by Lyle Howard
The Admiral crossed his arms over his expansive chest. “Hale could have meant anything by that. Is that all you’ve got, Toby? The nonsensical utterances of a dying officer?”
The two men stared at each other like a matador and a bull. Neither one was flinching. Toby broke the extended silence. “I couldn’t care less about ‘the package’ Teddy. I just want to be able to tell you what really happened to the crew of the Truman. Petty Officer Simms brought me a gas mask that they found floating above the wreck. It was inside of a flotation bag. He told me that this gas mask was not one customarily equipped onboard a cutter. One of the divers had to have sent it to the surface before the Truman exploded for the second time.”
Baer ran his hand across his face in exasperation. “Is there anything Simms didn’t tell you?”
Toby shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense. How would I know what he didn’t tell me?”
The Admiral pounded his fists on the arms of his chair. “I think I’m having a stroke. You’re a doctor, right?”
“And a brilliant one,” Toby added. “I studied a lot of anatomy and biology.”
Baer closed his eyes and counted silently to ten. “What does a gas mask have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Relax Teddy,” Toby advised, as he lifted himself up and placed the folder on the Admiral’s desk. “The autopsy revealed that Ensign Hale was exposed to a form of non-lethal knock out gas before the Truman exploded. His lungs revealed evidence of the debilitating drug.”
Baer undid the clasp on the envelope and began looking over the report as he spoke. “So you’re suggesting that the crew was put to sleep before the Truman sunk?”
“Do you want to hear my theory of what might have happened?”
The Admiral looked up briefly from his reading. “I fear I have no choice.”
Toby smiled. “You don’t.”
Baer went back to his reading as Toby continued.
“This wasn’t an accident. The Truman was scuttled to hide the evidence of a heist,” Toby said matter-of-factly.
“Is this just your speculation,” the Admiral inquired, “or have you already posted your findings on social media?”
“None of this leaves your office,” Toby promised. “I’m just doing my job. I would be remiss if I didn’t carry my investigation to its ultimate conclusion.”
“And we wouldn’t want you to be remiss,” Baer mocked.
Toby leaned forward and rested one of his elbows on the Admiral’s desk. “This proposal only makes sense if there was a second ship out there. That’s why I asked you about the satellite imagery. I believe there had to be another ship. Follow my logic…if this other ship was somehow capable of spreading a cloud of knock out gas, it follows that stealing ‘the package’ was their primary objective. I don’t give a damn about the missing technology. The only thing that matters to me is that the Truman and its sleeping crew were then killed to hide the evidence of the robbery. This case isn’t about espionage, this is mass murder!”
The Admiral dropped the paperwork onto the surface of his desk. “Okay, I’ll play along. There’s only one humongous hole in your terrorist plot. The Truman was running without lights, deliberately on a moonless night, and in stealth mode to avoid detection. How were they found?”
“I never said anything about terrorists,” Toby insisted.
Baer shrugged. “Isn’t that what you’re implying?”
Toby didn’t skip a beat. “Not even close. As we crime fighters like to say, they had someone on the inside. Someone who knew when and where they were going to be. Someone who knew enough to wear…”
“A gas mask!” Baer interrupted.
“So who onboard the Truman knew their location?” Toby asked.
The Admiral stared up at the ceiling while he considered the question. “Three or four technicians.”
Toby wasn’t having any of his friend’s duplicity. “And one other person. The one prepared with a gas mask. The one Ensign Hale identified by name. The one holding a grudge against the Coast Guard. Captain Roy Sowell.”
The Admiral didn’t sound as skeptical anymore. “So you’re alleging…”
Toby nodded. “I’m not alleging anything, Admiral. I’m going to prove that the Truman’s Captain was complicit in stealing technology from the United States Government and he never went down with his ship. I’d be willing to bet the farm that the son-of-a-bitch is out there somewhere—and I’ve got just the woman to find him!”
27
The Head of Engineering, Kaci Lynch, stood over Gerald Banks’ shoulder and ran her pencil along the blueprint of the Hydra. They were standing by a drafting table in the corner of Bank’s office. Lynch was slender and attractive, but her crew had quickly learned that behind the good looks hid the exacting demeanor of an obsessive taskmaster. “The floor of the catwalk…”
“Oceanwalk.” Banks corrected her.
“Right. The floor of the Oceanwalk is four inches thick and made from the same cantilevered glass as the Grand Canyon’s Skywalk. It can hold one hundred pounds of weight per square foot and withstand one hundred mile per hour winds. It’s probably the sturdiest component of the Hydra,” she admitted. “There’s an embedded LED lighting system that illuminates the path at night, but it’s not so bright as to obscure the passenger’s view of the ocean below. It should be pretty spectacular.”
“And frightening, I would guess.” Banks added.
Lynch smiled. “Only if you’re afraid of heights and speed.”
“Some might find it disorienting.”
