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

by Stephen Phillips

“And you must be the infamous ‘T-Ball.’”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for having me.”

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous, we are glad to have a friend of James’ here. And please call me ‘Eleanor.’”

  “Thank you, Eleanor. This is for you,” he said handing her a bottle of wine.

  “How sweet. Thank you.”

  “James! Welcome home!” the Admiral called out as he walked down the steps. He seemed a little animated. Jazz suspected that his Mother had in fact prepared him.

  “Thanks, sir,” Jazz said taking his father’s hand. “It is good to be back.”

  “And welcome, uh, ‘T-Ball’ is it?”

  “Yessir. Theodore Ball, but ‘T-Ball’ to my friends.”

  “Well, ‘T-Ball’ it is... how about a beer?”

  “That would be outstanding, sir.”

  “Eleanor, could you bring three beers and some sandwiches for these men of the sea out on the back deck?”

  “Of course, Admiral.”

  “This is a fantastic view,” T-Ball said as they sat down.

  “Yes, we love it especially in the summer time,” the Admiral said.

  Jazz looked out over the Chesapeake Bay.

  “Wow, it is good to be back, sir,” he said.

  “Well, son, tell us again why you’re back early.”

  Jazz sat down and took a sip of his beer.

  “It has to do with the bombs we found in San Patricio County and the one in Rome.”

  T-Ball silently ate his sandwiches and drank beer from a frosted mug as Jazz relayed their adventures to the Admiral. Just as Jazz was finishing the story Eleanor returned from one of her trips between the men and the kitchen.

  “Admiral, we have heard enough from James. Now don’t you have something to tell him?”

  Jazz’s father rolled his eyes.

  “Admiral,” Eleanor said with a stern voice.

  “What, Dad?” said Jazz, sensing something was wrong.

  “I had a minor heart attack.”

  “Sir, you’re kidding me, why didn’t you tell me!”

  “It was no big deal.”

  “It is so a big deal you grumpy old man!” Eleanor yelled.

  “It was a minor heart attack. I called the ambulance myself.”

  T-Ball silently began to extricate himself from the table, wanting to let this remain a family matter.

  “Sit down, T-Ball,” the Admiral barked. “I am not hiding this from anyone, nor am I worried. James, we just didn’t want to bother you on your deployment; I did not even want Melanie to know. It was not serious.”

  “But, sir, I don’t understand, you look fit as a fiddle.”

  “Yes, well that is what the doctor said,” agreed Eleanor. “They cannot figure it out.”

  “Fact is, son, I’ve been decommissioned, I’ve been in mothballs for years, but I expect it will be that way for some time. And then, someday it will be time to tow me out to sea and sink me... just the way life goes.”

  Jazz did not know what to say.

  “So, now you know,” the Admiral said with finality.

  The next morning, Elena had a Bloody Mary on a 7:00 am flight back to San Antonio. She was not sure how she was going to tell Cam that Jascinski might no longer be a suspect. The case was now back to square one.

  How could I have been so wrong?

  Pucharelli’s advice was sound. She would lead the case down another path and let Jascinski fade away. If Cam confronted her she would remind him, “Cam, not every suspect is guilty... you don’t want me to ‘screw this up’ do you? I looked into it, Jascinski’s not our man.”

  Elena felt that she could not see Jazz again. Her objectivity eroded each time she saw him. Before the close of business the day before, she arranged for another agent to meet with Jascinski and T-Ball this morning. She told the agent to ask the two sailors some cursory questions and add their answers to the file. She stressed that he should sing their praises for their participation and ensure that a letter of thanks went to their command from the Director.

  So now she would start with the naval officer’s idea and look into Texas Silicon. She drained her drink and motioned for another to a stewardess who was already giving her dirty looks.

  FORTY

  Reunions

  As Jazz entered the Powder Keg, he noticed that the EOD memorial was gone. He remembered that it was scheduled to be moved to the new location for EOD School at Eglin Air Force Base in Fort Walton Beach Florida. He reminded himself to send Horace Pickney and the memorial foundation a donation to assist with the costs of the move.

  After lunch, Jazz called Solarsky on the Inchon. A sailor on watch in combat picked up the phone.

  “EOD Mobile Unit Six Forward, SK2 Themopolis speaking. May I help you sir or ma’am.”

  “Theo, it’s LT Jascinski. Can you get the CO on the phone?”

  “Hey, sir! One moment, he’s in his stateroom. I’ll get him for you.”

  Jazz waited only two minutes for the captain to pick up the line.

  “Jazz! How are things?”

  “Good, sir. We are done here so I was calling to ask for guidance in regards to T-Ball, I mean Petty Officer Ball and me.”

  “Get down to Andrews right away and wait for a space-available flight out to Rota, Spain. We’ll meet you there.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, chill out!” the captain laughed now. “There is no point to you guys coming out here. We’ll be back in nineteen days. At this point you’d probably miss us and have to fly back. Go home. Senior Chief Denke has the det well in hand for now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Uh fine, sir.”

  “Anything new?”

  “We gave them some new ideas, sir, but we’ll see if it amounts to anything.”

