all with short-sleeved white shirts, turned in their chairs, and only one stood. And the one who stood was slowest to get up and showed no semblance of any military bearing.
Homeland Security. Paul’s stomach twisted in disgust.
“At ease, gentlemen,” he said.
“Welcome aboard, sir.” A slim, enthusiastic-looking commander approached him with a smile. “I’m Commander John Jefferies. I’m your officer in charge of the East Coast detachment. Glad to have you here, sir.”