by Lyle Howard
There was a knock on the office door, and Lauren King walked in. “You’re looking chipper, this morning Toby.”
Toby rolled his eyes and proceeded to do a quick introduction of the Petty Officer and Detective.
“Petty Officer Simms was just giving me some background on the Ensign they found floating in the Atlantic from the Cutter Truman.”
Lauren took a seat on a couch that had more than once served as a makeshift bed for Toby when he had to work through the night. “I heard about it. Terrible, just terrible.”
Simms looked at the detective and then back at Toby.
Toby smiled. “Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of the Detective. We work as a team. She’s the brawn, and I’m the brains.”
“Well someone has to be the brawn,” Lauren chuckled.
It took a few seconds for Simms to grow comfortable with the idea of a second person being informed of his theory. But she was a detective, and if Doctor Bilston trusted her, then Simms figured she must know her stuff. “As I was saying, I think there was an additional cause to Ensign Hale’s drowning, and it might be the same phenomenon for everyone onboard the Truman that perished. I would like to explain more, but I believe it would be easier if you examined the body first, and then we talked. If you come out of the autopsy and tell me that Ensign Hale simply died by water filling his lungs, I will gratefully shake your hand and be on my way back to the base. But if you find anything suspicious, I know you’ll want to question me more, and I will be more than willing to let you in on my opinion.”
Lauren King slapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s do this.”
23
Inside the City of Jacksonville’s Forensics Lab was like a world unto itself. For all intents and purposes, it operated like a fully functional hospital. The only difference was, its patients no longer needed the services essential to sustaining life. J.F.L. patients no longer complained about the food, the unhurried nursing staff, or the lack of doctors’ visits. Now they all patiently waited their turn, lying in their refrigerated compartments silently—but still filled with questions that needed answers.
The main examination room was stark and cold, with its silver chromed accessories and white-tiled walls and floor. In the center of the room was the main examination table, with three huge, round lights hanging above it to cast daylight on the subject of the investigation. A sterile table nearby held an assortment of surgical utensils, from a Stryker saw used to cut open the top of the skull to dissecting scissors and bone cutters.
Toby Bilston was in full surgical attire as he adjusted the tiny microphone in front of his mouth. Every procedure taken, each observation made, would be recorded for the official record, along with video taken by a camera that hung over the center axis of the table from the light stanchion above. Lauren King was also attired in medical scrubs, but they felt awkward to her, and she hated whenever she had to wear them. They always represented terrible memories.
“Just look at these lungs! Can you see these tiny perforations in the lining here?” Toby asked.
Lauren leaned over Ensign Hale’s body and stared at the portion of his lung that had been cross-sectioned for examination. “They’re definitely inflamed.” She remarked. “What do you think caused this? That wouldn’t be caused by salt water, would it?”
Toby reached for a pair of serrated scissors and excised a section of the Ensign’s right lung. He held the tissue up to the light and studied it carefully. The detective took a step backward. This was the stuff she would never get used to. It almost made her want to turn into a vegetarian.
“In addition to the obvious seawater damage, the lungs have tiny perforations; we don’t know if they were caused by a previously existing condition or another type of trauma. There are traces of a foreign residue on the sample taken, the origin of which has yet to be determined. The section will be tagged and sent to the toxicology lab for further screening,” Toby said clearly into his microphone. He began describing the condition of the rest of the corpse for the permanent record. When it came to determining the cause of death, Toby reached up and shut off the microphone. He took a seat on an aluminum stool and crossed his arms over his chest.
Lauren stepped forward and stared into the lifeless chest cavity. Going against every belief she had ever cherished, she reached in and peeled back a layer of muscle which protected the right lung. Scraping her finger under the lung, King noted more pinholes in the tissue. When she pulled her finger out, her blue surgical glove was smudged with fine yellow fine particles which reminded her of pollen. “Is this the residue you were referring to, Toby?”
“Toby stood up and walked over to his computer. “Any thoughts on what it might be?”
Lauren held her fingers a safe distance from her nose and sniffed. “I might.”
“Would you care to enlighten me?”
Lauren walked over and nudged Toby away from the keyboard and began typing. The subject line of her search was “Chemical derivatives of Fentanyl, Remifentanil, and Carfentanil.”
Toby watched with admiration as her fingers darted across the keys. He was still more of a hunt and peck kind of typist.
Lauren waited while the medical search engine pulled up its results. “I think I may have found our culprit. Check this out…” she began to read aloud. “In 2002, Chechen terrorists took a large number of hostages in a Moscow theatre siege and threatened to blow up the entire theatre if any attempt was made to break the takeover. An incapacitating agent was used to disable the terrorists while the theatre was stormed by Special Forces. However, the incapacitating agent, unknown at that time, caused many of the hostages to die. The terrorists were rendered unconscious, but roughly fifteen percent of the eight hundred people exposed were killed by the gas. The situation was not helped by the fact that the Russian authorities kept the nature of the incapacitating agent secret from doctors trying to treat its victims. At the time, the gas was reported to be an unknown incapacitating agent called ‘Kolokol-1.’ The Russian Health Minister later stated that the incapacitating agent used was a Fentanyl derivative.”
