by Jan Coffey
Sarah reached for the folders she’d dropped on the conference table. Bruce noticed that she chose Amy Russell’s first. He couldn’t help but wonder if the navy lieutenant still carried a torch for her ex-boyfriend.
Bruce turned his attention back to the laptop screen and the list he was putting together. Submarine skippers and experts, both retired and still in the navy. He didn’t personally believe that an American sub driver had to be the only one capable of engineering this kind of hijacking. His list already included British and Russian commanders.
Unfortunately, what he had before him was a long and impressive collection of names. The difficult part would be to narrow it down to those who might have a bone of contention.
“This is interesting,” Sarah said under her breath.
Bruce realized she was still paging through Amy Russell’s files. “What did you find?”
“This woman. Amy Russell.” Sarah looked up. “She could easily be connected.”
~~~~
Chapter 18
Stonington, CT
8:30 a.m.
Sitting in Amy’s kitchen, Barbara Quayle let out a frustrated breath and hung up the phone. All the circuits were still tied up. She couldn’t call out. Nobody could call in. The last person who’d called them was a parent from the twins’ elementary school phone chain. That had been around seven o’clock. They closed the school right after the attack in New London harbor.
Right now, Barbara didn’t know if she should be taking the kids somewhere. If she should, she didn’t know where. The twin’s grandparents were still away, but she didn’t really know what help they’d be, anyway.
She’d been occasionally sneaking into Amy’s bedroom, keeping an eye on the news on her television. She didn’t want to let Zack and Kaitlyn see what was going on where their mother worked. Not that anyone really seemed to know what was going on. The only things that the news reporters appeared to be certain of, so far, was that a fire had broken out in the shipyard and something unexplainable had happened in the harbor. They kept showing the Coast Guard ship that had been damaged, and the New London Ledge lighthouse that had been demolished. Although witnesses in Groton and New London claimed to have heard and seen explosions, the news people were being very careful with their speculations. Whether the submarine leaving the harbor had done the damage or not, no one would say officially.
Barbara reached inside her pocket and opened the cap to her blood pressure pills. She wasn’t due to take one until tonight, but she didn’t care. Her heart was pounding, and she felt lightheaded. Her blood pressure had to be up. She took one.
There was something terrible going on. She knew it, and she could see it on every station that she turned the channel to. And she was scared—not for herself, but for the twins and for Amy.
Where was she?
She’d hoped Zack and Kaitlyn would sleep late today, but both of them were up and looking for their mother as soon as the call had come from the phone-chain parent. Barbara hadn’t said anything about what she’d seen on the news. She even let them watch one of their Disney movies while they ate their breakfast, sitting on the sofa in the living room. That was a huge treat. She knew for a fact that Amy never allowed TV and meals to go together. But even that kind of indulgence hadn’t fooled them.
Kaitlyn barely touched the waffles Barbara had popped in the toaster. She had no interest in the movie, either. She was cuddled on the window-seat, her face pressed against the glass pane, watching the rain outside and the quiet street. She was waiting for her mom to come home.
Zack wasn’t much better. He pretended that he was watching the movie, but Barbara knew the young boy was aware of every move she made in the apartment. His gaze followed Barbara whenever she disappeared into Amy’s bedroom. He watched her pick up the phone a dozen times as she tried to get through to the shipyard, or to Amy’s pager, or to her cell-phone. She wasn’t able to get through on anything.
Barbara grabbed her cup of tea. It was already cold, but she didn’t care. She joined Zack on the sofa. He was just a few bites ahead of his sister when it came to breakfast.
“Not hungry today?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Did mommy call?”
“No, sweetheart. There’s something wrong with the phone lines this morning. They’ll be fixing them, soon.”
Sirens from the borough and the neighboring towns had been blaring intermittently for the past hour. The twins hardly seemed to notice them. Barbara figured she was mostly responsible for the children’s nervousness; they were too smart not to see and sense her restlessness.
“So, how’s the movie?” Barb asked.
Zack shrugged and his gaze moved to his sister again. Kaitlyn was still in her pajamas, and her short, curly hair framed her innocent face like a halo. She wasn’t paying attention to anything but that road.
“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.
Bar
bara 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.”