Sweepers

THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C., MONDAY, 10 APRIL 1995.

Rear Adm. Thomas V. Carpenter, Judge Advocate General of the U.S. Navy, was perplexed as he stared up at his aide over his half-lens reading glasses.

“A cop? A Fairfax County homicide cop? Wants to see me?”

His aide nodded. “Yes, sir. He just showed up here, with an escort from the security office. Says he needs to talk to you. Won’t say what about, Admiral.”

Carpenter leaned back in his chair. “Well, hell’s bells.

Send him in. But first get Captain Mccarty. I want-“

“The executive assistant is on his way, Admiral.”

“Yeah. Okay. Good. Soon-as he’s here, bring ‘em in.”

The aide left the office. Frowning, Carpenter swiveled around in his chair to look out the windows. His office was a large square room, paneled and carpeted, with shelves of legal books lining two walls, a conference table with leathertrimmed armchairs, an ancient leather couch, and three upholstered chairs arranged to face his desk. Behind his desk, a steel flag stand displayed the American flag and his personal two-star flag denoting a rear admiral of the staff corps.

Carpenter was one star short of having an office out on the prestigious E-ring.

There was a knock on the heavy mahogany door, and Capt. Dan Mccarty, his Pentagon executive assistant, came through the door. Mccarty, with twenty-nine years of service, was tall and thin, and he wore square horned-rimmed glasses that made him look bookish.

“A Fairfax County homicide detective, Admiral? You finally shoot one of those budgeteers?”

“That’s a thought,” Carpenter growled. “There’s some who desperately need it. But to answer your question, I haven’t the foggiest. Let’s get him in here. I have to see the Secretary in thirty minutes.”

The executive assistant opened the door and beckoned to the aide, who escorted the detective into the office. Carpenter was struck by how well dressed he was: expensivelooking three-piece suit, polished shoes, a flash of cuff links.

Mid-thirties, and in good physical shape. His stereotype of the scruffy’-looking, coffee-stained, potbellied, cigarette smoking TV homicide detective took a serious hit. This guy looked like a real pro.

The policeman introduced himself as Detective Mcnair of the . Fairfax County Homicide Section, sat down on the couch, and took out his notebook.

“Admiral,” Mcnair began. “You are the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, is that correct?”

“That’s right. I’m the JAG. I work for the Secretary of the Navy. I run the Navy’s legal corps, and provide military law counsel to the Navy.”

“Yes, sir.” Mcnair nodded. “I’ve come to see you at the recommendation of the Defense Investigative Service.

We’re working a’ situation, and frankly, we’re not sure what to do with it. It involves a Navy admiral. Sort of, I mean.”

Carpenter leaned forward. ““Sort of,’ Detective?”

Mcnair closed his notebook. “I guess I’m not being very clear. Last Friday night, a woman had a fatal accident in a town house out in Reston. At least it looks like an accident at this stage of our investigation. She apparently fell down a flight of stairs-from the main floor going down to the basement. She broke her neck in the fall. A neighbor found her Saturday morning. Her name was Elizabeth Walsh.”

“Sorry to hear it. But you said ‘apparently’?” Carpenter was still in the dark.

“Well, sir, she. definitely broke her neck. What we’re not too sure about is the genesis of the fall.”

“So this is a possible homicide? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Remote possibility, Admiral,” Mcnair replied.

“There’s some, ah, disagreement in the Homicide Section as to what we really have here.”

“Disagreement,” Carpenter said, looking over at his executive assistant.

“And why, specifically, should the Navy care, Detective?” asked Mccarty, getting right to it.

“Yes, sir. I was coming to that,” Mcnair replied. “As I said, we’re not sure that this is anything but an accident.

But on the possibility that it was not an accident, one of the things we checked for was a possible motive. If she was killed, say, pushed down the stairs, and I’ll admit that we have no direct evidence of, that, but if she was, then we have to ask why?”

“Cui bono’?” Mccarty said. “Who benefits from her death?”

“Yes, sir. Exactly. And someone does. Her lawyer told us there was an insurance policy-a big one. Two hundred fifty thousand, to be precise.

The beneficiary was one-“

He consulted his notebook. “One Rear Admiral W. T. Sherman. The Defense Department phone book says he’s assigned here at the Pentagon, on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations.”

Carpenter drew a blank on the name. He looked over at his executive assistant again, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“He’s fresh-caught, Admiral,” Mccarty explained. “Last year’s selection list. He runs the Surface Warfare Requirements Division in OP-03. I think he’s been on board for about a year as a flag officer. Before that, he was the executive assistant to the Chief of Naval Personnel.”

“Oh, right,” Carpenter said. “Got it. I remember him.

Now, this insurance-policy business. This makes Admiral Sherman a suspect of some sort?”

“No, sir. There’s no crime, at least not so far. Like I said, there is no evidence of a homicide. There are some, um, forensic ambiguities.

Which is why I’m here talking to you instead of going directly to interview Admiral Sherman. Basically, I’m hereto ask a favor. Would you arrange a meeting between Admiral Sherman and us? An entirely informal meeting?”

Carpenter was starting to get the picture. “You mean as opposed to a formal police interview? Something we could call a conversation, say? So that we don’t have it getting out that the Fairfax County Police Department is interviewing a Navy admiral in connection with a possible homicide, when all you have are-what was it-‘forensic ambiguities’?”

“Yes, sir.” Mcnair nodded.

Carpenter sat back in his chair. “Let me speculate further,” he said.

“You went to your commonwealth attorney, told him you had a feeling about this case, and said you wanted to talk to Admiral Sherman. The CA told you to be very damn careful about pulling in a flag officer when you didn’t have any sort of case. Said he didn’t want any federal heat about harassment, or to listen to legions of federal lawyers raising hell because something got loose in the press.”

“His very words, sir,” Mcnair said admitingly.

Carpenter nodded. “Detective, we appreciate your discretion, and of course we’ll be happy to cooperate. I’ll speak to Admiral Sherman right away, and I’m sure we can work something out-as long as you can assure both of us when we meet that he is not suspected of any crimes. I will be present for this meeting, and I’ll want the right to shut it off if I think it’s going astray, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Mcnair said. “I have no problems with that.”

“I’ll have my aide get back to you this afternoon, Detective.,., Mccarty remained behind after the aide shut the door.

“I’m amazed,” Carpenter said. “That they would be so discreet?”

Yes. I mean, admiral or no admiral, we’re all citizens first. If there’s been a homicide out there in civvy street, they’d have every right to go see him, or ask him to come down and see them.”

“Well, he did say that they’re not sure they even have a homicide.”

“I guess I’m glad. Our-friendly hometown newspaper would love a little morsel like this. Okay, Dan, call this guy Sherman and have him come up and see me this afternoon.

And get me his bio.”

“Would you like me to handle this one, Admiral? Or maybe the Deputy?

Keep you at arm’s length and all that?” Carpenter thought about that for a moment. “We might do that eventually. But let me see his bio first, see if -I know this guy Sherman.”

At 5:30 that afternoon, Captain Mccarty brought Carpenter a manila folder. “This is the bio on Admiral Sherman,” he said. “The picture was taken when he was a captain, but he doesn’t look much different.”

“That’ll change,” Carpenter observed as he opened the file.

“He’s waiting out front, Admiral. If you’ll buzz me when you’re ready…”

“Just give me a minute to look at this and then you can bring him in.”

While Mccarty waited, Carpenter looked at the photo for a minute before scanning the career biography. The photo was that of a very young-looking officer with the sharp eyes and the taut-skinned face of an athlete. The face was composed in an expression of watchful authority that bespoke command at sea. He wore five rows of awards and decorations, which indicated he had wartime service in Vietnam.

The insignia worn over the ribbons indicated a surfacewarfare specialist.

He scanned the bio page. Naval Academy, class of ‘66.

First ship was a destroyer in San Diego. Then a year and a bit in the gunboat Navy, down in the Mekong Delta. Fun times, that must have been.

