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

by Stephen Phillips

  Emotionally the moment was confusing. The ten-year-old boy still within James J. Jascinski Junior was relieved that he would no longer have the sick nervous feeling in his stomach each time he went home. The young man and father in him was truly sad. In his prayers, he was able to muster a “thanks” that he and his father at least began to reach an understanding of each other.

  Jazz laughed to himself nervously as he thought of his father not in Heaven, but in Purgatory. Deep down he knew that the Admiral was in “Boat School” Purgatory. First he pictured him in full uniform, rifle at ‘Right shoulder arms,’ marching off restriction points back and forth on Red Beach under the watchful eye of Saint Peter and John Paul Jones.

  In Jazz’s mind the Admiral would be allowed some leisure. Certainly in the evenings his father would retire to the basement of the Alumni House in the sky, sitting quietly in the corner sipping a gin and tonic. Jazz imagined his father trading sea stories with other classmates who had passed, all of them waiting for the next Army-Navy game to come on television.

  Jazz composed himself, took one last look at his father, stood and turned on his heel.

  The funeral director was waiting in the back of the viewing room. Down to his manner of dress, the guy reminded Jazz of comedian Richard Belzer.

  Guy probably does funeral jokes at Chuckles on Tuesday nights.

  The man bowed slightly as he whispered respectfully.

  “If you will wait a mere moment outside, sir...”

  Though the arrangements were made ahead of time, Eleanor was adamant that Jazz remind the director.

  “Just the ring,” he said.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “The family wants the class ring. The medals, the watch, everything else stays. We just want the class ring.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lobby outside the viewing room was empty now; everyone had gone. Jazz looked at his leather case next to the couch where the grieved often sat to reflect.

  “What is in the case?” Eleanor had asked him.

  “Just some things, Mom.”

  There was still a chance to slip it into the Admiral’s box. The funeral director was being paid handsomely. He would practically get in the box himself if Jazz asked him to.

  But Jazz knew that by bringing the knife he was really just grasping for a way to say his goodbye in a special way. He realized after long reflection and a bottle of port in the Admiral’s study the night before that the man would not want to be buried with it.

  So there would be no last gesture and no last public words from this son on the occasion of his father’s death. The Admiral arranged for a eulogy from two of his classmates long before his son was commissioned.

  James J. Jascinski merely helped his mother grieve and paid his last respects.

  The stand-down period gave T-Ball time to work uninterrupted on the detachment’s Mark-16 dive rigs. Each day he came in, completed a rigorous workout, showered and began the required annual maintenance checks.

  There were no other Techs in the building. Detachment Two was at Ft. Story attending their READIMPT before a deployment to Bahrain. Ash was at medical. Denke and Keating were at a planning conference for an MCM exercise across the bay in Corpus Christi.

  There was only time to complete one rig per day by lunch. The annual checks required that he work in the O2 clean room following strict re-entry control procedures. This was because T-Ball would be opening the lines that provided passage for the oxygen to the diver’s breathing loop. O-rings lay on the work table next to tools that would be used to inspect and test the Schrader valve.

  Somewhere in the shop, a phone began ringing. He ran to the front and picked up the phone on the OIC’s desk.

  “EOD Mobile Unit Six Det Four, Petty Officer Ball speaking, may I help you?”

  “Uh, is this EOD?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, this is base security dispatch. We have a report of a suspect package in the courtyard between buildings one and two.”

  “Okay, one moment.”

  T-Ball sat in the OIC’s chair and pulled the IED response binder from the bookshelf behind his desk.

  “Okay dispatch, I have several questions for you, but I want to begin with some recommendations.”

  “We have a copy of the standard recommendations.”

  “Okay good. What have you done so far?”

  “Both buildings are in the process of evacuation using doors not facing the device. Security is setting up a perimeter and is searching for secondary devices.”

  “Okay. Could you send someone over to medical and send BM1 Ashland over?”

  “I’m here!” came Ash’s voice from the hallway.