“That could be,” the engineer conceded. “It’s never been done before.”
“That’s exactly why Mason wants it,” Banks acknowledged. “With every news outlet attending this launch, the Hydra needs to impress.”
Lynch stood up and tossed her pencil onto the diagram. “I just wish we weren’t so rushed. Mr. Mason is really cutting this close. I could use an extra two weeks.”
“You have four days.” Banks said, brusquely.
The engineer rubbed her lips as she walked around the table. “I’m dealing with a South Korean installation crew from Doosan International that barely understands English. We’ve been pointing and grunting at each other for over a month now while we’re waiting for the last panel to arrive. It should be here tomorrow. That means the port walkway won’t be finished until the morning of the launch, so you might want to warn Mr. Mason to keep the foot traffic to a minimum, or at least mostly on the starboard side. We’ll test it, of course, but simulations and the real-world unpredictability of the ocean are two very different scenarios.”
Banks shook his head. “I’ll never convince Mason of that. He is committed to making sure the Hydra receives rave reviews. You need both sides properly secured and examined. The Oceanwalks are the crown jewels of this ship, and Mason won’t settle for anything less than the full realization of his dream.”
Lynch was just about to say something when she heard a slight buzzing coming from across the office. “Is that your phone?” She asked.
Banks patted his pocket. “Not mine, my phone’s right…” Then it dawned on him. “I’m sorry, Kaci,” he apologized. “That is my phone. I’ve got to take that call. Are we done here?”
Lynch rolled up the blueprint and carried it under her arm to the door. “If there are any problems, I’ll let you know.”
“Nothing less than perfection is acceptable,” Banks said, walking quickly toward his desk. “This launch has to go off without a hitch.”
Lynch nodded. “Gotcha, boss.”
There was only one drawer in Gerald Banks’ desk that he locked with a key. It was the same drawer that contained the vibrating burner phone that had rung just a handful of times before. Banks fumbled with the key as the old flip phone inside continued to rattle. Opening the phone, he greeted the caller.
“I appreciate you keeping the phone charged,” said the caller.
Banks looked at the old phone and pondered all of the technology that had been introduced into the communications industry since this model had been manufactured. “It’s been in my desk for over ten years. I’m surprised it still works.”
“You won’t need it much longer,” the voice confessed. “It’s almost time.”
“So this is what you’ve been waiting for?” Banks asked. “The launching of the Hydra?”
“Not just that,” the voice insisted. “It’s about to reach a boiling point. All of the players are starting to come together.”
“Spoken like someone who’s been doing their research.”
The voice over the phone was solemn. “That’s what I do, remember?”
“So, you want to be added to the guest list?” Banks asked.
“That’s why I’m calling. Just use the name I gave you last time.”
“Okay, I’ve got that,” Banks confirmed, looking at the name he had taped to the back of the phone. “But why now? Why in such a public place?”
“It’s got to be now, Gerald. I’ve been watching from the sidelines for far too long. You’ve been incredibly generous to stay quiet this long. I know you have your own agenda, but I think our alliance has worked out well for the both of us.”
Banks gazed out his window at a formation of small birds headed east over the Saint John’s River. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an alliance,” he disputed. “That implies that we have a common enemy.”
“We don’t?” The caller questioned.
“Perhaps we do, but our motives couldn’t be more different.”
The caller sounded in complete control of the conversation. “I know what you want Gerald, and I think I’ve been more than obliging with the intelligence that I’ve provided to you. You’ll have to admit that my circumstances give me access to information and evidence that you would never have been privy to otherwise.”
“I understand that.”
“Well then, our goal is the same, even if our intentions are different. You want Mason’s empire, while my incentive is far less material than that.”
“Okay,” Banks said. “So is there anything else besides putting your name on the guest list?”
“Just a word to the wise, Gerald, you’ve fallen in with some very dangerous people at the One Eleven Club.”
“How did you…” Banks started to ask.
“I’m always watching, Gerald.” The voice warned. “Just be careful.”
Then the line went dead.
28
Matt Walker sat in the kitchen and stared across the breakfast table at his grandfather. The early morning sun streamed in through the window as the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The tiled floor was covered with black scuff marks from his grandfather’s work boots. It would be next Thursday before the maid would be here to clean them away.
It had been two days since Barbara Walker passed peacefully in her sleep, but the old man refused to show any outward signs of grief. The funeral had been a simple grave-side affair with just Matthew and himself, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that his son Franklin was also there, mourning the loss. Twelve years had passed since his murder, but the wounds were forever raw.
After the burial, friends of the family had come and gone from the house, bringing trays of food and sharing their memories of his wife. He would listen and nod cordially, but rarely spoke to any of the well-wishers. The light of his life was gone, and he had locked all the doors and drawn all the windows. There was nothing left but darkness and half his soul—the unworthy half.