Then department-head school in Newport, a second tour in another destroyer in San Diego.

Then graduate school up at Monterey. Exec in yet another destroyer, then off to the Bureau of Naval Personnel in Washington. “Ah,” he said out loud. “The Bureau. He was a detailer.” Both of them knew that being a personnel assignment officer was one of the surer routes to the flag selection boardroom. After seeing the Bureau of Naval Personnel item, Carpenter barely scanned the rest of Sherman’s record.’ “Okay,” he said.

“Professionally good enough to get that first job as a detailer, and politically good enough to get another one. I wonder who his patron saint was.”

“He was executive assistant to Admiral Galen Schmidt,” Mccarty said.

“Just before Admiral Schmidt’s ticker trouble forced him to retire.”

Carpenter nodded. “Schmidt would have made a great CNO,” he said. “And young Sherman would not be coming to see me if Schmidt were the CNO today. Okay, he’s something of a pretty boy, and I distrust pretty boys.

Jealousy, I suppose. Bring him in, please.”

Mccarty smiled and left the room, returning a few seconds later with the officer in the picture.

“Sorry about the delay, Admiral,” Carpenter said in a formal tone. “The Deputy Secnav called precisely at seventeen-thirty.” It was a small lie, but he expected Sherman to be adept enough to swallow it.

“No problem, Admiral,” Sherman replied.

“Thank you, Dan,” Carpenter said to his executive assistant, who nodded and left the room. “Admiral Sherman, it’s a pleasure to see you again, especially as a flag officer.

Congratulations” Carpenter smiled as he said it, but he watched to see if the younger officer understood that the JAG was reminding him who was the senior officer in the room.

“Thank you, sir,” Sherman replied. “Even after a year, I’m still getting used to it.”

“I’ll bet you are. Please sit down.”

When Sherman had taken one of the chairs in front of the desk, Carpenter walked him through the morning’s visit from the police.

“I’m sure Dan told you that this concerns the Fairfax County Police. I had a visit today from a homicide detective.

They are investigating an apparent accident that involved a woman having a fall in her town house in Reston.”

“In Reston?” Sherman asked quickly.

Carpenter saw a look of alarm cross Sherman’s face. He leaned forward before Sherman could say anything.

“The woman died of her injuries. An Elizabeth Walsh.”

He stopped when he saw the alarm in Sherman’s face change to shock. “You didn’t know about this? Was she someone close?”

The color was draining out of Sherman’s face. He appeared to struggle for words.

“I-yes. I didn’t know anything had happened,” he stammered. “I-we-we used to date. I’ve known her for three years or so. When did this happen?”

Admiral Carpenter suddenly felt as if he had been caught off base.

Automatically, he looked around for his executive assistant, then shook his head. “This apparently happened three days ago. Friday night. The homicide cop showed up here this morning. They’re investigating her death. I guess because she died by misadventure-you know, as opposed to dying in a hospital with a doctor present. I think the cops are called anytime there’s an unexplained death,”

“But what-“

Carpenter felt genuinely embarrassed now. He should have thought of this-that no one had told this guy. McCarty should have checked. “He said that there was no direct evidence of foul play. But they pulled the usual strings, and they found out that she had a life-insurance policy, a pretty big one. And apparently you’re the beneficiary.”

“Me? Life insurance? Elizabeth?” Sherman was shaking his head. “So I’m a suspect of some kind? In-a murder case?”

“No, no, no,” Carpenter said waving his hand. “That’s why they came to see me first. There is no murder case.

There’s apparently no evidence, of foul play. I think they just want to talk to you.” Sherman was obviously in a state of emotional shock.

“Look, you-want a glass of water or something? Coffee? A drink maybe?” Sherman was still shaking his head, his eyes unfocused.

“No thank you, sir. I saw her-what, three weeks ago. I can’t believe this.”

“Yes. Damn. I am very sorry. I just assumed … well, I don’t know what I was thinking. But back to the cops. You know how they are-they go with what they’ve got. They have to investigate. You’re apparently the only human tied in some fashion, however indirect, to her death, so they want to talk to you. “

“But what-“

Carpenter interrupted him again. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I think they’re just running down their standard procedure checklist. And the guy who came to see me said they disagreed among themselves if it even was a homicide.”

Sherman got up, then sat down again, his hands flailing a little bit, as if he still couldn’t grasp it. “Elizabeth and I dated for nearly three years,” he said. “I’m divorced, you know. Well, hell, of course you don’t know.”

Carpenter nodded encouragingly. He felt like a clod for just dropping the bomb on this poor guy.

“But we saw each other in a pretty meaningful way until about six months ago. We-she-finally realized that our relationship wasn’t going where she wanted it to go. She’s a bright, attractive woman. She wanted to get married.”

“Ah. And you did not, I take it.”

“Right, sir. First time around cured me of that. And that’s something I had told her from the very start. Anyway, we agreed to part company.

Only fair thing to do, the way I saw it. But we missed each other. From time to time, we got together. We did well together. But the long-term relationship essentially was over. Now we’re just good friends, as they say. And I knew nothing about any insurance policy.

Carpenter waited.

“I mean, I guess we were just good friends. Hell, this is terrible.” He put his hands up to his face and rubbed his cheeks.

Carpenter got up and went over to the window, giving Sherman a minute to compose himself Then he came back and sat down.

“What he wanted to do is to meet with you,” he said.

“Informally. I told him I would arrange it, but only if I could be present. I also told him I would shut the meeting off if it started to look like anything but a friendly chat. I recommend you agree to this, and that we do it soon, like tomorrow. You understand that they don’t have to do it this way, right? They could just call you downtown or wherever the cops are headquartered in Fairfax County. But I think they’re actually trying to be discreet. Since you’re a flag officer, that is.”

Sherman nodded, although it was obvious that his thoughts were spiraling elsewhere.

“So why don’t I have my office coordinate with your office on the calendars, and then we’ll get this over and done with, okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Sherman said. “And I appreciate your intervention, Admiral.”

Carpenter nodded and stood up. Sherman remained seated until he realized the meeting was over. He stood up as well.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Admiral,” Carpenter said. “And I apologize for just dropping a bomb Re that.” Sherman nodded but said nothing as he left.

Carpenter scanned Sherman’s bio again while he waited for Sherman to get clear of his outer office. Something about the Vietnam assignment had ticked his memory, but he could not quite put his finger on it. He buzzed for Mccarty, who came in with his ever-present notebook at the ready.

“Dan, get back to that cop and set up a meeting for tomorrow. Coordinate with Sherman’s office. Plan for thirty minutes maximum. He and the woman were close, by the way. He didn’t know anything about this.’Took the wind right out of his sails.”

“He knew her and didn’t know the woman had died?

Damn. I guess I should have checked.”

Carpenter was silent just long enough to let his EA know that he agreed with that observation. “Yeah, well, those things happen,” he said finally. “He agreeing -away to talk to the cops. Didn’t seem to care about them, or the insurance business. More upset at what had happened to the woman. Said he was divorced and that they’d been dating for a couple of years and then broke it off, friendly like.”

Carpenter stood and gathered up his cap and briefcase.. “Let me get my hat and I’ll walk down the hall with you,” Mccarty said. “I assume you’re going to handle this one personally?”

That mental twitch about the bio bothered Carpenter.

“Yes, I think so. For now, anyway.”

“Yes, sir. Have you briefed the CNO on this issue?”

They walked through the outer office and into the corridor before Carpenter, not wanting to talk about this in front of the staff yeomen, replied. “No. Not yet. I want to see how this meeting develops. If it’s a firefly, the CNO doesn’t need to be bothered. If there’s something to it, we’ll need more facts before I approach the throne. Which reminds me. I’d like to have one of our staff attorneys present. Just in case that cop wasn’t telling the whole truth about the purpose of this little sdance. Like if it turns out Sherman needs a lawyer. I’d like to have someone there who can be in on it from the git-go.”