  “Thanks dispatch, he is here already. Ash, we gotta IED at building one!”

  Ash stepped into the office. “I know. I heard when I was at medical and came right back. I’m senior man, T, plus a Master Tech. Give me the phone and begin load out.”

  “Roger. Security dispatch on the line.”

  T-Ball handed Ash the phone and ran to the back of the shop to begin the equipment load out.

  Ten minutes later Ash drove the detachment dually toward the medical building parking lot. T-Ball was dressed already to be the P-1. Ash briefed as they drove.

  “Okay, listen up. Step one, go down and listen with the Marty Kaiser. If it is ticking, place the tool and we’ll shoot it.

  “If it is not ticking, place the Mark-32, your film cassette, back out and take a picture. If it is too big, use two X-ray film carts. Place the dearmer, come to the CP, and we’ll look at what we got. It is probably a box some knuckle-head officer left sitting there by accident.”

  “Probably.”

  “If we got something, we’ll shoot and go from there. Questions?”

  “None.”

  Ash pulled in front of medical and parked the truck. Both men got out walked to the back and opened the tailgate.

  Ash keyed a radio in his hand. “Test, one, two...”

  A radio tucked into T-Ball’s vest answered. He keyed the mike clipped on a d-ring in the shoulder of the vest.

  “One, two, three...”

  His voice emanated from Ash’s radio. Ash helped T-Ball put the response pack on.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go do it.”

  T-Ball headed toward the headquarters building. Ash surveyed the surrounding area. It was clear. From training exercises with the base, Security knew to create a large perimeter to protect personnel and to ensure nobody could photograph or film an EOD procedure.

  Ash set up the X-ray developer. Just as it was ready for use, T-Ball’s voice came over the radio.

  “CP, P1, I see it. This is my last transmission for awhile, I’m approaching the device.”

  Ash keyed the radio twice.

  Thirty five seconds later there was a detonation. The blast wave echoed between the two sides of building breaking glass and lifting dust as it went. Car alarms in the main parking lot wailed and a small fire started on the clothing and flesh of what once was Theodore Ball.

  Elena Cruz sat in her car doubled over. She rubbed her temples. She had actually seen them take T-Ball away. For four hours she coordinated ATF, Naval Investigative Service, and FBI forensics and tackled the scene.

  It was definitely another SANPAT bomb.

  Now her investigation was crumbling before her. It was an anti-government hit, not anti-tech. This time James J. Jascinski was not there.

  She recalled the conversation with a stunned Johnny Ashland.

  “Petty Officer Ashland, where’s the lieutenant?”

  “He’s, uh... gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “He is on emergency leave, his father died.”

  Cam called to say that he wanted to visit the scene. Elena expected him any minute. She had precious time to decide what, if any, new theory she had.

  Certainly another member of Jascinski’s organization co
uld have pulled this off. The fact that he was gone did not mean he was not involved. Was targeting Ingleside while he was gone a way to divert attention from himself?

  Elena sat back in the driver’s seat and looked at the orchestrated mayhem between the two buildings.

  “What the hell was he targeting? Didn’t he realize that one of his men could be killed?”

  She became so agitated that she could not wait for Cam’s arrival. She picked up her cell phone and dialed her boss’s number.

  “Cam here.”

  “Cam, it is Elena. I think Jascinski just murdered Theodore Ball.”

  “My God.”

  “I’ve been told that he is at his father’s funeral in Maryland. We need to confirm that.”

  “You think that someone could have acted for him?” inquired Cameron.

  “Yes. We do think there is an organization here. I also think this one was command detonated.”

  “Why?”

  “Ashland said that Ball never began his procedure; it detonated just as he arrived.”

  “Could be a clock that just ticked down as he came on it.”

  “Statistically, what do you suppose the chances are that a device detonates just as the EOD Tech stands next to it?”

  “Hmmm.”

  Elena looked again at the scene before her. The forensics guys would be wrapped up soon.

