Official Privilege

by P. T. Deutermann

  The admiral leaned back in his chair. “I’m confused,” he said. “Is the NIS conducting this investigation or is Opnav?”

  “It’s an independent one-officer JAGMAN investigation, Admiral,” Dan interjected. “The NIS is acting in support.”

  “Can I reveal that angle to the media?” asked Mcgonagle. “There was a question on that from CBS.”

  “No,” said Dan after getting a confirmatory nod from Grace. “What I suggest we do here is to have Commander Mcgonagle check with me at fourteen hundred each day, for as long as we’re here, anyway. I’ll give her a fact sheet of what I think are releasable bits of information.

  She can coordinate that with CHINFO in D. C., and the Navy public affairs organization can decide what to release and what to hold. You, sir,” he said, indicating the admiral, “would of course be privy to the facts proposed for release. And if we turn up anything that could be classified as, let’s say, sensational, we will inform your office right away—through Commander Mcgonagle.”

  The admiral nodded, his indignation mollified somewhat by Dan’s return to customary deference. Every officer in the room knew that face was being saved.

  “So where do you stand now?” asked the admiral.

  Dan reviewed the facts of the case to date, omitting their little discussion with Gutowski.

  “We’re kind of in a holding pattern until we get the official results of the autopsy from the medical examiner,” he concluded. “We also need to study the victim’s personal and professional records. We have what certainly must be a homicide, but we have nothing whatsoever on motive, or even means, for that matter. We think that somebody killed the lieutenant and then dumped his body in a ship with no atmosphere. It was only a fluke that he was found at all; the last time that ship was mothballed, it was for nearly forty years.”

  “So somebody meant not only to kill him but also to hide the body for goddamn ever.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what it looks like. But we’re a long way from having our hands on the facts to support that or any other conclusions.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  Before Dan could answer, the yeoman stuck his head in.

  “Commander Collins, there’s a call from the DCNO for Plans and Policy’s office for you.”

  Dan excused himself from the inner office and took the call out front.

  Grace remained in the inner office; Dan could hear her talking as he picked up the phone.

  “Commander Collins speaking, sir.”

  “This is Captain Manning. I’ve had a call from Captain Randall.”

  “The VCNO’s EA?”

  “That’s correct. CHINFO’s EA called the VCNO’s office and told him that your investigation has gone public. He wanted to know what you have turned up so far.”

  Dan gave him a status report, again omitting anything about the ex-rigger’s theories.

  “The locals cooperating?”

  “NIS isn’t overtly throwing up obstacles, although their records seem to be pretty slim on this case. The Navbase tried to stick its nose in, but I think I have that under control.”

  “The Navbasel Does someone need to be stepped on?”

  “No, sir, I don’t think so, at least not right now. The main thing is to keep the press from getting directly to me or the investigation. I plan to hand in some facts that I think are releasable each day to Navbase PAO and let them coordinate with CHINFO so that there’s a Navy press position instead of my getting into it.”

  “That sounds intelligent. But you’re pretty sure this is a homicide case?”

  “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Hardin didn’t go into that battleship under his own power.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because there’s no air down there. The ship is under a nitrogen blanket from the main deck and below.”

  There was a moment of silence. “I see,” the EA said.

  “Very well. Do you have anything else to tell me?”

  “No, sir. Bupers is taking care of getting the records and the CACO—Hardin’s family is there in D.C. We’re working on the access issue and reviewing NIS files here while we wait for the forensics to come back.”

  “Very well,” Manning said again, and then he simply broke the connection. Dan looked at the phone for a second. And you have a nice day, too, Captain Cold Fish. Every EA he’d ever met acted like that. The hell of it was that most of them at the three-and four-star staff level went from their EA jobs to flag selection and stars of their own, so their arrogance was based on credible expectations. His own boss, Captain Summer field, was a notable exception—he had been EA to the vice chief who had preceded the current incumbent, Admiral Torrance. The rumor among the action officers was that Summerfield had not gone on to flag rank purportedly because of his wife’s stroke during the second year of his assignment, which was also the reason he was now in the less demanding job of branch head of OP-614.

  Dan looked at his watch. It was going on 6:00 p.m. He went back into the inner office. Everyone was watching the local evening news on the television, where the body in the battleship was receiving prominent coverage. Mcgonagle’s prepared statement was terse and rigidly factual, and the station ran the tape through three of her “no comment” responses to questions before cutting back to the reporter for some breathless speculation. The admiral muted the set.

  “I see we’re not going to get just a passing reference to this mess,” he said.

  “I suggest that you forward all further inquiries directly to CHINFO in Washington,” Grace said. “That way, you can feed them information but let them take the heat.”

  “Count on it,” Mcgonagle said with feeling.

  “Admiral, if we’re done here …” Dan said.

  “Yes, I think so. I don’t know what else to say other than to ask that you keep me as informed as you can.

  It’s the blind side that I’m trying to avoid, Commander.”

  “Understood, Admiral. We’ll do our best. But we can’t control all the sources of information in a place like this. I suspect it was the ambulance crew, for instance, who called the news guys in the first place.”