Mccarty had his notebook out again. “Somebody who could defend him? Or someone who will hold his hand and keep us in the loop at the same time?”

Carpenter smiled the way he did when his aides read his thoughts with such facility. “The latter,” he said. “And somebody who is perhaps underemployed at the moment.”

Mccarty smiled. “Oh-ho. A certain lady commander perhaps,” he said as they went down the stairs to the second floor.

“As always, you’re way ahead of me, Dan,” Carpenter said, laughing now.

Even the normally taciturn Mccarty managed a brief smile before he remembered something else. “Oh, Admiral, one last scheduling matter for tomorrow. Warren Beasely’s relief has reported-from NIS Carpenter stopped as they reached the second-floor landing leading into the A-ring. “This the guy we heard about?

Von something?”

“Yes, sir. A civilian named von Rensel. Wait till you see this guy. He’s huge.”

“He’s not a fat guy, is he?”

“No, sir. Just big. Not tall, either. But really big. He scared Chief O’Brien when he showed up this morning.

Didn’t say anything, just stood there at the chief’s desk until she turned around. I thought O’Brien was gonna faint.”

“Beasely was such a damn wimp,” Carpenter said. “This guy look like a player?”

“Yes, sir, I’d definitely say so. And in all fairness, Beasely was not a well man.”

Yeah, I know, but the net result was that I couldn’t use him the way I wanted to. Okay. Put this von Rensel on my calendar. And get the word to the lady commander, as you call her.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll put in a call this evening. I’m assuming you just want her there to observe the meeting?”

Mccarty asked. “Karen Lawrence is an investigations specialist, not an investigator.” Carpenter gave his EA a sideways look, inspiring Mccarty to backpedal a bit.

“I mean, I know she’s very good at what she does,” he added hastily.

“But her specialty is reviewing other people’s work, not doing investigations herself. Unless-“

“Unless I can get her interested in something long enough for her to pull her damn request for retirement papers,” Carpenter said.

Mccarty shook his head at that prospect. Comdr. Karen Lawrence was an expert lawyer who reviewed Navy field investigation reports to see if they had been conducted thoroughly, properly, and effectively. She was very, very good at it, having that rare ability to sense from the field reports when an investigation had missed something crucial, either because the field investigator was less than competent or because local command authorities were trying to hide something. The problem was that her husband, a wealthy Washington lobbyist, had died very unexpectedly of a heart attack about a year ago. Thereafter, she had simply lost interest in what had been shaping up as a brilliant career in the JAG Corps. Four months ago, she had put her papers in to take retirement on twenty. Admiral Carpenter wanted very much to change her mind about getting out, but he had had no luck at all in persuading her.

“I mean, I understand what she’s probably going through,” Carpenter said. “But as the JAG, I have to take the Navy’s point of view, not hers. With all these sexual harassment cases and the even bigger problem of female integration, I need to keep any lady lawyer who’s as sharp as she is. “

“Yes, sir, I understand. I’m just not too optimistic this will do it. If there is a homicide investigation, she’d be out of her competence.”

“Well,” Carpenter said as they reached the Mall entrance, “maybe put the new NIS guy into it. If it’s out of his competence, then send him back and tell them to try again.

TUESDAY Comdr. Karen Lawrence arrived in her office at eight o’clock, thirty minutes later than everyone else. She had come in early to work out at the Pentagon Officers Athletic Club before work. Since Frank’s death, she had felt the need to get Out of the house’early in the morning, and the 7:00 A.m. athletic-club session offered a good excuse, not to mention the advantage of lighter traffic. But most important, it got her through that emotionally treacherous morning hour when they used to prepare for work together. Together was a nonword these days, and having to live alone again was unexpectedly painful.

The Investigations Review Division of Navy JAG was on the D-ring of the fourth floor of the Pentagon. The office was typical of the Pentagon these days: An office suite designed to hold three officers in 1945 now held eight in a warren of modular furniture enclosed in crumbling ten-foot high plastered walls. Each staff legal officer had approximately an eight-foot-square cubicle. The division boss, Captain Pennington, had a slightly larger cubicle in one corner, under the only window.

Karen said good morning to the staff yeoman and fixed a cup of coffee.

The yeoman waved a telephone message slip at her as she reached her cubicle. “Presence is’re quested, Commander,” she called.

Karen walked back over to pick up the slip, then returned to her cubicle. She flopped down at her desk, patting a damp lock of her dark red hair back into place, and scanned the message: “See Captain Mccarty when you come in.”

Great. No subject, no hint of what he wanted. She looked up as Captain Pennington stuck his head in.

“Good morning, Karen. I hear the EA wants to see you.”

Word travels fast, she thought. “Yes, sir. Good morning.

Any idea on what it’s about?”

“Nope. It was on the office voice mail, six-thirty last night. I told them you hit the athletic club first thing in the so you’re not late or anything.” He looked at his watch. “As long as you’re up there in about the next five minutes.”

“Appreciate that, Captain,” ‘she said. She hesitated. “I hope this isn’t another, shipping-over lecture.”

“I don’t think so, Karen,” he said. “Although the offer is absolutely still open.” They looked at each other for a moment, and then he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, I know. We’ve been down this road. Better go see the EA.”

She smiled briefly at him to show that she wasn’t angry.

Pennington had been a peach of a boss for the past two years, and she knew he was sincere in wanting her to pull those retirement papers. But she had made up her mind. She would reach the magic twenty-year point in six more months. She had taken the emotional plunge a month after Frank died, then waited a little while longer to put her papers in’ Nothing had happened in the interim to change her conviction that it was time to go. Her professional career drive had just evaporated after Frank’s heart attack, especially considering the circumstances surrounding that event.

She was determined not to be a hanger-on, just for the sake of keeping busy or for the chance to put another gold ring on her sleeve. In the Judge Advocate General Corps, reaching commander signified a successful career; making captain meant an unusually gogd career. She was ready to settle for success.

Notebook in hand, Karen headed for Admiral Carpenter’s office up on the fifth floor. When she arrived, she found that she was not the only visitor to the front office. There was a civilian who looked like a cop sitting on the couch. Another civilian, a very large man, was standing by one of the windows, his back to the room. A youngish-looking one-star rear admiral was sitting in the single armchair. He gave her a fleeting glance of appraisal when she came in but then went back to a folder he had been studying.

The presence of the two civilians puzzled her, unless they were Naval Investigative Service types. But they looked like real civilians, and they were too well dressed to be NIS. The big man was huge, tree-trunk huge. She wondered if he was Warren Beasely’s relief from the Naval Investigative Service. She had heard some scuttlebutt that they were sending over a real character. The other guy looked like a cop. She walked across the front office and knocked on the EA’s open door.

“Come in, Karen,” Mccarty said, indicating with his hand that she should close the door behind her.

“Good morning, sir.,” she replied.

“Right, it probably is. You see that one-star out there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s Rear Adm. W. T. Sherman. OP-32: director of the Surface Warfare Requirements Division down in OP-03.

Last year’s flag-selection list. The civilian on the couch is a Fairfax County detective. Homicide cop, ‘no less.” He watched for her reaction.

Homicide cop?” she said, pleased with herself for picking him out as a policeman. “Somebody shoot somebody?”

“Not quite,” Mccarty said. “At least we don’t think so.

But that guy came in to see the JAG yesterday. He asked for a sitdown with this Admiral Sherman. The JAG wants you in there as the duty fly on the wall. I won’t say any more, so as not to influence what you see and hear. You’ll be introduced as a headquarters staff attorney, okay?”

This was vintage . Carpenter, she thought, nodding. Whenever something out of the ordinary popped up, the JAG would bring in a neutral observer from the staff. When the meeting was over, the staffer, who was never told what -the meeting was supposed to be about, would be asked for his or her take on things. “Got it, Captain,” she replied with a smile. 7 “And who’s the Mack truck out there?”