  “We do have some good news.”

  “What?”

  “The device did not work exactly right. We have components and explosives.”

  “Tell the lab guys overtime is authorized.”

  “I will.”

  “Elena, I will be there in thirty minutes. Hold all the EOD guys there for me, will you?”

  “Yes, sir, I will hold them. At the rate we are going, my scene may be cold by then.”

  “I understand. I am coming more for the governor than for myself, Elena,” Cam paused for a moment. “Elena, hang tough kid, you are doing a good job.”

  “Thanks, Cam.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Knives

  Jazz walked around in a haze, first from his father’s death, and now T-Ball. Denke was waiting for him in the driveway when they returned from Annapolis. He told his lieutenant the news after Melanie and the kids were inside. As he did, Mel emerged from the house with tears streaming down her face.

  “Jazz.”

  “I know, hon, Senior just told me. How did you know?”

  “We got a phone message.”

  In the days following Theodore Ball’s funeral, Melanie could not stop crying. Jazz’s natural reaction each time was to put his arms around her and hold her. He found her sobbing in the kitchen over a pot of spaghetti. As he raised his arms she blocked him and moved away.

  “No, Jazz, stop.”

  “Hon, I want to help.”

  “I don’t want your help?”

  “What?”

  “You’re the problem.”

  “Mel, that is not fair. Look we have had a tough year okay? We’ve both been under a lot of stress. We had school, then the baby, then the deployment.”

  “You don’t get it do you!” Melanie yelled. “You think this is going to get better? Wake up, James! Everyone around you is dying! Those Army Techs are dead! De Luca is dead! Koss is dead! And now Ted! You yourself have come near to death at least twice that I know about and probably more times that you haven’t told me of! On top of all this, something is going on that you are not telling me about. Those Army Techs did not die in an accident did they, Jazz? Did they?”

  Jazz looked at her, unable to answer.

  “Someone is coming after you guys,” Melanie continued. “T-Ball was murdered wasn’t he? Well, I’ve had it, Jazz. I’ve had it with this life, I’ve had it with the danger, and I’m not going to live with it anymore. I’m afraid, Jazz. I’m afraid for you, for the safety of our children.”

  She went into a full sob. Jazz stood quietly and watched his wife hold her breath to try to gain control of her emotions. Melanie turned on her heel and began stirring the spaghetti. He looked at Mel’s back, not knowing what to say.

  Keeping her back to him, Melanie said, “I’m leaving, Jazz. I’m going to take the kids and go with Jeannie to New Jersey.”

  Jazz paused considering his wife’s statement.

  “What for?”

  “She needs my help. Jeannie’s brother is going to come down and help her move. I’m going to put all the kids in the van and drive them up there. I’ll even visit your Mom on the way. I’ll stay with Jeannie and watch the kids during the day and help her get settled each night.”

  “Well, I’ll take leave and come with you.”

  “No, Jazz. She does not want another daddy around right now. And besides... we need time apart. In fact, I may not be coming back.”

  Jazz stared at his wife. He heard a ringing sound in his ears. He did not expect this response from her.

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what is going to happen. I just know we need some space for awhile. I do know this, I’m not living this life anymore.”

  For the men of Det Four, the funeral was not enough. For three days after the service, the men of Detachment Four rarely spoke. Jazz wondered how long it would be before they got out of their funk.

  He emerged from the locker room after shifting into civilian clothes. Denke and Ashland were in the hallway already.

  “Hey, LT. What are you doing tonight?” asked Denke.

  “Nothing. I was just going home.”

  “Your wife is gone right? With Jeannie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you mind if we come over for a few beers?”

  “Sure. You guys are welcome anytime.”

  “I mean all of us, sir. I think the guys need to, ah... tie one on.”

  “Uh, yeah, come over.”

  Jazz did not feel like drinking. When Keating arrived Jazz’s first beer was only half empty and warm. Keating was followed by Quinn, Sinclair, and Delgado. Then Ashland came bearing a large jug of clear liquid and several mason jars.

