The ensuing silence was absolute, with only the distant sound of one of the trash train tractors penetrating the office. Rear Admiral Carson appeared to be stunned as he looked first at Collins and then at Randall.
Randall’s face had gone white.
“What did you say?” he asked in a tight voice.
Dan took a deep breath. “I think you and your boss have been covering up the real reason why both of the Hardin kids died. I think the reason you wanted the Hardin investigation handled by Opnav instead of the NIS was because you needed to control it. And when Miss. Snow and I brought it back to Washington to continue the probe, I think you had us taken off the investigation so that you could hand it back to NIS, with orders to kill it, and I think that’s why you have been so god damned hell-bent for leather on making sure I didn’t pursue the matter any further. Well, let me tell you something: The ‘matter’ pursued both Grace Snow and me last night, Captain, and while I can’t prove any of this, yet, I think Captain Vann here is willing to open his own murder investigation to see if I’m right. You try to take me to mast and I’ll take this little tale to the Washington Post. Tonight.”
“What little tale is that, Commander?” a deep voice said from behind the group. Everyone turned, to find Admiral Torrance, the Vice Chief of Naval Operations, standing in the doorway to his private office.
Torrance was well over six feet tall, with a massive head, wide black eyebrows over a Roman nose, weathered, ruddy skin, and a thin-lipped mouth presiding over a prominent, rugged chin. The unblinking expression of command was firmly stamped on his face, and his eyes were a piercing shade of light blue. In full uniform, he filled the doorway with his imposing presence, the mass of gold on his sleeves glittering in the semidarkened office as if imbued with its own light.
Carson, Manning, and Randall straightened automatically into positions of attention, and Dan felt his mouth go dry. Randall for once appeared to be at a total loss for words. Torrance gave each person in the room a direct look, pausing fractionally when he got to Sum merfield, before ordering Randall to bring everyone into his office. They followed him into the inner office in a silent file, Summerfield bringing up the rear, with Grace just in front of him. Dan turned around once to make sure she was all right, wanting to be near her, but she seemed to be composed under Summerfield’s wing.
The vice chiefs inner office was thirty feet square and resembled a library study more than an office.
There were two leather couches and several large upholstered chairs.
Deep, plush carpeting, paneled walls, several brass lamps and other items of nautical decor, and four large walnut bookcases provided a quiet, studious atmosphere that contrasted with the four piles of three-ring binders heaped on the large mahogany desk.
Dan realized that those binders were filled with hundreds of staff action papers awaiting the vice chiefs perusal, and very often, decision. Dan had never been in the vice chiefs office, Vice Admiral Layman’s office being as high up in the chain as OP-06 action officers went.
Admiral Torrance walked behind his own desk and motioned for the rest of them to sit down. The chairs and both couches were positioned so that anyone sitting in them faced the desk. Rear Admiral Carson, the senior officer among the group called before the vice chief, cleared his throat. He looked as if he was still trying to overcome a serious shock.
“Admiral Torrance, I’m not sure how much of that you heard, but—”
Torrance put his hand up and Carson went silent. “I heard the words murder investigation and the Washington Post,” he said. “Who was speaking?”
Dan stood up. “I was, Admiral. I’m Commander Col lins. I work for Captain Summerfield in OP-Six-four teen.”
“You did the Hardin investigation,” Torrance said. It was not a question.
Dan had the feeling he was being deliberately impaled by Torrance’s direct stare. The admiral’s eyes were trained on him like a battleship’s optical range finder, bright, unblinking, impersonal, and with the perfect parallax of a raptor. Then the admiral shifted his attention to Grace Snow and Captain Vann.
“And you are?” he asked.
“I’m Grace Snow, formerly of the NIS,” Grace said.
“I assisted Commander Collins in the Opnav investigation of the Hardin incident—until it was terminated.”
“And I’m Captain Moses Vann, executive assistant to the Deputy Chief of Police for Criminal Investigations, District police.”
