Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad

by Stephen Phillips

  He stepped into a disco. The young men stood against the wall, drinking and smoking. The women danced with each other and made a big show of ignoring any would-be suitors.

  As he made his way to the restroom he looked in the mirror on the disco’s back wall. Nobody appeared to be observing him or following him. Nasih paused in the middle stall for ten minutes.

  After working his way through the crowd he stopped just outside the door and carefully surveyed the entire scene. To a citizen he appeared merely as a tourist looking for his friends. He did not recognize anyone. Nasih concluded that he was either not being followed or was being tailed by an organization that was professional enough to avoid detection.

  The crowd thinned as he moved further away from the small resort area and closer to the marina. He walked down the quay wall unobserved since the lights died long ago with no replacement.

  He stopped and conducted another survey of the area. There were about twenty boats secured to the quay at their stern with their bow pointed to the harbor center in a “Med-moor.” Few of them had lights on. He looked back toward the foot of the quaywall where it met the shore. Nobody eclipsed the lights of Brindisi behind him. His eyes adjusted as he scanned the area for lovers or late-night fishermen. There were none.

  Nasih looked at the stern of a boat in the third slip. The main deck was dark, but the deck below had lights emanating from the windows. The aft-most of three windows had no curtain over it. Thus the occupants signaled to him that it was safe to board.

  Quickly he stepped up the brow to the hatch. He opened the sliding door with his elbow and proceeded directly below as if he were the owner.

  The men he met with were not as sober, literally and figuratively, as the Americans. He appreciated their passion but it also meant they were often careless. Still they were his most promising asset in Europe.

  They were gathered around a table in the galley. He could tell they were imbibing heavily as they waited for him.

  The woman was there too. Nasih thought of her often. She was absolutely beautiful, an older version of the throng of women he just traversed. She was wearing a tight blouse that showed her firm cleavage.

  Renata was the name that she used, but he was sure it was an alias. She caught him staring at her, then met his stare with a devilish smile as she lit a cigarette.

  While he often entertained the thought of having her, Nasih was certain that she was Guido’s.

  He looked to the leader.

  “Buongiorno, Guido.”

  “Hello, welcome,” said their leader. “Would you care for a drink?”

  “Grazie, no. I have a schedule to meet. Please reach into my shirt pocket.”

  Guido reached into Nasih’s shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope folded in half. He smiled.

  “You don’t trust us, eh? Afraid we’ll get caught with evidence that will trace us to you?”

  “Believe me, my friend, it is for your protection that I take such precautions. I am unconcerned with being traced to you. It is you who should worry about being linked to me.”

  He looked to the men around the table again. One of them took a drag on a cigarette. Their silence and demeanor suddenly registered seriousness.

  Good, he thought. Perhaps this will work after all.

  Nasih spoke again as Guido opened the envelope. “The information you require is in there. I trust that you already have the proper tools?”

  “Yes. Are you sure this will work? Their security is very good.”

  “It will work. When you read that, all will become clear. And now I must go. Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  Jazz rose from his cot and followed an enticing smell. In the back of his mind he knew that he was still partially asleep. He found himself in an open doorway at the back of the building. He saw Ashland standing in front of a contact mine with a large metal spatula in his hand. Smoke was rising from the middle of it. Ash smiled at him.

  I’m dreaming, he told himself.

  Then Jazz watched as Ashland grabbed one of the horns with a gloved hand and lifted the top half of the mine. Someone had emptied its guts and transformed it into a grill. Ash was cooking steaks and potatoes.

  “Howdy, LT. I put one on for you already.”

  Jazz rubbed his eyes.

  “Thanks, smells good. Where’s everyone else?”

  “Should be back soon I hope. T-Ball’s in the shower, Denke’s on a run. Keating’s on the computer. Dee, Quinn, and Sinclair are buying more groceries at the exchange.”

  They were on a deck built on the back of Building 519 of Naval Air Station Sigonella, home to the EODMU EIGHT detachment spaces. The purpose of the deck was purely recreational. There was a bar, a refrigerator, even an outdoor sink. The center of the porch had a homemade table that could easily seat twelve. Jazz noticed Ash was drinking a beer and that there were several empties about.

  “Beer in the fridge?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Damn that smells good.”

  “Better than the ship for sure.”

  Jazz reached into the fridge, grabbed a beer and headed inside. As he stepped in the office Keating stood up from the computer.

  “Finished, LT. You’re up.”

  Jazz sat down, logged on, and read an email from Melanie.

  From: jazzmnj

  To: jascinski

  Jazz,

  I love you. We are doing okay here. The boys are slowly getting used to you not being around. Tyler still has his temper fits. He asks, “Is Daddy there?” every time we pass the LEXINGTON and then has a fit when I tell him that you are not. I’m learning to distract him as we go past it.

  Abby is doing well. She is sleeping through the night now... a real blessing. I even thought she may have cooed, “Daa” when I showed her your picture at bedtime the other night.

  Jeannie and I have a workout routine going... that helps me stay distracted a little, otherwise I’d miss you a bit more. :) I’m also thinking of taking a class at the Junior College to keep myself occupied.