“That’s the Mr. von Rensel from the NIS. Wolfgang Guderian von Rensel, to be precise. Warren Beasley’s relief, at long last. I can’t wait to hear the admiral’s reaction to him. ““Wolfgang von Rensel’? Now, there’s a good Irish name.”

“Yeah, right. Somebody told me his nickname is Train.

He’s been in the building before.. Naval Intelligence, I think. re Anyway, you may get to find out if this meeting develops into something.

The admiral apparently told him to hang around for this meeting.” Ah,” she said. Vintage Carpenter again.

“Exactly,” Mccarty said.

A lighted button on his multiline phone-had just gone off.

He stood up. “Okay, let’s rock and roll,” he said, picking up the phone and hitting the intercom button for Admiral Carpenter’s desk. “We’re ready, Admiral,” he said. He listened for a few seconds. “Yes, sir, she’s here. And Admiral Sherman. Right.”

He hung up the phone and they went back out into the front office reception area. Admiral Carpenter’s aide came out of the inner office and asked them all to come in. Admiral Sherman went first, followed by the policeman and the EA. Karen saw that von Rensel had turned around from the window. His great size notwithstanding, he was an unusual-looking man. He had a high forehead with receding, very close-cut black hair. His alert brown . eyes were faintly Oriental in shape, and a large Roman nose presided forcefully over thin lips and a prominent chin. He looked directly into her eyes and smiled, until she realized with something of a start that he was waiting for her to precede him into the room. She recovered and nodded a silent hello before walking ahead of him into the admiral’s office. Out of the comer of her eye, she thought she detected an amused expression on his face.

Admiral Carpenter was standing at the head of the conference table.

“Morning, everybody,” he said, and made the introductions.

Carpenter began by recapping the problem. “Admiral Sherman, this matter concerns an accidental death, as we’ve previously discussed. Detective Mcnair would like you to help him with his inquiries.”

“How can I help you, Detective?” Sherman said. He was not smiling, and he focused intensely on the detective.

Mcnair cleared his throat before beginning. “Admiral Sherman, this concerns a Ms. Elizabeth Walsh. I assume the admiral here has told you what happened?”

Karen saw Sherman’s face tighten. “Yes. He said that she had an accident of some kind in her house and died from her injuries. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what it looks like to us right now. We understand that you, ah, knew Ms. Walsh?”

“Yes.” He looked down at the table for a moment before continuing. “Ms.

She and I were … dating. Until about six months . ago.

“And may we ask, sir, why you stopped dating?”

Sherman hesitated, and Carpenter stepped into the conversation.

“Detective, I think we need to know where everybody stands before Admiral Sherman answers that. Could you please explain where you are in your investigation and what Admiral Sherman’s status is?”

Mcnair opened his notebook. “Last Saturday morning, the police were called in when Ms. Walsh’s neighbor, a Mrs. Klein, reported that she had found Ms. Walsh lying at the bottom of the stairs going down into her town house basement level. It appeared to Mrs. Klein that Ms. Walsh had fallen down the stairs, and that she was deceased. Mrs. Klein was very upset.”

Karen watched Sherman as he listened to the detective recite the grim facts. She realized from his expression that the relationship between Elizabeth Walsh and Sherman had gone well beyond dating. Von Rensel was also studying Sherman’s face.

“The Homicide Section was called in as a matter of routine,” Mcnair continued. “As you probably know, we are required by law to investigate any unexplained death. We arrived at the scene within an hour of Mrs.

Klein had a key, and she had let the EMTS in. was no sign of violence in the house, no sign of forced entry, or that anyone else had been in there other than Ms. Walsh and Mrs. Klein, who stated that she had not seen anything missing or out of order. The medical examiner’s preliminary judgment as to the cause of death was a fractured cervical vertebrae broken neck. Time of death was probably early Friday evening.”

“And she just felt down the stairs?” Sherman asked.

Mcnair gave him an appraising stare, which made her wonder if this was more than just a friendly little chat after all.

She realized at that moment that the detective had not answered Carpenter’s other question about Sherman’s status.

“Well, sir,” Mcnair replied, “there was one of those plastic laundry baskets at the bottom of the stairs. It looks like she was carrying it downstairs and maybe tripped. Hard to tell,.really.”

“Laundry?” Sherman said, frowning.

“It was clean laundry,” Mcnair said. “You are familiar with the layout of the town house.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I am,” Sherman replied, staring back almost belligerently.

“Could you tell us where you were on Friday evening, Admiral Sherman?”

“Detective,” Carpenter interrupted. “An answer to my original question, if you please. Is Admiral Sherman a suspect in a homicide investigation?”

“No, sir,” Mcnair answered immediately. “This isn’t really a homicide ‘ investigation. If it becomes one, we’ll of course have to start over. We can do the Miranda bit if you’d like, Admiral.” Sherman started to shake his head, but then he looked to Carpenter for guidance. Carpenter nodded, indicating to Sherman that he should go ahead and answer their questions.

“Friday.” Sherman thought for a moment. “Friday, we were preparing for internal Navy budget hearings. I was here-I mean here in the Pentagon-until, oh, I’d say twenty-thirty. Sony. That’s eight-thirty.

Then I drove home.

I live in Mclean.”

“We,’ meaning you and members of your staff?”

“Yes.

My deputy, Captain Gonzales, and two OP-32 branch heads-Captains Covington and Small.”

“And home is at nineteen Cheshire Street, the Herrington Mews complex, is that right, sir? Off Old Dominion?”

Mcnair was letting him know that he had done some checking.

“Yes, that’s right. The traffic was pretty much done by then; it takes about forty minutes from the Pentagon to my house.”

“So you were home by nine-fifteen, nine-thirty?”

“Yes, somewhere in there. Then I changed clothes and went up to Pucinella’s. That’s a restaurant about a ten minute walk from my house.

I had dinner there and went home, where I remained for the rest of the night.”

“Did you pay with a credit card, by any chance?”

Sherman paused. “I think I used cash. Oh, I see-if I’d used a card, you could verify that I was there, and at what time. Sorry. But I’m a regular there. They’d probably remember. Now, my turn. Why do you ask?”

Mcnair frowned but then said, “Sir, as I told Admiral Carpenter yesterday, we have no probable cause to suspect foul play here, although there are some minor forensic ambiguities. It’s just that the only lead to other persons we turned up in our preliminary work was that Ms. Walsh had a life-insurance policy nan-thing you as beneficiary. Did you know about that policy, sir?”

Sherman shook his head. “Not until Admiral Carpenter told me about it yesterday. Elizabeth and I didn’t talk much about personal business affairs. No, the insurance policy is news to me.”

The detective looked straight at him. “The death benefit is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Admiral.”

Revelation of the actual amount cast a hush over the room. Sherman’s eyebrows went up, but then he said, “I’d trade it back for Elizabeth.”

Good answer, Karen thought. And yet, despite his quick reply’, even Sherman appeared to be surprised by the sum of a quarter of a million dollars. “I knew nothing about this,” he said. “I wonder-“

“Yes, sir?” Mcnair had his notebook open and pen poised.

“Detective, Elizabeth Walsh and I had an intimate personal relationship for a little under three years. That relationship ended on my initiative-when it became evident to Me! that she wanted to get married.” He stared down at the table for a moment. “For reasons I won’t go into, I was not prepared to remarry, so I began to put the brakes on.

I’d been married before. It turned out badly. I had told her from the start that I did not want to remarry-ever. Elizabeth iswas, I guess is the appropriate word now-a lovely woman.

She would have made a very fine wife for someone.” He paused again for a moment, his lips pressed together, while he looked down at the table.

Then he continued.

“We parted amicably, and we even saw each other socially from time to time. I think both of us kind of hated just to let go. I was about to speculate that maybe she’d had this policy from her previous marriage, then changed the beneficiary while we still had prospects, and simply forgot to do something about it. I don’t know. I can’t offer any other explanation.”