Torrance nodded slowly. Dan, still standing, was beginning to feel terribly exposed. Then Randall stood up.
“Admiral,” he said, “This officer has expressed some very serious accusations concerning the Hardin case.
He has also directly disobeyed my orders, conveyed to him more than once, to leave the Hardin case alone. I recommend that you do not entertain his preposterous story. Permit me to get someone from JAG down here
and take this matter into appropriate disciplinary channels.”
Dan could hear the phone ringing in the outer office, but apparently there was no one out there to pick it up.
The other officers in the room were ignoring it. He did not know what to do. If the admiral did what his EA was recommending—and he sensed that it was the sensible thing for the four-star to do at the moment—they could bury him alive in judicial proceedings. But Tor ranee had his hand up again.
“I hear you, El, but I gather that I’m somehow wrapped into the commander’s accusatios, so think I need to hear this. Commander?”
Dan took a deep breath and started at the beginning, when he was first tagged with the investigation. He laid out the sequence of events, the false starts, the realization that the brother and sister’s deaths might be linked, and then the summary and unexplained termination of the Opnav investigation. He admitted that he and Grace had continued their explorations when asked to help by Captain Vann, adding that they had finally decided to let the NIS and the District cops work it until the phone tips came in and Vann pulled them back into it. He reminded the admiral that he had kept Sum merfield informed and that he was under the impression that Summerfield was keeping the vice chiefs office informed.
The admiral listened, neither contradicting nor acknowledging what Dan was saying. Dan concluded with the events of Sunday night, which provoked a few quiet exclamations from both Carson and Manning, and then got to the heart of the matter.
“I feel that someone fairly high up in the Navy is manipulating the NIS’s conduct of the Hardin investigation, and is doing so to protect a flag officer from the revelation that he was having an affair with Elizabeth Hardin, whose silence may have been achieved by a murder disguised as a hit-and-run. I think that her brother, It. Wesley Hardin, the officer found in the battleship, had discovered who and what, and was himself killed in Philadelphia to ensure his silence.”
“And you think I am this flag officer?” Torrance’s face was impassive, and his voice was calm, almost reasonable.
But Dan thought there was a hint of fury in it.
Dan swallowed hard again. “Based on the fact that your EA has been the principal force in pressuring me to stay away from the Hardin case, yes, sir, I do. It’s either you, Captain Randall here, or someone you’re both protecting.”
The admiral leaned back in his chair and tented his hands under his chin. His pose obscured his lower face, leaving only those blue eyes gleaming across the room.
Randall was shaking his head in a dramatic
“I can’t believe he’s saying this” gesture. Rear Admiral Carson was looking at Summerfield in total disbelief. Grace sat upright in her chair, watching the vice chief.
The admiral stared at Dan for a few seconds and then turned his attention to Captain Vann.
“Captain Vann, have you begun a formal inquiry into this matter?”
“No, sir, we have not. Yet.”
“Do you intend to?”
“We might. This guy who did Miss. Snow’s house Sunday night, he’s not a guy who does this
kind of thing on his own. We make him as one of these cleanup contractors we have here in D.C. who specialize in taking care of dirty work for the big guns in town. He’s working for somebody, and it’s looking to me like it’s somebody high up in the Navy, like the commander here is suggesting.”
“Do you have firm evidence for that theory?”
“Not yet, Admiral. But, like I said, I think we’re going to start working on it.”
Admiral Torrance nodded his head slowly, looking down at the desk now.
“All right, Captain Vann,” he said. “Let me say this.
The commander’s basic premise is wrong. I had the Hardin investigation moved to Opnav for bureaucratic reasons, mostly for public-relations reasons. I did not want the NIS associated with another incident involving a battleship. When it became definite that we had a homicide, however, I changed my mind. Homicide is too important to be handled in public-relations channels.
