by Tom Carroll
“I’m not saying another word unless there’s a deal on the table. Commander, I’m done talking.” Malcolm pushed his chair back and started to stand up when Kevin grabbed him, forcefully twisted his arms behind him, and handcuffed him. “You’re not done until I say you’re done, you weasel! Malcolm Simpson, I’m placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Colton Garrett and Daniel Garrett and for committing espionage against the United States of America.”
Steve Lingenbrink intervened. “Take it easy with my client, Special Agent Orr,” he warned Kevin.
An angry Malcolm Simpson shouted at Kevin. “Me and VADIM were just following orders! She’s the one you really want, if you’re not already too late.”
Anna looked at Kevin as the blood drained from her face. The meetings with Malcolm in the library, the ability to remove documents in a courier satchel, and easy access to the most classified information in the ship. And Malcolm just referred to VADIM as a woman.
“Oh, my God! Kevin, it all fits. VADIM is Commander Jennifer Abrams, and she may be going after Garrett again!”
SECDEF Cabin, the Reagan
“Doesn’t it hurt when you lean back in your chair?” Lenny asked, referring to the stainless-steel pistol in the holster on Colt’s belt.
“You get used to it. Besides, don’t you think it makes me look like James Bond?” Colt pretended to admire his reflection in the mirror for a second, then sat down at his desk.
“Word on the street is that Admiral Carlisle really did it this time when he was giving that TV interview,” Lenny commented. “It’s made most of the papers and it even came up in the White House press briefing this morning. What do you think he’s looking at as far as fallout goes?”
Colt looked up from his desk, shaking his head. “All I know is that you can say a lot of different things to the press and still recover. But saying the military shouldn’t be subject to civilian authority is not one of them. I doubt the president liked hearing that. I spoke with the secretary of the Navy a few hours ago, and let’s just put it this way: I don’t think our friend Joe will be adding any more stars to his collar. In fact, once Admiral Shaffer flies aboard tomorrow afternoon, Real Admiral Carlisle’s remaining time as task force commander can be counted in hours.”
In the narrow passageway outside the secretary’s cabin, Commander Jen Abrams had just approached and greeted the security guard stationed at the door. Pointing to her NCIS Protective Security pin on her uniform for the guard to clear her, she knocked on the stateroom door and entered, locking the door behind her.
“What can I do for you, Commander?” Colt asked somewhat impatiently, as he stood to greet her.
“I hate to bother you, sir,” she said, “but Captain Solari said you that are now carrying a personal sidearm, and we have to record the serial number in our weapons log. Navy regulations.” She motioned to the aluminum clipboard in her left hand.
Colt removed the pistol from its holster and made sure the thumb safety was engaged before handing it to Jen.
“Careful, Jen,” he cautioned her, “it’s loaded with a round in the chamber.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” she said, dropping the clipboard. Taking the pistol in both hands and pointing it directly at the two men, she instructed, “I must ask you and Mr. Wilson to step over to the bulkhead.”
Colt and Lenny were stunned by Jen’s abrupt switch from a trustworthy senior officer to an unsuspected adversary, yet they were smart enough to go along with her, do what she said, and stay calm. They both moved slowly toward the bulkhead, where they stood side-by-side, facing her. She had always seemed uptight and creepy to Lenny and unapproachable and nervous to Colt. This could explain a lot, they were both thinking to themselves.
“Jen,” Colt said, “is there a problem? Have we done something to offend you that we’re not aware of?”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary, there is a very big problem,” she answered, her voice lowered but irritated. “You were supposed to be dead by now. You should have gone down in that plane, but you didn’t. Now they want me to take care of it.”
“You had something to do with that?” Lenny asked, dumbfounded. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Well, to save my own ass, for starters,” she replied, shifting the aim of her outstretched and shaking arms back and forth between the two men.
“What are you talking about, Jen?” Colt asked with a purposely calming edge to his voice. “Who’s threatening you? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I’ve been working for the Russians for years,” she revealed, her voice wavering, “giving them names, dates, classified information, making copies of documents, that sort of thing.”
“You said you were responsible for the Growler mishap, and you’re standing here with a gun in your hands,” said Lenny, pointing out the obvious.
“You don’t understand! Now they’re threatening my family, and Mr. Garrett needs to die. I have no choice!”
Lenny was about to ask another question, just to keep Jen talking, when she blurted out, “I’m sorry,” pointed the pistol at Colt and pulled the trigger.
Colt instinctively ducked to his right, but the pistol didn’t fire. Instead, in the absence of a loud shot, Jen looked down at the pistol and frantically tried to find and disable the safety. As she struggled to figure out the pistol’s older design, Lenny spotted a ten-pound fire extinguisher just two feet away. In one swift motion, he grabbed it off the bulkhead, raised it in the air, and lowered it, forcefully striking Jen’s forehead.
As Jen fell to the floor, Anna DeSantis crashed through the cabin door, her service pistol drawn. She saw the two men standing over a bleeding and unconscious Commander Jen Abrams. “She’s a Russian agent,” Anna said. And then to Lenny, “You hit her with a fire extinguisher? Where did you get that stupid idea?”