“Yes, sir,” Mcnair said. “To your knowledge, was she seeing anyone else after the two of you broke up?”

“Not to my knowledge, but then, I wouldn’t necessarily know. I didn’t ask. Besides, I’d just been promoted, and the pace of my work here has increased considerably.”

“And when did you last see Ms. Walsh, sir?”

“About three weeks ago. We went to a benefit dinner for the Wolftrap Farms concert center. But other than that, I don’t know anything about her current social life. Mrs. Klein would probably know more about that.”

“And your own personal and social life, sir?”

“I took my Opnav division in the middle of the budgeting cycle. I don’t have a personal social life at the moment.”

Karen saw a wry took pass over Admiral Carpenter’s face at this answer.

Mcnair studied his notebook, as if searching for more questions.

Carpenter finally spoke. “Detective, have we covered the ground here?”

Mcnair nodded. “Yes, sir, Admiral, I think we have.

Again, I appreciate your cooperation, Admiral Carpenter, Admiral Sherman. If -we have anything else, we’ll be in touch. But right now, I think I’ve got what I need.”

“Well, then, everyone,” Carpenter said, standing up. “We’re adjourned.

Lieutenant Benning will escort you back to the South Parking entrance.

Admiral Sherman, I appreciate your assistance this morning.”

Everyone stood. Karen did not know whether she and von Rensel should leave or not, but Carpenter gave them a sign indicating they should stay. Sherman remained standing by the conference table as Carpenter walked over to his desk.

“Sounds to me like that’s all back in its box,” Carpenter said.

“Commander Lawrence, any observations?”

Karen consulted her own notebook for a moment, aware that Sherman was looking at her. “Nothing of significance, Admiral,” she said finally.

“Except that I’m not convinced that they’re finished with this.”

Carpenter paused in the act of slipping his jacket over the back of his chair. “You think it’s not over, Karen?”

“Her death is ambiguous, Admiral,” she said. “On the other hand, if they had some clear evidence of a homicide, we wouldn’t have been meeting here in this office.”

Carpenter nodded thoughtfully, then glanced over at von Rensel.

“Comments?, he said. But vbo his head. Carpenter turned back to Sherman’you okay with this?” he asked. “What do they call you, anyway?

Bill?” . “Actually, Admiral, it’s Tag. Short for my middle name, Taggart. I used it at the Academy to make sure all the Southern upperclassmen knew it wasn’t William Tecumseh Sherman.”

Carpenter smiled briefly. “Damn straight,” he said. But then his face sobered. “Look, I know this has been unpleasant, if not a shock. A lady friend dead. A homicide cop nosing around before you’ve even had a chance to absorb the news. I’d recommend you attend to your personal affairs and let us handle this. In that regard, I’ll ask Commander Lawrence here to pull the string in a few days, make sure there aren’t any loose ends. If nothing else, that will put them on notice that Navy JAG is between you and them.

That okay with you? Or do you have a personal attorney you’d rather consult?”

“No, sir, I don’t. Not for something like this. I’d appreciate any help I can get. I do have one question.”

“Yes?”

“Has the CNO been informed of this matter?”

Carpenter shook his head emphatically. “No, no. I didn’t feel that was appropriate at all. He would just have asked me for the facts on the case, and of course we have no facts, to speak of anyway. Once we’re sure it’s all cleared up, I think the less said the better, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I appreciate your discretion.”

“Very well, Tag,” the admiral said, pointedly eyeing his in-basket.

“Thanks again for helping out with this.”

Sherman nodded and left. Karen gathered up her notebook.

“Just a moment, please,” the admiral murmured after the door closed. He took a red pen to something in the folder, drew several lines on the paper, and then tossed it into his out basket before looking up.

“Mr. von Rensel, given a two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollar prize, and acknowledging that you’re coming out of the gate cold, what’s your take on this?” he asked.

“I believe the cops think it is a homicide,” von Rensel replied. Karen was surprised at the clarity and precision of his diction, which hinted at a level of education beyond that of most of the NIS people she had met. “Before this meeting, Mcnair wasn’t sure about how to approach Sherman.

Now he’ll check his alibi. If it holds up, then they’ll have to regroup.

That insurance money is a natural pointer.”

Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. “And Karen, what’s your take on Admiral Sherman?”

Karen was expecting to be asked to comment on what von Rensel had just said. Carpenter’s question had surprised her: Admirals did not normally ask commanders for their opinions about other admirals.

“Based on first impressions,” she replied, “I don’t think Admiral Sherman killed his girlfriend. Assuming she was killed at all, that is.”

She glanced over at von Rensel. “I think he was sincere about trading in the money if he could get her back.”

Carpenter stared at her for a moment. “Two hundred and fifty thousand tax-free dollars. But, yeah, I think you’re right. Okay. Karen, I want you to run a very quiet probe for me. I want to know what else the cops found in the house that’s making them itchy, and I want to know something about William Taggart Sherman. See, contrary to what I told the young admiral, I did tell the’CNO about this. The CNO has one cardinal rule about possible scandals He doesn’t like surprise “s.

Really doesn’t like surprises. ‘

So, yes, I let the CNO know. He told me to forget about it.”

“Forget about it?” Karen was surprised. “Yes. Forget about it. As long as I could assure myself that there was absolutely nothing to it.”

“In other words,,, von Rensel said, “check it out.”

Carpenter grinned. “Exactly. Although, of course, he neven did say that, did he? Now, Karen, I take it you’re not exactly overwhelmed with work down there in the IR Division these days, right?”

Ah, here it comes; she thought. “As the admiral is aware, I’ve put my papers in,” she replied sweetly.

“Right. So I am. Okay. I’ll be asking Captain Mccarty to have a word with your boss, Captain Pennington. But I want both of you to go check this thing out for me-lowkey. see Sherman, tell him that you’re going to snoop around to see what the cops are doing. Then go see the cops and tell them you’re going to check out the dashing young admiral. Mr. von Rensel here can help you with any outside resources, such as the NIS or any other law-enforcement agencies if you need them.”

“In other words, we play both sides against the middle,” von Rensel said.

Carpenter gave him a speculative look. “You could say that.

“But we report only to you,” Karen said.

“Exactly.”

Karen had one more question. “So, I am not in any way representing Admiral Sherman?”

“Representing? Whatever gave you that idea, Commander? You work for only one admiral at a time in this business.” And then, with a little wave, he dismissed them.

Karen took von Rensel to see Captain Pennington. Pennington was in his cubicle, but they had to wait for a few minutes until he got off the phone. She had expected a flurry of questions from von Rensel on the walk back to the IR offices, but he had said nothing at all. She was amused at how the flow of people in the corridor parted around him like skiers avoiding a tree.

“Goddamned people up in OSD,” Pennington complained as he hung up the phone. “They want another meeting on the Tailhook report. Lord, I’m getting tired of that word. Okay, Karen, what did the great man want this time?”

Karen slipped into a chair and crossed her legs. Von Rensel remained standing, literally filling the doorway. “Something a little different,” she said. “A private matter involving a flag officer on the Opnav staff.

Admiral Carpenter wants me to do some off-line work.”

“Ah. Another one of his little secret missions. Mr. von Rensel, you’re probably used to this. By the way, mind if I use a first name?”

“It’s Wolfgang von Rensel,” the big man said. “In high school, they called me Train. It was a football nickname.”

“Train,” Pennington said, savoring the image with a grin.

“Perfect. Train it is. Anyhow, this JAG plays a lot of things pretty close to his vest-. Likes to work the back channels, set things up before he makes any significant moves, especially when it concerns flag officers. Your predecessor here was unfortunately not very adept at that kind of work.”

“Having pancreatic cancer might have had something to do with that,” von Rensel observed.

“Yes, indeed, and we’re sorry that he passed away. But Warren Beasely was not the kind of guy this JAG had in mind for the liaison job. I’m told that you, on the other hand, are not unused to working off-line?”