I then ordered it turned back over to the NIS, and the Opnav investigation terminated, so that we would not have two agencies getting in each other’s way. You can understand that, can’t you, Captain Vann?”
Dan could see what the admiral was doing even as Vann nodded. Vann was the one outsider, the one person in the room with the power to bring real trouble. If the admiral could convince Vann to back off, he could deal with Dan at his leisure. Divide and conquer. And he was powerless to do anything about it. Grace was starting to look worried; she had figured it out, too.
“And that’s where it is now, Captain Vann. I think you should look into this matter. I suggest you go see the NIS. I can guarantee their full and enthusiastic cooperation.
There is little question that Lieutenant Har din was killed—the officer in the battleship, that is. I don’t know anything about the other Lieutenant Har din. I can state that I have never known her, done business with her, or even laid eyes on her. And I have not had an affair with her or any other woman other than my wife of thirty-six years. I am not stupid, Captain Vann, and the surest way for me to jeopardize my own reputation and my future in the Navy would be to have an affair with a junior officer in the Navy, especially in today’s political climate. Would you not agree? The nomination of the officer who was supposed to have my job now was derailed over a sexual-harassment incident, one in which he was absolutely blameless.
The merest association cost him the nomination.”
Torrance then turned back to Dan. “And as for you, young man, I want you to assist Captain Vann in his inquiries. You will be his escort officer, get him into the Navy system wherever he needs to go, help him in any way you can until this matter is resolved. If you meet resistance, Captain Randall here will run interference for you. I’m doing this because you obviously and sincerely believe that I am masterminding some conspiracy here. So I want you fully involved in taking this case to its conclusion, I know that I’m not guilty of anything. I want you to convince yourself that I’m not guilty of any
thing. Now, I do think it only fair to ask that you do not make any more accusations until you can prove them.
And nobody here”—his glance swept the room—”will interfere in this matter until it is concluded. Is that satisfactory, Commander? Captain Vann?”
Dan couldn’t believe it, but all he could do was say, “Yes, sir.” The admiral had mousetrapped him. Instead of yelling and shouting and hiding behind a phalanx of EAs and a military-discipline action, he had effectively cut Dan loose to prove his charges. If the admiral was guilty of something, Dan would have his chance to prove it, which he knew was an almost-impossible task.
And if he couldn’t, there was no way Dan could ever charge that there had been a cover-up. Torrance was brilliant.
“Gentlemen, and lady, it’s late,” Torrance concluded.
“We will excuse you now.”
Dan looked around. Grace, Summerfield, and Captain Vann stood up, but Rear Admiral Carson and Captains Manning and Randall remained in their places.
Carson was giving Summerfield a sideways look that implied some serious heat, but Summerfield was already leading the way to the door. They filed through it, Dan leaving last, almost afraid to look behind him at the powerful men remaining behind with the vice chief. He particularly did not want to see Randall’s expression, and he closed the door firmly behind him. They stood there, clustered around the EA’s desk in the now-deserted front office.
“Now you know why he’s a four-star,” Summerfield said softly, giving them a grim smile. But Vann shrugged.
“Seems like we got a fair shot at it,” he said, also keeping his voice down. “That may all be smoke-and mirrors bullshit, but it sounds to me like we can follow the trail wherever it goes.”
“What damn trail?” Dan said glumly.
“But what happens if it leads back here?” Grace asked.
“If he’s the man, he’s bought some time,” Summer field said. “And your reception at NIS will give you a pretty strong clue.”
Dan shook his head. “I’m uneasy about the god damned EAs; I can see Admiral Torrance keeping above the fray, but Randall—”
At that moment, a single white light flashed on at the EA’s telephone console. All four of them looked at it and then back at the closed door.
There were no sounds coming from the inner office. Dan looked over at Summerfield, who started to shake his head. But Grace was giving him a look that said, do it. Dan looked down at the phone. It was an EA’s phone; it had a muted handset.