Lenny shrugged his shoulders and said, “Navy training!”
Sick Bay, the Reagan
Commander Jennifer Abrams laid unconscious in a bed inside the ship’s intensive care unit, carefully guarded by NCIS Special Agent Kevin Orr, and tended to by the ship’s senior medical officer and several nurses and corpsmen. After treating her head wound and monitoring her vital signs, the medical staff had decided to wait until she regained consciousness before making the decision whether or not to medevac her to Tokyo, where she could receive more thorough medical care.
Despite her debilitating injury, Jen’s left wrist was handcuffed to her bed frame while an IV line ran into her right arm. Kevin quickly went to the foot of her bed when he noticed Jen moving her head from side to side. She began moaning in faint, jerky sounds, finally groaning, “I feel like shit! What happened? Where am I right now?” Kevin picked up the phone and dialed a number. “She’s awake.”
The medical staff had been working on Jen for a few minutes when Anna DeSantis and Commander Lingenbrink arrived in ICU and took seats in the chairs next to where Kevin was sitting.
“She’s been awake and talking with the docs for about 10 or 15 minutes,” Kevin told them. “I’ve let the doc her know that we need to get a statement from Commander Abrams as soon as they say it’s okay. I think that’s going to happen any minute now.”
“Special Agent Orr,” said Commander Smith, the senior physician on board, “you can have ten minutes now, but no more.”
Kevin read the scripted Article 31 rights notification to Jen, after which she agreed to waive legal counsel and answer questions. Speaking slowly and in just a few words at a time, she provided a very basic summary of her involvement with Russian intelligence and the money they were paying her for her years of espionage. She described her gambling addiction and how debt had motivated her to use her courier credentials to remove classified materials from the ship and pass them on to a Russian intelligence operative in Bremerton. Jen described her conspiracy with Malcolm to crash Growler 505, and she said she had agreed to personally murder Secretary Garrett and Malcolm Simpson only after the Russians had threatened to tort
ure and kill her mother. She said she felt trapped in a corner, with no real choice.
After giving Kevin her mother’s phone number and address in Seattle, Jen drifted back into semi-consciousness. “I think that’s enough for today,” said Commander Smith.
Anna and Commander Lingenbrink left the ICU and headed to the forward wardroom for coffee, leaving Kevin to continue guarding the prisoner.
“What’s next for her?” asked the Navy JAG officer, once they had filled their cups and sat down at a small table. “Seems like a pretty solid case.”
Anna looked up from her coffee and nodded in agreement. “It does to me too, Commander, but it’s way above my paygrade. While I didn’t know about the threat to her mother, that certainly doesn’t excuse a lengthy history of espionage and the attempted murder of several people. In the near term, I understand they’re going to medevac her to Tokyo this evening. But down the road, the DOD, the Justice Department, and every three-letter agency in D.C. will have strong opinions regarding her fate. Hers are among the most serious offenses a service member can commit.”
“At least you successfully eliminated the Russian operation onboard the Reagan,” Lingenbrink said. “But you do have to wonder,” he added, “if they had agents operating on this ship, what might that say about the rest of the fleet?”
Defense Secretary Cabin, the Reagan
Colt Garrett awakened from a short “combat nap” by the knock on his cabin door. Colt got up from his sofa and opened the door to see his son standing there.
“I’m not sure I should let you in,” he said to Dan dryly. The last time someone came through that door, they tried to kill me.”
“Very funny. But seriously, Dad, maybe next time, think twice before giving your pistol to a Russian agent.”
“Oh. Good point, son. I’ll try to remember that. So, what have I done to deserve an impromptu afternoon visit?”
“Well, I just wanted to stop by and say my goodbyes. I’m scheduled to fly early tomorrow morning, and before that, I have some division officer stuff to do, so I thought I’d come over now if you have a minute. It was really good to see you and spend some time together. We even managed to have a little life-threatening adventure, so now you have another story to embellish! And congratulations again on the appointment as acting SECDEF. I think the president made a great choice, Dad. Are you going to see mom on your way back to D.C.?”
“I’m working on that. I’d very much like to. Lenny and I will be meeting a Nightwatch in Tokyo. I’m hoping I can talk the aircraft commander into a short stop in Seattle. I want you to know I’ve enjoyed this time with you too, Dan. The best part has been seeing how great you’re doing.” Colt reached out and wrapped his arms around his son, who stood several inches taller.
“Goodbye, Son. I love you. Be safe!”
“I will, Dad, I promise. And you be safe, too. I love you!
When the younger Mr. Garrett left the cabin, his father couldn’t have been prouder.
The White House, Washington D.C.
President William C. Harrison made it a point to watch the nightly television news broadcasts as they helped to keep him in touch with the public — something he felt strongly that every politician should do. Last night was no exception and, as often was the case, he began the next day talking with his chief of staff about what he had seen the night before on TV.
“Eric, did you catch last night’s news?” he asked. “Garrett made a pretty good showing, and that son of his belongs on a recruiting poster.”