  “What’s that, Ash?” asked Quinn.

  “Porch wine, my brother.”

  “Ah you mean like, ‘Made under the porch, drank upon it.?’”

  “You got it,” said Ash.

  He handed a jar to Jazz. “Drink up, LT.”

  “Damn this is harsh shit, Ash,” said Delgado.

  Ashland was aggressive filling and re-filling their jars. Jazz nursed his. After almost an hour of watching his det work themselves into becoming furniture he noticed that Denke was not there yet.

  “Hey, where is Senior Chief?”

  “I dunno,” slurred Delgado, “but I saw him on the way over and he said that he’d be late.

  They were all in the backyard smoking cigars and drinking Ash’s porch wine when Denke finally arrived. He peeked his head through the sliding glass door.

  “Hey fellas, come in here a second.”

  As they all filed into the Jascinski living room they looked at two green kit bags in the middle of the floor. Immediately they knew what was in the bags.

  “That’s T-Ball’s gear, ain’t it?” said Quinn.

  “Yeah, it is,” said Denke. “Jeannie didn’t want it. I gave the wetsuit and other dive stuff to the Texas State Aquarium. This is all of his field gear. I didn’t want to throw it out.”

  “Well, I don’t want any of it,” said Keating.

  “I do,” responded Jazz.

  He reached into the bag and pulled out a K-bar knife that Ball wore in the field and on the demo range. It had a leather pouch with his crimpers attached.

  “I’ll keep this to remember him by.”

  Jazz walked into his room and tossed the knife into his kit bag in the bottom of his closet. By the time he returned to the living room, the rest of T-Ball’s kit was divvied up and the drinking resumed. Jazz continued to play host. He kept himself busy lighting cigars, throwing away empties, and microwaving appetizers. />
  Ash kept forcing the white lightning on Jazz. Finally when Ash tried to pour another Jazz said, “I’m fine, Johnny. I’ve gotta beer.”

  Ash grinned at him in an odd way.

  “You hammered yet, LT?”

  “Yeah, Ash, I’m toast,” he lied.

  As his teammates slipped further and further into a stupor, the evening became surreal for Jazz. He noted that unlike him, the alcohol seemed to wash away the pain of losing a teammate for the other men of Det Four. Watching them become a little free of T-Ball made Jazz realize even more that he needed to remove the heavy weight created by Martin and West, De Luca and Koss, and now T-Ball. To make matters worse, Melanie was certainly going to leave him if he did not get out of the Navy.

  Jazz was not sure how what the cure was. He wished that he could talk to the Admiral one more time and get a last morsel of advice. If only he had a knife like his father, an albatross that he could bring back to life so that it could fly away bearing his shame and failure.

  After seeing the last of his teammates to the door Jazz found himself sitting on his bed, holding his father’s knife... or was it his knife? It sang as he drew it from its sheath.

  Elena and her roommate had a delightful dinner. Frances took her to a fantastic French restaurant to help her forget about work. Elena could not remember the last time she felt so relaxed. She sipped the last of the second bottle of wine they consumed. Since ordering dessert, they said nothing, just enjoyed the evening. She smiled to herself thinking of the chocolate mousse about to emerge from the kitchen.

  I’ve almost forgotten about Jazz.

  Then Elena heard a “beep” coming from her bag. Frances immediately recognized the look on her face.

  “Oh babe, no, don’t. Don’t answer it.”

  “Relax. It’s probably the guys at the Jascinski place checking in.”

  She pulled the phone from her purse.

  “Cruz, here.”

  “Elena, it’s Cam.”

  “Good evening, Cameron. How are you?”

  “Elena, listen to me. We just got the labs back on the Ingleside case.”

  “Yes, and...”

  “The explosives came from a naval magazine at Norfolk.”

  “Cam, we always knew they were military.”

  “Norfolk, Elena, Norfolk!”