Toby was following along as she read the article. “How in the hell did you come up with this?”
“Date rape.”
“Excuse me?”
Lauren sighed. “We see this sometimes in cases of date rape. The drug is introduced surreptitiously to the victim through an alcoholic drink or even in a cigarette or marijuana. It renders them unconscious for more than enough time for the assault to occur.”
Toby smiled. “That’s why we make such a great team. I’m too busy working with the deceased to realize that everyday life can be just as dreadful.”
Lauren pointed at the screen. “Look here. The article goes on to say that when they examined the clothing and lungs of the victims of the Moscow theatre assault, they found remnants of the drug on their clothing and in their lungs. Unfortunately, the Ensign’s clothes were probably washed clean while he floated in the ocean.”
“So you hypothesize that the Ensign and his entire crew were roofied?”
Lauren shook her head. “Not likely. Even if the drug were introduced in pill form, not everyone on board would have been willing to take it. There had to be another form of a delivery method. I’m willing to bet that if you check the Ensign’s uniform, you’ll find more of this.”
Toby sat back down on his stool. “Gas. You believe the crew was gassed then.”
Lauren shrugged. “You don’t think it’s possible?”
Toby waved his hands. “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to figure out how an incapacitating agent like Fentanyl could have been dispersed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. To engulf a two hundred foot Coast Guard Cutter, the gas cloud would have to have been the size of a fog bank.”
“When you put it that way, it does seem sort of far-fetched,” the detect
ive pouted.
Toby walked back over to the Ensign’s body.
“Don’t kid yourself, Lauren. These days, conspiracies are as common as red baseball caps. So what do you think the Coast Guard is trying to cover up?” Toby asked, as he removed his gloves and stepped on the pedal of the stainless steel trash receptacle. As the lid opened, he tossed the blood-soaked gloves away. “I’ll close up the Ensign later. I want to talk to Petty Officer Simms first. I think you should be in on the conversation.”
The detective peeled off her gloves as well. “I don’t understand your logic, Toby. We must find out exactly what killed the crew of the Truman.”
“No, Lauren,” Toby insisted. “We must find out who killed this man. Listen to me carefully. I don’t want you going all bad cop on the Petty Officer. He told us that the Ensign was barely alive when they found him. He also said that he had probably been bobbing in the water for hours. Did you forget about that piece of metal jutting out of his side? That’s what killed him! How long do you think you could have survived with that thing in your thigh?”
The detective turned back to the table and saw the oddly shaped protrusion beneath the sheet covering the Ensign’s lower extremities.
“Lauren, this man did not die because of exposure to gas. Hell, I’m surprised he lived as long as he did, considering what he must have gone through with that huge chunk of shrapnel in his leg. There might have been some sort of gas that knocked him and the crew out, but it was the explosion and blood loss from that shrapnel wound that killed him.”
Lauren stood quietly and listened to her experienced mentor and friend.
“The most important thing right now,” Toby said, “is to find out why the Petty Officer out there is being so secretive about the Ensign’s death. He wants us to believe Hale drowned. At the same time, he wants us to disclose anything we uncover. Doesn’t that seem a bit odd to you?”
Now they were about to enter the detective’s realm of expertise, interrogation. “So, how should we handle this?” she asked.
Toby rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I think we should go out there and give as little information as we can get away with. Don’t mention anything about the gas unless I bring it up first. Let’s see if we can find out whatever the Petty Officer doesn’t want us to know.”
Toby pressed a square silver button on the wall, and the doors to the operating room slid open with a hiss. “You know what I find really amazing about this job sometimes?”
“What?” Lauren asked.
“The fact that you can go for months without an interesting case, and then...wham! Two totally different cases drop into our laps at the same time!”
24
Petty Officer Simms was feeling a tad uncomfortable with his surroundings. The simple cement block walls were painted in an uninviting pale green tone, there was a single spotlight that hung over the plain wooden table, and the sizeable one-way mirror that filled nearly an entire wall made him squirm in his metal chair. The duffle bag he had brought with him from the base sat by his feet. “This is an interrogation room, right?” He asked. “Have I done something wrong? Am I in any sort of trouble?”
Toby was sitting across from him while Lauren had turned her chair around and was resting her arms on the back of the seat.
“Not at all, Petty Officer, not at all. Look, we just want some information that you seem to be stashing away from us, and we in no way think you are involved in any criminal activity. I really didn’t want to hold this discussion in my office and get interrupted every other minute by my superiors about another case we’re involved with. Rest assured that there are no recorders on in here and there is nobody on the other side of the glass. You are amongst friends here. We just want to talk. Is that okay?”
Simms eyed the both of them, and they seemed sincere. “Sure. Okay, we can talk.”
Lauren leaned forward. “Petty Officer, can we skip all of the military and medical propriety and just use our first names? I’m Lauren, by the way, and you know the doctor is Toby.”