  I was able to put an extra $100 in your account. Spend it irresponsibly.

  I love you and miss you. The bed feels empty.

  XOXOXOX.

  Mel

  Jazz felt a pain going from his throat, down his esophagus to his stomach. He began typing a response to his wife.

  “LT, you done yet?”

  Jazz turned around to see Sinclair in the door. He couldn’t speak. His teammate saw the pain in his eyes.

  “Sorry, sir... I, uh, I’ll come back later.”

  Jazz took a deep breath and continued typing.

  From: jascinski

  To: jazzmnj

  Mel,

  I miss you terribly. I cannot wait to come home. It feels so much longer than a month and a half.

  Hearing about Tyler breaks my heart. Sometimes I wonder how we do this. I am thankful that you are his mother.

  If you have not heard from Jeannie or the other wives yet, we are in Sigonella Sicily now. We’ll be here for a few days of Secret Service work. Thank God we brought our suits! It is nice to be off the ship.

  I hope that you and the boys are doing well. Tell each of them that their Daddy loves them bunches. Especially Tyler.

  -Jazz

  “LT, catch.”

  T-Ball tossed a beer can and almost hit his OIC in the face. Jazz popped the top and watched the top quarter of it fizz and foam over his hand. He held it up in a salute to his teammate. They drank together.

  “Come have a steak, Jazz. You need it.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he noticed that he was addressed by his first name.

  The steaks were fantastic. The men ate wordlessly. Before Jazz finished his beer, T-Ball set another one in front of him. He drained it quicker than the first.

  “LT’s setting the pace boys. Let’s go,” T-Ball said.

  “What are we doing, T?” asked Delgado.

  “Drinking.”

  “Okay, where?”

  �
��Pizza Village.”

  The next morning Keating found Jazz asleep standing in the shower.

  “C’mon, LT. We meet the ops boss in fifteen minutes.”

  Jazz rubbed his eyes and turned around slowly.

  “Meat gazer.”

  “I’m not joking, LT. Let’s go.”

  “My head hurts.”

  “Damn broke-dick 1140! Get dressed, sir!”

  Jazz stepped out of the shower. He had a headache and was feeling dizzy. Someone, probably Keating, had laid a uniform out for him. He struggled to get his pants and boots on.

  Keating returned to find Jazz throwing up.

  “Sir, we gotta go now.”

  Jazz grabbed his uniform blouse and his cover and followed Keating out the back door. Cans and square bottles lay like leaves around the porch. The ground seemed to move like a ship in heavy seas.

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Still in bed.”

  Jazz rolled into the passenger seat of a MU EIGHT pickup truck. Keating handed him a bottle of Gatorade and four aspirin.

  “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Oh fuck me, I feel terrible.”

  “Sir, I warned you last night... but you wouldn’t listen.”

  Jazz remembered playing pool with T-Ball. They did not speak for two hours. They simply pushed the balls around the table and drank beer followed by shots of an unknown clear liquid.

  At sea the work distracted them long enough. After a day of diving they would collapse in their racks, asleep before their eyes closed. Now with time off, time to relax, their separation crept too easily into their minds. The two young men commiserated, chasing their families from memory with felt, ivory, and alcohol. They tried desperately to fool themselves, tried desperately to forget they were gone.

  They were not successful.

  The main building of EODMU EIGHT was a five-minute drive across the base. It was the backside of a building attached to a hangar on the flightline. Jazz and Keating went up to the second floor where the staff worked.

  “Rough night last night, Lieutenant?” the operations officer inquired as he sat down at the conference room table.

  “Yessir.”

  “Call me ‘Lou.’ And don’t worry about it. Happens every time a visiting det comes in, especially off a ship. If you’re worth your salt and been underway awhile, you gotta steam.”

  “So what’s the job, sir?” asked Keating.

  “Secret Service support in Rome. Secretary of State Koss is coming for a visit. Admin has your orders already. You’ll meet with the Technical Support Division Agent in two days. He’ll direct you from there. The Rome part of the trip is a boondoggle, but then she is going to see the troops in Bosnia. Whether or not you go is up to TSD.”

  “What if we don’t go?” said Keating.

  “Report back here for further tasking or release.”

  “What do you need us to do in the meantime?” asked Jazz.

  “Keep howling at the moon for all I care, just don’t get caught. You got forty eight hours to get your shit together and get to Rome.”

  “Roger.”

  Keating looked across the table at his OIC. Jazz’s head was down on the conference room table. He was snoring.

  TWENTY-SIX

  USSS

  Det Four sat in a hotel suite waiting for their brief. They were dressed casually now, but would wear business suits when working with the agents of the Department of the Treasury. There were also three Air Force dog handlers from a unit in Germany.

  The Technical Support Division handles special aspects of Secret Service Protection including response to explosive devices. They do not have their own bomb squad; military EOD and bomb dog teams fill the void.

  Finally the TSD agent came in.

  “Gentlemen, how do you do? I’m Special Agent Allen of the Technical Support Division. Do we have everyone? Uh, who is in charge?”

  “I’m OIC of the EOD det,” said Jazz.