Train smiled noncommittally. “I think Admiral Carpenter and I reached an understanding during my reporting-aboard call, Captain,” he replied. “I hope to make myself useful.

I was pleased to find that he seems to know exactly what he wants’from people.”

“Oh, yes, he certainly does that. You may not be aware that he’s short-listed for a judgeship on the Court of Military Appeals. So he’s being especially careful these days, which is probably why he’s having Karen look into whatever this is all about.”

“Oh, supposedly Captain Mccarty will be in touch with you about all this,” Karen said.

Pennington sat back. “Ah, the chain of command. Better late than never, I suppose. Okay. Mr. von Rensel, since you’re replacing Beasely, you might as well take over his cube. The yeoman will set you up.” Thank you, Captain,” von Rensel said. He nodded at Karen and backed out of the captain’s office, being careful not to knock any walls down. Karen remained behind.

“So,” Pennington continued. “In the meantime , you will be acting on private instructions. As before.”

“Yes, sir,” Karen said. She had done one other investigatory assignment for Admiral Carpenter, involving a seale had sent her after the Tailhook scandal. She had information on three individuals, but she had never learned how that information had been used or what, if anything, had happened to them, or why he wanted it in the first place.

That also was vintage Carpenter.

“And no shipping-over lectures?” Pennington asked gently.

She smiled. “Not this time. Although I suspect he has some high hopes that this kind of assignment might change my mind about leaving.”

“I can’t imagine the admiral being so devious,” Pennington said with a straight face, and then they both laughed.

“I’m not going away mad, Captain,” she reminded him. “I’m just going away. The Navy’s been terrific. Oh, okay, not always terrific, but certainly far more interesting than doing corporate law or political flack work here in D.C. It’s just that with Frank gone, the fun’s gone out of it. I’m forty four years old, no kids, no family to speak of.

Going on with the career just seemed … pointless.”

Pennington nodded sympathetically. “The only observation I can offer is that your Navy work could at least fill the void for a while.” He paused to let her consider that, but she said nothing. “Qkay. Get on with whatever he’s got you doing this time. And I’ll pretend to be appropriately surprised when Mccarty calls down.”

She gave him her best smile. “Thanks, Captain.”

She checked her voice mail when she got back to her cubicle, but there were no messages. Frank had often called her during the day, usually leaving a mildly obscene message or a two-line joke on her voice mail.

And yet, try as she might, she could not quite sustain a perfect halo of love and remembrance around her late husband because of that nagging detail that nobody wanted to talk about: why Frank had been at that hotel in the first place. The question that would not go away. And the roaring silence that followed whenever she asked the question, along with the inescapable conclusion that perhaps her whole marriage to that congenial, successful, and ostensibly loving man had been a sham.

She sighed and placed a call to Sherman’s office. She was put on hold.

Then there was a click. “Admiral Sherman.”

“Admiral, thank you for taking a moment. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be calling the Fairfax County Police this afternoon to see ‘what I can find out about their investigation. Basically, my tasking is to find out if they are going to continue with it or declare victory and go home.”

“That sounds reasonable,. Commander,” he said. “It wasn’t exactly clear after the meeting what they were going to do. ” t

“No, sir, it wasn’t.

Anyway, I’m going to be in contact with them, low-level sort of thing.

They may choose, of course, not to give me the time of day.”

“That would tell you something, wouldn’t it?” He was silent for a moment. “Look,” he said. “I’m going over to her house this evening.”

There was another short silence on the line. “To Elizabeth’s house,” he continued. “Elizabeth Walsh. I’ve got this need to see where it happened-her accident. I don’t know if that makes any sense-“

“Yes, actually, I do understand, Admiral,” she interrupted. “Frank, my husband, had a heart attack in a hotel lobby.” She heard a sharp intake of breath, although Sherman said nothing. “I got to him in the hospital, but he never … surfaced, as they put it. A week later, I found myself standing in that hotel lobby. There was nothing to see, of course, but I felt that need just to, well, go there.”

“Yes, exactly. I can’t explain it, either,” he said. There was a thread of relief in his voice. “Elizabeth and I weren’t married, of course, but we were pretty close. I’m having trouble with this notion that she just fell down the stairs.

Anyway, if you’re going to try to get some info on what happened, you might want to see the uh, scene, as it were.”

She tried to think if there was any reason not to go there.

Then she agreed.

“Okay,” he said. He gave her the address. “That’s in Reston. Do you live in northern Virginia?”

“Yes, sir. Great Falls.”

“Oh. Okay. I live in Mclean.” He gave I her directions, then told her he still had a key.

That was interesting, she thought. She wondered if the police knew that.

“I can find it,” she said. What time will you be there?”

“I’m supposed to be at Mrs. Klein’s house-she’s next door, on the left, as you face it-at seven this evening. Let me give you her phone number.” she copied it down. “Will Mrs. Klein be going into the house with you, Admiral?” she asked.

“She might, although I haven’t asked her. But I thought that would be a good idea. Or maybe You can, I don’t know.

But I’m just thinking I shouldn’t be in there by myself just now.”

“Yes, sir, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

There was another moment of silence. “Right. Okay, I’ll see you there.

I’ll be in civvies, by the way.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see you there.”, She hung up, wondering if she should tell von Renset about this. She looked out of her cubicle, but he wasn’t in sight. She asked the yeoman where Mr. von Rensel had gone.

“Anywhere he wants,” the yeoman said with a grin.

“Actually, into the checkin pipe, Commander. Building pass, parking pass, Opnav security briefing, then Crystal City for the other stuff.

Probably be back tomorrow-if he’s lucky.”

Okay, so much for that, she thought, wheeling her chair back into her cubicle. We’ll just have to go meet the admiral on our own.

Train von Rensel waited patiently in the line for parking passes down on the Pentagon concourse. After nearly twenty-five years in the federal and military bureaucracy, he was resigned to the all-day routine of checking into a new organization. As the line shuffled forward, he reviewed his first meeting with Admiral Carpenter. The old man had pulled no punches about his disappointment with Train’s predecessor.

Only the onset of a terminal disease had prevented Beasely from getting fired outright back to NIS.

Train had been just as direct: NIS had sent Beasely in the first place because, at the time, NIS had been at war with Opnav, as the Navy’s headquarters staff was known. Carpenter had then shared his perspectives on the new political situation.

“Your boss and I have made a deal. NIS and Opnav need to bury the hatchet somewhere besides between our respective shoulder blades. In effect, we’ve signed a peace treatyshared computer network and database systems, much closer coordination between their investigations and our field attorneys. Your assignment is part of this. Your boss promised me a player. You’ll work directly for me. You’ll be stashed in Investigations Review, which is about as bland as we get here in JAG.

Does that square with what you’ve been told?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been detailed to be your freelancer, with complete access to the top people in NIS.”

“And I see you’ve worked in Naval Intelligence, with a secondment to the FBI. So I can presume you know your way around town?”

“Reasonably well, Admiral. Always learning new and interesting things, though.”

Carpenter had smiled at that response. Any Washington old hand who thought he had seen it all was, by definition, not yet an old hand. This business ‘with the homicide cop was another matter. Commander Lawrence was right: That cop didn’t really appear to want the admiral for the death of Elizabeth Walsh; otherwise, the meeting would have been in a much smaller room with much brighter lights. And yet they obviously felt that the Walsh woman had met with more than just an accident. And that homicide cop was interesting: not what Train would have expected from a county police force, even in the upscale northern Virginia area. He would have pegged Mcnair for an FBI guy, or maybe even Treasury.

He looked at his watch. This was Tuesday. Whole thing would probably blow over by the end of the week, which is when he might, if he was lucky, also be done with admin checkin. And he had thought NIS admin was bad Karen arrived early in Reston, having misjudged the traffic, and parked across the street to wait. The town houses were tastefully done, with sculpted front gardens and mature trees interspersed with faux gaslights. Sitting alone in, the car, of depression watching commuting husbands and wives driving by on their way home, she felt the familiar wave , approaching.