  “Right. Believe me, I know that problem better than you ever will, Commander. Until that time when perhaps you get a command of your own, that is.”

  at grace’s suggestion, they took Dan’s car down South Broad Street to the nearest Mcdonald’s for dinner, deciding not to talk about the case in that very public place. Dan wanted to go back to the O-club for a beer afterward; as usual, the club was nearly deserted except for a few stalwarts at the bar. They took a table in the corner. Dan asked her about the single message she had received back in the NIS office.

  “It was my version of your E.T. message,” she said.

  “Doug Englehardt wanted an update.”

  “I had a telephone audience with the Oh-six EA,” he replied. “He apparently was being queried by the VCNO’s EA.”

  “These EAs work the web, don’t they?” she observed.

  “I’m never sure whether I’m speaking to a Navy captain or a vice admiral’s surrogate when I talk to Manning —he’s the Oh-six EA. Guy’s just a real bundle of personality.”

  Grace rotated her glass between her hands slowly.

  She knew another EA who was just like that. “Admiral Keeler—he’s director of the NIS—has an executive assistant,” she said. “A Captain Rennselaer. Not a very approachable sort, one of those people who is considerably better than thee or me. I think he had a claw in my internal reassignment. Anyway, Doug Englehardt didn’t have anything special to report. Early days, I think.”

  Dan nodded. “I’m sure Santini’s keeping them fully informed, in case you become corrupted by close association with an Opnav devil.”

  “What’s more likely,” she said, “is that they’ll check what I tell them against what he tells them. I also talked to Robby Booker today, asking him to expedite our RFI. He implied that the data center was less than optimistic when he asked for
an expedite on it.”

  “Booker a buddy of yours?”

  “Sort of. Actually, yes. I took his side in a nasty little racial dispute. He lost, which was at least partly his fault, but that’s when I was first tagged as a troublemaker.

  He’s a product of the streets of Washington— very smart, cagey, and energetic. He spends almost all his time in the headquarters. He told me once that he couldn’t believe he got a job there, and that there wasn’t that much to go home to. When it comes to the workings of the NIS headquarters, though, he’s a regular little ferret.”

  “And he can give you a sense of how the bigs are reacting to this investigation?”

  “Yes. And that might become very helpful. But remember, I was somewhat suspect before I came out on this assignment.”

  “Makes me wonder if the various players on my side are telling me everything they know. Damn, it gets complicated.”

  She smiled at him and changed the subject. “Do you remember our talking about this Hardin incident being connected with the mob? And you said a junior lieutenant was too low level an officer to attract attention?

  Now we have someone saying it was a hit. Any second thoughts?”

  Dan thought about her question for a moment. He had noticed that she had maneuvered the direction of the conversation away from their political relationship.

  “What I said before,” he replied, “was in the context of a junior officer discovering something that might inconvenience the mob, and jaygee’s aren’t likely to manage that. Now, an officer being involved personally in drugs or gambling—something that might take him to a loan shark—well, that’s different. We’ll need to explore that angle when we get confirmation that this is Hardin, and then maybe try to talk to shipmates who served with him in Luce.”

  “You said that’s going to be hard to do.”

  “It might. The ship’s been decommissioned, and crews and wardroom officers scatter in two years’ time.

  We certainly won’t find anybody here from Luce, for instance.”

  “And the records, the bureau, the Hardin family— they’re all back in Washington, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. Ah, I see your point. Once we get the facts about the circumstances of his death, then the rest of this nut may have to be cracked back in D. C.”

  She nodded and then began to gather her things. “I agree that we’ll need to exhume Lieutenant Hardin’s character before we can approach motive and suspects. What happened to Hardin will probably be discoverable.

  Finding out why this happened will be the tough part.”

  She got up. “Now I’m tired. I thank you for the gourmet extravaganza tonight. I’ll see you in the morning at the NIS field office, say eight o’clock?”

  “Fine,” he said. “I think I’m going to have another beer. I’m not ready to let go of all this atmosphere.”

  Grace smiled as she left the club and walked across the parking lot between the club and the BOQ to her room.

  She undressed and decided to take her chances with the shower. The water pipes clanked and ran some rust initially, but at least there was hot water. She had not told Dan the entire truth about their RFI’s status at headquarters.

  Robby had informed her that the data center had flat out stonewalled him. The lady who ran the place had pointed dramatically down the hall toward the admiral’s office and told him that she had her instructions from Rennselaer himself.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Grace had erupted. “If that pill’s getting into it, we’ll never get any information.”

  “It’s cool,” Robby had replied. “Latonya has the night shift in the data center. Me’n her, we tight. I’ll get it.”

  As she dried off, she thought about Dan Collins. She was faintly embarrassed at having been positively voluble the other night about her personal background.

  She had told him more than she needed to, and she wondered why. Perhaps it was that aura of vulnerability about him. He was smart enough to recognize the general outlines of the turf battle, but perhaps a bit naive as to exactly how nasty and even personal it could get.