  “Okay, all of your guys here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  One of the handlers identified himself as the senior man.

  “I’m sure that you all heard that we are supporting a SECSTATE visit. Here is the op. Secretary Koss comes in tomorrow. She’s going to meet with U.S. ambassador for breakfast. Then she is going to the European Technology Symposium with John De Luca.”

  “The computer guy?” asked Quinn.

  “The very rich and god-awful smart computer guy who donates money to her party,” replied Allen.

  “What’s he got, like fifty patents?” said T-Ball.

  “Yep,” said Allen. “He is one of the guest speakers and his company, Texas Silicon and Software is co-sponsor of the symposium. They were working on increasing their market here. The two of them together are going to raise a bunch of media attention. This leads to our biggest challenge. They are going to walk the conference room floor for about twenty minutes for a photo op.”

  “You mean like where companies set up their displays and information booths?” asked Keating.

  “Exactly.”

  “You don’t expect us to search it do you?” Ashland said incredulously.

  “No. It is too difficult. We cannot search everything in that room, nor control traffic in and out. I briefed SECSTATE’s people and they are comfortable. Remember guys this is SECSTATE, not POTUS.”

  “You tell her that?” Denke said with a guffaw.

  “I’m just being matter-of-fact with you. She knows where she is in the food chain.”

  They actually knew a lot about the equipment that they were setting up. Guido insisted that Vin and Renata study the literature and practice installing the three different internet cameras. They had to be able to speak intelligently about the features of each and relate tales for problem solving for inept clients to the other twidgets at the conference.

  The device was placed on a specially constructed stand underneath the cloth-covered display table. Only the front side of the metal table was open.

  “I’m going to move into my position... ah, to get a cappuccino now,” Renata said to Vin.

  He nodded. Then he watched her as she headed across the conference room floor and through the doors that led to the hotel’s entrance.

  The hotel lobby café provided some fantastic eyeball liberty. Jazz, Ashland, and Airman Jamal Ita sipped cappuccinos as they eyed a plethora of voluptuous spokeswomen for the various dot-coms come in and out for coffee.

  Jazz wondered if the black backpacks instead of briefcases on the floor next to the three men in suits would make them look conspicuous. He then smiled and realized that the dog was their give-away.

  A black Belgian Malinois lay on the floor next to Jazz. The canine’s head was up and alert. He surveyed the room as purposefully as the men he was working with. His handler, Airman Ita, stroked his head every now and again.

  “Good boy, good boy.”

  “Look at that one, boys,” Ash said nodding toward a leggy vixen in a short brown skirt and blazer over a light blue blouse.

  “Simply marvelous,” agreed Ita. “Must be a dancer.”

  Suddenly a voice came through the earpiece in Jazz’s right ear.

  “Innkeeper, this is Motorcade. Two minutes out with Ms. Moneypenny.”

  “Roger ‘cade. Innkeeper ready. We have Q in place.”

  Together the three men looked out the glass window separating the coffee shop from the lobby. They could see De Luca, three television crews, and several agents standing around.

  The team’s job at this point was simple. They had to stand by for an incident. Since they were overseas Jazz, Ashland and the others were not restricted by posse comitatus, which prevented EOD Techs from performing render safe procedures within the United States when assisting law enforcement officials. When on U.S. soil they could only advise the local government bomb squads. This law did not apply when in a host country.

  “One minute out.”

&nbs
p; The dancer was gone. Jazz swiveled his head, looking for her. Then he noticed a cup of cappuccino on the counter. The woman at the register was also looking around confused.

  He looked back toward the lobby and saw her stepping out just as SECSTATE came in.

  “Moneypenny is in the building.”

  The three men sat silently now and listened to the radio traffic as Koss and De Luca moved about the conference center.

  In the café the sound and pressure of the explosion was muted. Ashland had a furled brow. The dog became agitated.

  “Easy, boy,” said Ita soothingly.

  “Was that an AC system kicking on?” asked Ash.

  “I don’t know,” replied Jazz. “Didn’t sound good”

  Then they witnessed the panic. People began pouring out of the convention center and out of the hotel. The fire alarm went off. Several women screamed, many were crying.

  “EOD. Conference center!”

  “Fuck!” yelled Jazz as he got up. The three men slipped their black packs over their shoulders. Ashland led as they forced their way through the throng of people evacuating like rats from a sinking ship. By the time they reached the conference center nearly everyone was gone.

  Jazz saw some dust and smoke in one corner. Two agents were standing there with guns drawn. Two more were trying to save Fiona Koss. He put his hand to his nose and mouth as a horrific smell reached him. He knew immediately that it was burnt flesh.

  The three men stood there in shock for a moment. Jazz focused again on the men trying to save SECSTATE. She was obviously burned and bleeding but appeared to be holding on to life. Jazz could see that she was still moving. Her legs were writhing as if she wanted to run. She was already covered in bloody bandages probably covering multiple cuts. Jazz wondered where the agents working to stop blood flow obtained a medical kit.

  De Luca on the other hand was gone. His body was a mass of black and burned meat from the waist up. Jazz first identified him by circumstantial evidence; he was wearing his signature cowboy boots.