Karen had been born and raised in the Washington, D C., area, moving around the city and its suburbs as her parents’ careers prospered. Her mother had been a special-education teacher who worked in both the private and Oublic school systems. Her father, now drifting peacefully in a Chevy Chase nursing home, had been an attorney with the Federal Power Commission for thirty years, which is how Karen had come to meet J. Franklin Lawrence.

Marriage to Frank had come much later in life than she had ever planned, after she had already spent ten years in the Navy’s JAG corps. She had been thirty-four, Frank ten years older. He, had been divorced for three years ac when they met at a weekend barbecue at her parents’ place in Chevy Chase. Frank had been interesting, funny, wealthy, and desperately lonely, although it had taken some time for him to reveal that. She had just been selected for lieutenant commander and assigned to the Navy headquarters staff at the Pentagon for the first time. She had met several really great guys in the Navy over the years, but by the time she met Frank, she was profoundly aware of what the typical Navy marriage entailed: months of separation, perpetual money problems, and increasingly intense career pressures.

Frank the civilian had been a perfect fit. Her only real disappointment was not having had children, but they had both agreed from the outset that neither their careers nor their respective ages would be very suitable for child rearing. She had been old enough to keep her own counsel on this subject, and she had to admit that their well-to-do lifestyle had assuaged whatever sense of loss she had experienced along the way. Now that Frank was gone, she reluctantly acknowledged an almost guilty sense of relief that she was not facing the prospect of raising teenagers without a father.

She looked at her watch. It read 6:45. She felt somewhat conspicuous sitting alone in her car on a residential street at twilight, flanked by a row of town houses on either side.

She really missed the after-work routine, and she realized how much she had been just going through the motions over this past year. She looked over at the single dark town house, one in from the corner, and thought about Elizabeth Walsh, coming home of a Friday evening, settling into her own routine, resigned perhaps to -living alone but probably missing the dashing, young Admiral Sherman, and then falling down the damn stairs and breaking her neck. What a way to end the week, she thought irreverently. Damn, I’ve been in Washington too long.

She wondered about the new guy from NIS, von Rensel.

Bet he could run an effective interrogation, she mused. All he would have to do would be to stand up and stretch a couple of times and I’d sing like a bird. She checked her watch again. She wasn’t quite sure if von Rensel was supposed to be her partner in this matter or just a backstop. She would have to find out how well he knew his way around town and the Pentagon. Mccarty had mentioned something about his having worked in the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Von Rensel was completely different from Sherman, who was a tall, dark, and handsome type, if ever she had seen one-the picture of a Navy success story. Right. Here he was, in his first year as a flag officer and involved, however tangentially, in a Fairfax County homicide investigation.

Congratulations of! that fine promotion, Admiral, sir; may we have a few minutes of your time?

She looked at, her watch again. Eight more minutes. He would probably drive up at the stroke of seven. She wondered again about Elizabeth Walsh, what she had looked like. And why there was not even a mention of a family in the admiral’s biography. What had he said at the meeting with the police-that he had told her from the start that he did not want to get married? No, he had said “remarry.”

“I did not want to remarry, ever.” So he had been married once. She wondered about all that vehemence. A flare of headlights in her mirror announced his arrival, and she got out of her car.

“Commander,” he said formally.

“Admiral Sherman,” she replied, nodding. She had almost saluted. He locked his car and they went across the street. As they approached the corner town house, its front door opened and a short elderly lady with bright white hair came out and down the stairs. She met Sherman at the sidewalk.

“Tag,” she said emotionally. They embraced for a MOMENT, then stepped apart so that Sherman could make introductions. Mrs. Klein looked over at Karen and nodded a greeting; then she looked back at Sherman with an unspoken question on her lips.

“Commander Lawrence is a Navy lawyer,” he explained.

“She is going to try to find out what the police have found out. I want to go into Elizabeth’s house. I still have a key.

When we’re done, I’d like to come back and talk to youunless you want to come with us?”

“No, Tag,” Mrs. Klein said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go in there anymore-The police have been there.

They just took down all that awful yellow tape this morning.

This is just so terrible. I can’t believe it happened. I miss her so much.”

“I know, Dottie. I do, too. We won’t be, long. I just had to come see.

I’m having a hard time accepting all this.”

Mrs. Klein kept shaking her head from side to side. She fished a handkerchief out of her sleeve. “I just don’t understand. Why her? She was so young. And such a good person. It doesn’t make any sense. But you go ahead. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Thanks, Dottie.”

Mrs. Klein walked back up her front steps and went inside. Sherman produced the key to the adjacent town house and went up and unlocked the front door. The mailbox was stuffed with what looked like mostly junk mail, -with m ore on the foyer floor, and he gathered it up before stepping inside. Karen followed him in. He turned on the light in the front hall. The air was slightly musty, with a faint hint of perfume.

Karen looked around while he turned on some more lights. Fairly standard town house layouq carpeted stairs on the left going up to the second floor. A hallway straight ahead, leading back to the kitchen, and a spacious living room to the right. She noticed that the living room was devoid of the clutter of everyday life, which meant that, like many city commuters who lived alone, Elizabeth Walsh had Orobably lived in her kitchen. She followed him back through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen, which had a breakfast nook overlooking a walled garden in back. He was walking around the kitchen, turning on every light. She had been right: The kitchen table was stacked with mail and magazines, a phone, and Day-Timer book; there was a small and very cluttered desk and a television.

“It even feels empty,” he said, sweeping his eyes around the room. Karen felt like an interloper. “Yes, it does,” she said. “I can wait in the living room, if you’d like, Admiral.”

No,” he answered quickly. “No. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. I guess I don’t really believe it yet.” He looked at a door next to the refrigerator. “That goes downstairs.”

Karen didn’t know what to say to that. After a minute of looking around the kitchen again, he went over to the door, opened it, and flipped on the light.

“What’s down there?” Karen asked, already pretty much knowing the answer.

“Finished basement: family room, fireplace, wet bar.

Storage rooms, utility room.”

“And the laundry?”

He turned to look at her with a peculiar expression on his face. “Well, no, not really. I mean, yes, there’s a laundry room down there. But she didn’t use it. Couldn’t see the sense of hauling clothes up and down two flights of stairs, so she had one of those over/under was I her-dryer units put in upstairs about a year after her divorce.”

She frowned, remembering his reaction when the policeman had mentioned laundry. “So why was she carrying a laundry basket full of clothes?”

“Yes,” he replied, frowning. “Why indeed?”

He turnedaway and started down the stairs, with Karen following reluctantly behind him, unsure of what they would see down there. He flipped on a second light switch at the top of the stairwell, which turned on recessed overhead lights downstairs. He stopped halfway down when he saw the chalk outline of a human figure on the carpet below, just beyond the landing. No mistaking what that was, she thought as they resumed their way down the stairs. Karen noticed that the stairs were steep but fully carpeted, with handrails on either side. There was a long green scrape mark on the left side wall about halfway down, and a dent in the wallboard that had been circled in chalk.

The basement smelled faintly of chemicals, and she saw traces of what she’assumed was fingerprint powder here and there around the room. While Karen waited on the next to the last step, the admiral stepped around the chalk outlin e at the bottom of the stairs. He appeared to be trying not to look at it. The outline did not appear Karen to be to . large enough h to contain a human. But she remembered how Frank had looked in the CCU, his sleek lobbyist figure shrunken into the metal bed, nested among all those ominous tubes and hoses, as if to make himself small for the dangerous journey that was coming. There was an empty green plastic laundry basket parked on one end of the couch. Next to the basket, there was a pile of clothes in a tagged clear plastic bag. A second, smaller plastic bag held a pair of slippers.

Sherman walked over to the couch and examined the bags.

“This really doesn’t make a lot of sense,” he said finally.

“Are those her slippers?” Karen asked, pointing to the second bag.