  “Fine, fine. We’ll see you in nineteen days then. Have beer on the pier for us.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The beard was not yet comfortable. Gabriel found himself stroking it often.

  Stop it, he would think to himself. You’ll look obsessive compulsive and that will draw attention.

  The town he settled in had a small coffee shop with an internet connection in its loft. He gave himself a few days to observe his surroundings so that he could ensure that he had not been followed.

  Finally, Gabriel went in early to the coffee shop and sent a message out on the small email provider that the group was using. Now it was evening, dinnertime. Only the staff was in the shop below him. He logged on and found the response that he was waiting for from his friends in Texas.

  From: cookie

  To: ringo

  Subject: Mail

  Ring,

  It was good to hear from you. It sounds like your trip is going well. Don’t worry, your fish are fine and I have collected all of your mail.

  Bye the way, a couple of the guys at the shop have quit. When you are back in town I’d like you to come work with me again, even if it is only part time.

  - Cookie

  It was a good sign. The DPS did not connect him with the folks in Texas and they were still operating. It was clear that they had tasking for him.

  Gabriel looked out the dormer at the truck stop across the way. It was full of eighteen-wheelers stopped for a bite to eat. He was sure one was headed for Texas.

  Jazz and T-Ball stepped off the plane. Their children charged toward them, as valkrie armed with balloons. Nicholas and Tyler nearly knocked Jazz to the ground. He bent over and scooped them up in his arms.

  “Look at my mancubs! You boys have gotten so big! I have missed you so much!”

  “We missed you, Daddy!” said Tyler.

  Jazz kissed and hugged both of his sons.

  “Okay, boys, gosh you have gotten heavy! Let me put you down.”

  He looked to his bride. She was holding baby Abigail. Though it was a Wednesday, his wife was dressed for Sunday. He wondered if that theme changed underneath.r />
  Jazz felt his sons still tugging and pulling on him as he walked up to Melanie. He took Abigail from her arms and kissed his daughter on the forehead.

  “She’s gotten big, Mel.”

  “I know... they all have. You have missed too much.”

  “I know.”

  Melanie stood on her tiptoes and kissed her husband as he held their daughter.

  “Welcome home.”

  Ten feet away, the Ball family was enjoying a similar scene.

  Cameron Thompson wanted another progress report. Ironically, writing the progress report halted Elena’s progress. It took her two days; she would have to make up ground on his investigation over the weekend. She had never billed so much overtime.

  The case was driving her insane. Despite the meeting in Indian Head, by the time her plane landed, Elena was back to suspecting Jascinski. She looked into De Luca as a target, but it was not bearing fruit.

  She checked on her superior several times throughout the morning.

  “Any questions, Cam?”

  “No, not yet, Elena. I’ll call if I have a question.”

  She called Kilkenney confirming that his team was in position and ready for Jascinski’s arrival. Then Elena tried to sort through the various incident reports again, San Patricio, Rome, and Tirane. She was not able to concentrate and could not see anything new.

  Finally, one of the secretaries approached Elena while she nibbled on a muffin in the snack bar.

  “Cameron wants to see you as soon as possible, Elena. He said it was about your report.”

  A wave of smoke hit her when she opened the door. In violation of government regulations, Cameron was enjoying a lunch of cigarettes and coffee. Elena could not tell if her report was buried in the landfill of papers on and around Cam’s desk.

  “Elena, come in and have a seat.”

  The chair across from Cam’s desk was comfortable. He did not want anything to distract his audience when he chose to pontificate.

  “Elena, I have read the report. It was fine. I want to talk about it though. Shoot holes in it once again.”

  “Okay.”

  “Begin with your basic premise.”

  “San Patricio, Rome, and Tirane are joined not just by a common IED. They are joined by a common IED factory. This leads me to believe that they are linked by an organization. It may be loose, but it is linked. The nuances involved in the factory layout and the weapon’s design are too precise and too similar for this to be merely three guys who bought the same set of plans from the internet.”

  “Okay. Who are your suspects?”

  “I’m still looking at the list of people who attended all of De Luca’s conferences. None pans out yet as a suspect, so officially I only have Jascinski.”

  “So why Jascinski?”

  “He was at all three sites.”

  “Being there should not incriminate him. Why not Ball?”

  “Ball was only at two of the incident sites. He has a long, perfect record in EOD. Nothing leads us to suspect him to date.”

  “Ashland?”

  “He’s further out there. He just barely arrived in Texas from Det Norfolk when the San Patricio issue occurred. Again, another perfect record.”

  “Okay then, give me more than he was just at all three sites.”

  “I’d like to parry with a set of return questions.”

  “Fine,” Cam leaned back in his chair and puffed the end of his cigarette. He was thoroughly enjoying this.

  “One, why did Jascinski leave Surface Warfare? He was a shoo-in for admiral. He had some protection from his father’s reputation. Two, why come into EOD when he’d have one, maybe two operational tours before he is behind a desk? My answer is that it was not about the career, it was about the schooling. This guy wanted to learn how to blow shit up.”

  “Okay, continue,” Cam said, lighting another cigarette.