Not only had Eric Painter already reviewed each of the major networks’ evening newscasts, but he held in his hands typed, detailed summaries of each of the leading stories in the event POTUS wanted to follow up on any of them.
“Yes, Mr. President, I think Colt did a fine job. I think he always does. He is consistently articulate, informed, and unflappable. Perhaps most important, he can make difficult decisions, and the Joint Chiefs are very impressed with his leadership during the Korean incident, which they are now referring to as Colt’s Crisis. I’m curious to know if you are any closer to making a decision,” he said, referring to his boss’s still unresolved nomination for secretary of defense.
“As a matter of fact, I am, Eric,” said the president. “Let’s move forward and officially nominate Garrett. I like how he handled that mess in Korea, and the press like him. After he gets back from the Pacific, I’ll make the announcement. He’ll have to step down temporarily while he goes through the Senate confirmation process, so I’ll appoint Steve Holmes as acting SECDEF until Colt’s confirmed.”
The well-prepared chief of staff stepped forward and handed the president two folders. “I’ve gone ahead and prepared both press releases for your review, sir.”
Harrison opened the folders and smiled as he signed the two documents. “Good guess, Mr. Painter.”
Eric Painter pretended to ignore the president’s compliment and continued on with their dialogue. “I have a suggestion about Lieutenant Garrett, sir. He is considered quite the hero right now, and the Navy is planning to award him with another Distinguished Flying Cross for saving that aircraft a few days ago. Why don’t we fly him back here, and you personally present the award to him in the Oval Office? The optics would be beautiful: You pin on the medal while his father — the newest member of your cabinet — beams with pride. What do you think?”
“I think this idea didn’t just occur to you. I’ll see what the communications team thinks about it. Is there anything else?”
“Well, yes,” Eric replied. “You heard Lieutenant Garrett’s comment on TV that he’d like to be assigned to test pilot school. I would think that’s something we could make happen. You could announce it when you present the medal, and even comment that the late Secretary O’Kane had attended the same program!”
The president walked over to the South-facing windows and admired the well-manicured gardens outside. “I like that, Eric. Okay, draft a message to Colt Garrett and let him know I will be formally nominating him soon after he returns from the Pacific. And let Steve Holmes know right away about his acting appointment. Get the secretary of the Navy on the phone so Lieutenant Garrett can get his dream job. Did I miss anything?”
“No, I think that’s everything, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Commanding Officer’s Stateroom, VAQ-132 Scorpions, the Reagan
“Enter!” said Commander Tom Robinson when he heard the knock on his stateroom door. Lieutenant Dan Garrett opened the door and stepped inside.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Take a seat, Dan.”
The senior naval officer sat behind his desk and looked at the young aviator. “Dan, I wanted you to know that I’ve recommended you for your second Distinguished Flying Cross, and both Captain Chavez and Captain Solari have endorsed it. That was one fine display of airmanship, and I’m proud to have you serving in this squadron.”
Dan was touched by the skipper’s sincerity. “Thank you, sir, I really appreciate that. Receiving a DFC is a huge honor, but we both know I was just trying to save my ass, and my dad’s.”
“But that doesn’t detract at all from how you performed. You’re an exceptional aviator. And it appears I’m not the only one who thinks so. Take a look at this.”
The skipper handed Dan a naval message and gave him a minute to realize, and absorb what it was. Dan took his time reading the words, but finally raised his eyes and looked blankly at his commanding officer.
Guessing correctly that it would help if Dan heard it spoken out loud: Tom began, “It's message from the Chief of Naval Operations, inviting you to submit an application package for Navy Test Pilot School. You’ll receive a waiver from the requirement for an engineering degree. The next selection board meets in May, and if you’re selected, you’ll receive orders for four months of training in the T-6 and T-28 before reporting to Pax River for the year-long program. After that, you can expect to serve a three-year tour as a test pilot.” Tom stopped and took a breath b
efore extending his hand. “Congratulations, Dan! You deserve this!”
Dan Garrett silently read the message again and then handed the document back to Commander Robinson. “Sir, what do you think happened? Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Dan, if you think a squadron C.O. has that kind of juice, you must know something I don’t know. But I did hear some back-channel gouge that somebody in a big white house in Washington D.C. may have seen your news interview with Carissa Curtis, and that same person may have suggested to SECNAV that he’d like to see your name on the selection list. If you ask me, I’d say you need to thank Ms. Curtis!”
“Thanks, skipper! I’ll track her down right now,” Dan yelled as he ran through the skipper’s door into the passageway in pursuit of the TV reporter.
Sprinting down the long corridor, still in a daze, Dan suddenly and clumsily collided with Ensign Rebecca Clarke, causing both of them to tumble to the deck. Helping her to her feet, an embarrassed Dan apologized, “That was all my fault. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Rebecca brushed her hair back and then looked up to find the tall, good-looking pilot everyone on the ship had been talking about. “Hey, you’re that guy!” she said. “You’re the one who landed Growler 505 yesterday! I heard Captain Solari on the bridge saying it was the best piece of airmanship she had ever seen. And wait — I saw you on the news, too! Everybody is talking about you!” Rebecca gushed.