  Maybe it was different for the officer corps. She had met other naval officers like that; they all seemed to believe that there were certain thresholds of personal honor and integrity, below which one did not go for something as trivial as bureaucratic power. She well knew that government civilians took these things much more seriously, and she sensed that the NIS headquarters mavens were circling the wagons over this one.

  Even Doug Englehardt, who was as close to a rabbi as she would have in the NIS organization, was not to be trusted entirely, especially since he was as interested in her personally as professionally. She had rebuffed a few subtle advances, and now, much as she needed a friend in upper management, she sensed that if it came to making a choice between keeping his job and saving hers, Englehardt would drop her over the Anacostia River seawall in a heartbeat. Wasn’t government fun.

  Dan awoke early Thursday morning. Checking out what looked like the beginnings of a nice day outside, he decided to go for a short run around the grounds of the base. As he went out the BOQ doors to the parking lot, he encountered Grace Snow, who apparently had had the same idea. She was dressed out in a gray jersey tank top, some flimsy running shorts, and expensive-looking running shoes, and she was performing some interesting stretching exercises. Definitely a woman. He enjoyed the view for a minute before she noticed him and straightened back up, her face slightly flushed.

  “Morning,” he called. “Didn’t figure you for a runner.”

  “Why, do I look that soft?” she asked, gathering her hair up into a barrette.

  “Not at all. Well, maybe. I mean—” He stopped in some confusion when he realized she was laughing at him. “Aw hell, you want some company?”

  “Sure.” He did his own warmup and then they took off at a brisk pace, jogging down a perimeter road that went out along the abandoned runways of a now-defunct naval airfield and down to the Delaware River , itself, where they encountered several other runners out I enjoying the promising April morning. She kept up with him easily, challenging his casual assumption that she wouldn’t be able to stay up with a man who ran five miles as easily as most men walked one block. They rounded the perimeter of the airfield and doubled back, enjoying the sunrise appearing over the gleaming steel stacks of the refineries across the river. When they finally got back to the main base area and dropped down into a walk, he had to work at it to keep from staring at her body, which in the flush of exertion was stirring some urges he hadn’t felt in several years. He found himself imagining that this was how her face might look if they were making love. The thought surprised him. If she was aware of his interest, she gave no sign of it.

  They agreed to meet in the NIS field office at 0730.

  Once there, Santini told them that the medical examiner’s office had called. They had a preliminary report.

  He asked if Dan wanted to go over to the ME’s office to talk to them or whether he should have them just fax it. He added that the ME needed those medical and dental records from the Navy. Dan had no desire to visit the city morgue, so he told Santini to get the prelim faxed over to them. He then called the master chief down in Bupers to get a status on the records.

  “No status is what we’ve got, Commander. St. Louis says they’re working on it.”

  “Is it possible to put a priority push on the dental records—we need them for a positive ID.”

  “I know, but with that outfit, I’d recommend them pressing ahead for the whole shebang. Now, you want a positive ID, you do have another alternative.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get the CACO to get a family member up to Philly.”

  “Wow,” Dan said. “I’d have to think about that. The body is … well, it’s not mangled or anything, but it is … well, mummified. Looks like something out of the British Museum. That might be nightmare territory for a close relative.”

  “I don’t know, Commander
. I’ve talked to the CACO —she’s a Lieutenant Shea out of Navsea, over in Crystal City. There’s only one close relative, and that’s Har din’s mother. I get the impression that knowing what happened to her missing son might be more important than what she’s gonna see. You wanna talk to the CACO?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’d better.”

  The master chief gave him Lieutenant Shea’s phone number, and he was dialing it as Grace came into his cubicle with two coffees. He told her whom he was calling as the phone was ringing at the other end, then indicated for her to pick up the extension at another desk. He got Lieutenant Shea, identified himself, and asked her what she thought about having the mother come up to Philly to make an ID. To his surprise, she approved right away.

  “I think we ought to do that, Commander. But I have to warn you, she’s a pretty tough lady, and she’s displaying a whole lot of animosity toward the Navy.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Well, sir, for starters, she had two children, a son and a daughter.

  Both went into the Navy.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “And both are dead.”

  “Say again?” He saw Grace taking notes, and an elusive memory began to twitch somewhere in his head.

  “That’s right. The daughter was a lieutenant at CHINFO; she died in a traffic accident over in the District —a hit-and-run thing. Nobody was ever picked up for it. Two years ago. And then about two weeks after that happened, her son, also in the Navy, disappears. A master chief over in the bureau alerted me to check into this before I called on the family, and that’s the story.”

  Then Dan remembered: Lieutenant Commander Mcgonagle had mentioned that she remembered the name. He had even told Manning. He shook his head.

  Better start writing this stuff down.

  “Right,” he said. “The base PAO up here knew something about that. I’d forgotten.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, I’ve visited the mother, Mrs. Hardin, twice. She was unfriendly, and I initially thought it was a black-white thing, but now I don’t think so. I get the impression—and that’s all this is, Commander, an impression, okay? I have no facts here. But I think she thinks the Navy somehow had something to do with her daughter’s death and is maybe now covering up—or perhaps never properly investigated—her son’s disappearance.”