  “There are very few people who had both the capability and the know-how to locate and stop the explosive vehicle with Martin and West. Jascinski is one of them.”

  “That is one of your better points, Elena. That is convincing.”

  “Thank you,” said Elena.

  Selling the case to Cam became as important to Elena as solving it.

  “Now listen, Cam, my carousel of evidence is coming full circle. Let’s look at why Jascinski is my prime suspect again.

  “The other two cases are connected to each other and San Patricio in two ways. First, it is the same weapon in all cases, the factories and the attack. The second way they are connected is that Jascinski was at all three locations.”

  “Okay. Again, Elena, I say his presence at the second two can be argued to be circumstantial. After all he was assigned to be there.”

  “If Jascinski happened to be at all three incidents and they were linked in no other way, it would be circumstantial. When you add the specificity of the devices used, it is no longer a coincidence. Look at it this way... have there been any other uses of the SANPAT bomb?”

  “No.”

  “So at every SANPAT incident, Lieutenant James J. Jascinski has been there.”

  “Good damn point. Now you got me again.”

  Elena waited as Cam sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigarette silently, thinking.

  Finally he sat up and spoke, “Okay, keep after Jascinski. Keep on the De Luca angle also, but Jascinski is still your prime suspect.”

  It was the same feeling he experienced whenever he disappointed his mother. Gabriel lifted his head from its droop of shame and looked at Nasih sitting in the chair on the other side of the hotel room. The tone of voice Nasih used, even his look, made Gabriel feel like a child again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Well, it could have been worse. Fortunately, I do not think that they know who you are. If they did your friends here would already be in jail.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “You are fortunate. I actually like you,” Nasih lied. “I have killed men for lesser mistakes. The initial detention by the police officer was just as he said, I’m sure... a routine inspection. It is for this reason that I have told you never to mix two missions.”

  “I know. I should have followed your advice.”

  Nasih was silent again for a long time. Gabriel patiently watched the minute hand slide past two numbers. He knew better than to speak.

  “You seem to attract bad luck. First, the old woman finding your house, now this. I am sympathetic only because I too have faced bad luck recently. The details are inconsequential, but it affects both of us. If we do not act soon, we may be discovered. I have made moves to erase the evidence leading to us... but more action is needed.”

  “Fine, whatever you need.”

  “Your supplier will now play a pivotal role. Unwittingly, he has already provided us invaluable assistance since you have gone underground. He is positioned to give us valuable information. I would say that he is now more than a supplier; he is a mole. I need to ensure that he is clean during this task, separate from the others in every way. That means that you need to be the one to communicate with him.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll have to go back to South Texas.”

  “I understand.”

  “This is going to involve more violent action, something that we have never required of him. But if he does it correctly he will never be under suspicion.”

  Gabriel realized that he was to blackmail the supplier.

  “Now, let me tell you what he must do.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Standdown

  They were in a semi-normal routine. After returning home, Det Four was supposed to be in a thirty-day stand down. Denke and Keating came up with a leave plan that would ensure that at least a full dive team, four men, was available at all times. When not on leave Det Four shortened their business days to half days.

  Their mornings were filled with physical training and light maintenance. The afternoons were spent at home, devoted to
getting back in touch with their families.

  As always, Jazz began his workday by heading to the equipment room, coffee cup in hand, to see what the guys were up to.

  When he stepped in Denke was on the phone. He looked concerned.

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand.”

  Jazz looked at him quizzically.

  “Ah, that is correct, sir. Yes, I will take care of it and report back to you, yessir. Thank you.”

  Denke hung up the phone.

  “Who was that, Senior?”

  The man appeared to be at a loss for words.

  “LT, let me explain it later.”

  One of the traits of a successful naval officer is to be able to understand clearly when your chief is subtly saying, “Don’t ask me that question.”

  “Roger that, Senior.”

  Denke got up and left the room. Jazz thought it was odd, but knew that if he needed to know he would be told, and often the junior officer really did not want to know.

  Twenty minutes later the OIC looked up from his computer to see Denke and an officer stepping into the office. Denke moved to the window and closed the shade.

  On closer inspection, Jazz noticed a cross on the officer’s collar.

  A chaplain?

  The chaplain closed the door behind him.

  “Welcome, Chaplain,” said Jazz. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Denke. “It is about the call I got earlier.”

  “What is it, Senior Chief?”

  “It’s the admiral, sir, your father. He passed away this morning.”

  True to form, the events surrounding the Admiral’s wake and funeral went flawlessly. James J. Jascinski Senior made arrangements with both a classmate and a lawyer, years before.

  Eleanor was composed throughout. Showing overt emotion in public would have insulted her husband’s memory. She kept herself busy by directing the whole evolution as if it were a “Hail and Farewell” or CO’s garden party.

  Jazz was only vaguely aware that his wife was present. The children all disappeared, undoubtedly holed up with a neighbor’s au pair.

  In the last moments that anyone would gaze upon him, the Admiral appeared just as he did in life, stoic and cold. Jazz knelt next to the form of his father and tried unsuccessfully to pray silently.