Simms continued to study their body language to see if they were trying to scam him in some way. They appeared to be genuine, but he decided to remain leery a little longer. “Sure, why not? Call me Scott.”
Toby clasped his hands on the desk. “That’s great. Scott’s a strong name.”
Simms grinned. “Not fond of my initials lately, but what can you do? You play the hand you’re dealt.”
“That’s pretty funny,” Toby said. “These are crazy times we’re living in. I’m sure as a member of the military, I don’t have to tell you how much we appreciate your selfless dedication. I admire you for your service.”
Simms nodded. “Thank you, that’s nice to hear every once in a while.”
Lauren sat back and watched a master at work. She knew that while Toby’s words were truly heartfelt, he was like a talented baker kneading dough until it was pliable enough to create a delicious loaf of bread.
“So Scott,” Toby began. “I’m guessing that within a few hours’ time we’re going to have the Feds crawling up our ass wanting to know what happened to Ensign Hale. I’m sure they’re probably pouring over satellite imagery as we speak looking for clues as to what might have happened to the Truman. This is the top-secret kind of stuff that Lauren and I will never be allowed to see, so we kind of have to work with one arm tied behind our backs, so to speak.”
Simms nodded. “I understand.”
“So time is of the essence here,” Lauren chimed in.
Toby leaned forward. “You told us that if we suspected anything out of the ordinary after Ensign Hale’s autopsy, you would be forthcoming with more information.”
Simms sat up straight in his chair feeling suddenly energized. “You found something, didn’t you?”
Toby’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s do it this way: why don’t you tell us what you think we found?”
Simms reached down into the duffle bag and withdrew the yellow waterproof pouch. He unzipped it quickly and set the gas mask on the table. “Does this connect to whatever you might have found during your examination?”
“Holy shit,” Lauren exclaimed. “Where did you get that?”
“We found it floating on the surface just after the Truman exploded for the second time and slipped off the shelf it had been resting on. I lost my Captain and Chief in the explosion, but I’m assuming that one of them found this and sent it to the surface before the ridge collapsed.”
Lauren looked at Toby and smiled. “You might as well tell him, Toby. I think he’s earned it.”
Toby nodded in agreement. “We did find trace elements of a type of gas that could have been used to debilitate the crew of the Truman. It wasn’t lethal though.”
Simms sat quietly for a moment while he let the news sink in. He had been right. “Okay, let me give you a hypothetical scenario. I know it’s going to seem crazy, but there are a few more details I can let you in on that the public doesn’t know about the Truman’s mission. I don’t even know most of the details, but I can tell you what I do know. Let me just throw out my theory and tell me what you think.”
Lauren turned her chair around and moved closer to the table.
Simms took a deep breath. “I can tell you that in the days before she set sail, the Truman was being retrofitted.”
“To modernize her?” Lauren asked.
Simms shook his head. “I don’t think so. A lot of the equipment was high tech stuff and a new system that involved stealth technology. They’re outfitting a lot of our ships with it to remain undetectable to drug smugglers for as long as possible. The Truman was the oldest Cutter in our fleet. She was due to be decommissioned after this last mission. Her Captain wasn’t in good health and was due to retire as well. I heard that they were kind of throwing the Captain a bone just to send him off with a bang. Why would the Truman need to be outfitted with stealth
technology on her last mission?”
Toby frowned. “Poor choice of words.”
Simms apologized. “Sorry, but you know what I’m trying to say. But anyway, before the second explosion, my Captain, Captain Fitzgerald, radioed up from the wreck that ‘the package was missing.’”
“Package?” Lauren asked.
The Petty Officer nodded. “‘Package’ was the exact word he used. There was something important, a piece of equipment or something, that was gone. My Captain must have been given specific orders to look for this ‘package,’ otherwise he never would have done the dive himself. We had divers who are far more qualified in underwater scavenging. Whatever the ‘package’ was, it was on a need to know basis and no one else aboard the Intrepid knew about it.”
Toby drummed his fingers on the table. It was an old habit whenever his brain was working in overdrive. “I don’t mean to interrupt you Scott, but are you implying that this was a heist?”
Simms reached across the table and held up the mask. “What I’m implying is that someone gassed the crew of the Truman to knock them out while the ship was boarded and this ‘package’ was removed. So yes, that would imply a theft. I believe that the Truman was scuttled after the ‘package’ was taken to cover the thief’s tracks. I think whoever was responsible for the sinking of the Truman expected the ship to miss the shelf and sink into nearly two thousand feet of water where it would have been almost impossible to investigate. Whoever is responsible for the sinking of the Truman has a callous disregard for human life and needs to be brought to justice for this treasonous act.”
“Are you suggesting this was an act of terrorism, Petty Officer?” Lauren asked seriously.
Simms was defiant. “No, Lauren, I don’t, and let me tell you why. Before Ensign Hale finally succumbed on the deck of the Intrepid, he managed to say one word. Just one. Now, if you could only say one last word, wouldn’t you try to name who you thought was responsible for your death?”
“And you think he did?” Toby asked.