Dave Walker sat with an aimless glaze in his eyes. He sipped some coffee but didn’t taste it. The eggs Matt had scrambled for him sat untouched on the plate next to a piece of stiff wheat toast.
Matt reached across the table and touched his grandfather’s hand to comfort him. The old man pulled his hand away as though it had been burned with a hot iron. “Don’t you trace me, boy. Don’t you dare and do it! I don’t want any of that mumbo-jumbo in my house! It might have been okay with your grandmother, but I won’t put up with any of that crap.”
Matt stood up and scraped his grandfather’s uneaten eggs into the sink. He didn’t have to hear to know what his grandfather thought of him. The old man thought he was a freak of nature, and the less contact they had, the better they would get along. His grandson was just someone who ate his hard-earned food and couldn’t keep him company as his wife had. He had never bothered to learn his grandson’s hand talking…that was his wife’s choice. He didn’t have the time to learn all those wild gestures, nor the inclination to. She coddled the boy ever since she discovered what he was capable of. Never did an honest lick of work in his life, always afraid to touch anything. How was the boy supposed to contribute to the family when he could flip out without a moment’s notice? Living with the boy was like having an electric generator hooked up to your stomach. The tension was palpable, and now he had no one to run interference for him. How he missed his soul mate.
Dave Walker was entitled to his feelings, but he never gave Matt the opportunity to help. Matt had traced his grandfather’s life many times before and never tired of it. It was usually while the old man was sleeping in his recliner and was unaware of Matt’s curiosity.
Touching his grandfather’s shoulder was like traveling through time. He could see his father through his grandfather’s eyes, as a young boy growing up on the east side of New York. It always brought a lump to his throat to see his father the way his grandfather remembered him. It was far better than the way he had last seen him and his mother.
His grandfather pushed himself away from the table and stood beside Matt at the sink and began drying the dishes as Matt washed them. It was the only thing that they ever did together. In his best speech, Matt asked, “Do you want to come to the game with me and Simone’s family tomorrow?” The old man wasn’t even courteous enough to turn and face Matt when he spoke. Matt thought he said, “I didn’t know they had a deaf and dumb section at the stadium.” But that couldn’t be, not even his grandfather was that cruel.
Matt grabbed his grandfather’s arm, spun him around and asked him to repeat what he said. He had read it right. “You are a bitter old man,” Matt screamed. “What did I ever do to you, except survive? I miss Grandma too, don’t ever forget that! You can be ashamed of me all you want, but just remember one thing...I’ll always love you, even if you hate me!” He said, as he threw down the sponge and stormed out of the kitchen.
Dave Walker hands began to shake as he leaned against the sink. He tried to stop them from trembling, but it was a growing symptom that soon engulfed his whole body. He refused to let the boy see him cry; he had to be strong. He’d promised his wife on her deathbed that he would be. He was too old to learn how to talk the boy’s language. His wife had learned, but he was too busy earning a living back then. Now it seemed he had a more significant disability than his grandson. Life just wasn’t the same without her. In the seclusion of his empty kitchen, Dave Walker finally broke down and wept.
Matt was halfway down the hall to his bedroom when he decided that enough was enough. This had to end now if the two of them were going to share the same roof. He turned around and fumed back into the kitchen. “Come on you old fart,” he shouted. “You’re coming to the baseball game with us whether you want to or not! You don’t have a monopoly on anger and regret, and neither of us can get through this alone!”
His grandfather turned to him and wiped his eyes with the dishtowel. “Do you know who you sounded like when you said that?”
The two of them met in the center of the kitchen and embraced for the first time that Matt could remember. “Be ready at noon tomorrow,” Matt instructed using both his voic
e and signing.
“Whoa Matt,” his grandfather said. “I hate baseball. Please, I have things that need to be done around the house tomorrow. I’ll be fine, really. You go with your friend’s family.”
Matt could tell his grandfather was looking for any excuse not to go. “You’re not coming with us because my friend’s deaf too, right?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“It shouldn’t God damn it! Her family can all hear, and you will have plenty of people to talk to. It would be good for you to get out and have a good time.”
His grandfather shook his head. “Not this time, Matt. Maybe we can all go out for dinner after the game, okay?”
Matt pulled away. “What, and go to your favorite Italian restaurant, the really dark one? I hate that place! Can’t we go somewhere that’s well lit so I can actually read your lips? Is it the sound of my voice? Am I losing my tone, or are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
His grandfather didn’t answer; he just looked down at the floor. Matt reached over and lifted the old man’s chin until their noses were only inches apart. “One of these days, I am going to walk out that front door and never come back and do you know what will happen to you then? Nothing, that’s what, absolutely nothing! You won’t feel a bit of difference because you think you’re already alone.” Matt paused for a second to collect himself and make sure his words would come out clearly before turning and leaving his grandfather standing by himself. “This is all on you, Grandpa. Grandma would be so unhappy right now. This is all on you.”
This time there would be no turning back.