Who are they calling? JAG? Dan reached down and put his hand over the black handset.
“Dan,” Summerfield said.
Dan ignored him, giving the phone time to ring at its destination, once, twice, then the pickup. He lifted the handset and listened.
“Investigative Service, Rear Admiral Keeler’s office, Captain Rennselaer speaking, sir?”
There was a sound from the inner office, and Dan hurriedly put the phone down and motioned for everyone to get out into the corridor. He closed the front office door quietly behind him and they quickly walked away down the E-ring corridor. As if by mutual agreement, no one said anything until they reached OP-614’s front door.
“Well?” said Summerfield, eyeing Dan.
“Someone was calling Admiral Keeler at NIS,” Dan said. “A Captain Rennselaer answered the phone.”
“Rennselaer is EA to Director NIS,” murmured Summerfield.
“Somebody want to tell me what’s happening’ here?” Vann said.
“They put a call through to the head of the Naval Investigative Service,” Grace explained. “The question is, for what reason? To warn them, or to clear the way for you to continue the investigation?”
“Probably a little of both,” Summerfield said. But then he saw the expression on Dan’s face. “What’s the matter?”
Dan fumbled with the cipher lock to 614. A chilling thought had just struck him, and he suddenly wanted to get out of the Pentagon.
“Dan, what is it?” Grace asked.
He opened the door and then turned around to face them.
“It just occurred to me that we may have been focusing on the wrong guy.
Suppose, just suppose, that the flag involved is not the vice chief, but his protege, the director of the MS? That the captain the goon mentioned was not Randall but Rennselaer?”
“Jesus, Dan, another theory?” said Summerfield.
“Now you’ve got Randall running top cover here for a one-star instead of the vice chief?”
“Now wait a freakin’ minute, Commander,” Vann chimed in. “You enjoy getting’ your ass handed to you by these admirals? Now you want to go after another one?
I think it’s time to count me out for a while. I’m way the hell ahead of my procedures here.”
“Let me make a phone call,” Grace said. “If there’s something going on over at NIS, Robby Booker will know about it.”
Dan looked at Summerfield, who was shaking his head in evident exasperation. They went into the office, all exc
ept Vann.
“I’m serious, people,” he said from the doorway.
“I’ve gotta get this thing into regulation channels before it gets any more outta hand. You all are going much too fast, based on very damn little hard evidence.”
Grace turned around to look at him. “If Dan is right about the NIS connection, and it’s Rennselaer we’re looking for, what’s the only thing this guy Ward has to do to be disconnected from the Hardin killings?”
Vann blinked, then shook his head. “You’re still going too fast,” he said again. “You’re bouncing around like some damn rubber ball here. Let me get with my people tomorrow morning and we’ll get this thing set up right. I can get you protection. This murder is two years old—it ain’t going anywhere. Now, who can get me out of this place?”
Dan was elected, and he left to take Captain Vann to one of the exits.
Grace turned away and headed over to Snapper’s desk to use the phone.
Fifteen minutes later, Dan returned and went over to stand in the doorway of Captain Summerfield’s office, where Summerfield was sitting on his couch for a change, his head in his hands.
Across the bleak space between the E-ring and the D ring, Dan could see a single office light shining.
“It’s a good thing you’re out on leave,” Summerfield muttered. “Tomorrow is going to be a bad day around here. Did you see Carson’s expression?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Hopefully, it will only get better after tonight.”
Grace came in from using the phone as Summerfield looked up at Dan.
“Don’t count on it,” he was saying.
“The costs in face-saving and flag officer dignity repair are going to be significant. You may want to make some preparations for a move.”
“A move?”
“You don’t think you’re going to remain on the Opnav staff after tonight’s little scene with the vice chief, do you?” Summerfield asked, looking up through his fingers. “You are going to get orders; what kind of orders, I don’t know, but you are definitely going to be hurtling down the PCS pipe within about two weeks. I may be hurtling right behind you.”
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