Tag looked at the other bag, then looked harder. Then he swore.

“What?” Karen asked.

She hated those slippers. She never wore those slip lxrs. I I

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, damn it. I bought them for her. Christmas present, two years ago.

They were too big, wrong style, wrong all the way around.

Even the soles were too slippery for the carpet in this house. She made a joke out of it to protect my feelings, but it was one of things, before we really knew each other, just a dumb present. But the thing is, she never wore them. If they found her wearing those slippers, something’s way out of whack with this picture.”

Karen followed the admiral out of the house ten minutes later. She had decided to wait in her car while the admiral went in to talk to Mrs.

Klein. She was disturbed by what he had said in the basement and was beginning to wonder about what was going on. He had shaken off his funk after finding the slippers and gone through the house like a man possessed, leaving her standing in hallways while he went through each room on all three floors, turning on every light in the house. He didn’t say anything the whole time, but she could hear him muttering occasionally under his breath, He was obviously thinking what she was thinking, and what the detective was probably thinking: The “accident” might have been staged. Except the detective would certainly not know about the slippers. The admiral would have to tell them about that. So what had twitched their antennae? The fall itselp Those stairs were steep, although well lighted, carpeted, and with railings on both sides.

One could certainly trip or stumble, even with an armful of laundry. But she should have been able to grab something on the way down’ Karen also wondered about the admiral’s distracted look when he had arrived this evening. He looked far less confident and commanding than he had seemed in the conference room this morning. It was as if he had come here tonight preoccupied with something over and above the weight of this somber visit. But it probably was just the emotional stress of returning to the place where his loverhis ex-‘lover, she reminded herself-had died. She could re-. late: The hotel lobby where Frank had been stricken was not a place she would ever go again.

He came out of Mrs. Klein’s town house after ten minutes, walked over to his car, and stood next to the driver’s window, putting both hands -on top of the car. She got out and walked back to his car. She waited while he gathered his thoughts’ “Now I don’t know what to do,” he said finally.

“Mcnair apparently picked up on the bit about the laundry.

And Dottie says she was wearing those slippers, or that they were down there at the foot of the stairs. I guess there’s probably a logical explanation for all that, but I can’t put it together. Do you suppose these are the forensic ambiguities Mcnair was talking about?”

Karen shook her head. “They couldn’t know about the slippers. The laundry, maybe.”

“Right.-But laundry isn’t really forensics. And my fingerprints will be all over that house.”

“Which is perfectly logical, given your past association with Ms. “Yeah.

But there must be something else.”

She decided this would be a good time to remind him.

“Sir, as I told you, Admiral Carpenter has asked that I follow up on their investigation. Perhaps I can find out what the rest of those forensic ambiguities are.”

“And tell them about the slippers?” he asked, looking sideways at her.

“Well, yes, sir, I think we should. Oh, you think they’ll attach significance to the fact that you came here tonight?”

“They just might.”

She shook her head. From her perspective, it was a perfectly normal thing for an ex-lover to do. “I disagree, sir,” she said. “But I do think they ought to hear about the slippers from you, or from you via me. If they think this is a murder, they’ll be back to see Mrs. Klein anyway.”

“And find out I was here, and maybe what we talked about.

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “You’re right. See what you can find out tomorrow, and please keep me informed. Now I’m going home. I’ve had a long day with a depressing ending. No offense intended, Commander.”

She tried to smile, but there was that bleak look in his face again.

Still waters, she thought. Be careful. You know nothing about this man.

But then he gave her a sudden, almost intuitive look that said, I know what you’re thinking, and then he did smile. It transformed his face, revealing an unexpected charm. “Thanks for coming tonight, Commander. I mean that. Call me when you have something.”

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

She smiled to herself as she started up her car. “Call me when you have something,” he’d said. It was almost amusing, how he just assumed she was working for him. Admirals did that, she had noticed: They automatically assumed that everyone in the room was acting in support of the Great . Man at the head of the table. She would call the police first thing in the morning and see if she could arrange another meeting with Mcnair. As she drove away, she glanced back at the Walsh house, and she realized Sherman had left all the lights on. The windows blazed out at the’ dark street as if to defy the lingering presence of death inside.

WEDNESDAY At 10: 15 on Wednesday morning, Karen Lawrence met with Detective Mcnair in Fairfax. He offered her coffee, but she declined; they sat down in his office. “So, Commander Lawrence. What can we do for you?”

“As I said when I called, Detective, I’m working for Admiral Carpenter.

He asked me to act as liaison between you and your efforts to solve the Walsh, um, situation and Navy headquarters.”

Mcnair kept a neutral expression on his face. “And the reason for establishing this liaison, Commander?”

Karen looked right at him. “To be perfectly frank, Detective, I think Admiral Carpenter wants to know right away if Admiral Sherman becomes a suspect in a murder case.”

“I see,” Mcnair said with the hint of a smile now. “Forgive me, when someone says they’re being Perfectly frank, I usually expect quite the opposite. So you are not working for Admiral Sherman, then?”

“No. I work for the JAG, Admiral Carpenter.” ‘5Tell me, that insignia on your sleeves means you’re a lawyer, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, if this Admiral Sherman tells you something in confidence, is that privileged information? You know, lawyer client privilege and all that?”

No. I’m not representing Admiral Sherman in the lawyer-client sense. I’m not operating ‘of counsel.’ I’m operating as a staff officer on the Navy headquarters staff.” Okay,” Mcnair said. “When you called this morning went in to see Lieutenant Bettino. He’s the boss of the Homicide Section. I explained about this liaison proposition, and he said he could understand the politics of it. But he needed to know what you were. If you were Sherman’s lawyer, then we wouldn’t talk to you, of course, until we either charged him or gave it up for Lent. But, secondly, he didn’t feel we needed a whole lot of help with this case as things stand.

“Are you saying you would prefer there not be a parallel Navy investigation?”

“Yes I guess I am. I mean, of course the Navy can run any, kind of investigation it wants on any of its personnel.

You’ve got jurisdiction over naval personnel. But we’d prefer that any such investigation or related ‘activities not interfere with anything we might have going down in our jurisdiction.”

Karen understood the implied warning immediately and moved to put his concerns to rest. “First, we wouldn’t think of interfering with your investigation, Detective. And, second, since Ms. Walsh died in Fairfax County and not aboard a naval installation, our position is that you have exclusive jurisdiction. Besides, we’re not conducting an investigation.

I’m here to-“

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted, sitting back in his chair.

“To establish liaison. So, let’s stop beating around the bushes here.

You know we’re not going to reveal every little detail of what we’re working here with this case. But what I hear you saying is that you’d like a little heads-up, we decide to make Sherman for the perpetrator.

Is that about it?”

Karen decided this was the time to show him that they wanted a little more than that. “Not exactly,” she said. “We might be more useful than that. Let me fill you in on something. She told him about going to Elizabeth’s town house the night before with Admiral Sherman. He nodded slowly keeping his face a blank while she talked, taking it all in but mask. He was indeed a pro, Karen thought, but she did get a reaction when she told him about the slippers. He reached for his notebook and wrotd something down. He appeared to think for a moment when she was finished. “Lemme ask you,” he said. “Did Sherman authorize you to tell us this?”

““Authorize’? Wrong word. I told him that the police ought to know about this, and he agreed.”

“Why did you go with Sherman last night?” he asked.

“He asked me to. Personally, I think he thought it would look better if he had someone with him. There were no indications that the house Was a crime scene when we got there. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Did he appear to key on anything else when he went through the place?”

Karen shook her head. “No. He went through the entire house, but I don’t think he was looking for anything specific. He appeared to be, I don’t know, trying to exorcise the place in a way. He turned on all the lights went into all the rooms. I had the impression that he suspects something’s not right with the picture, but he also realizes that if he yells murder, he’s the only guy you’re looking at. I think the man feels he’s in a box.”

Mcnair thought about that for a moment. Then he looked back up at Karen.

“Do you think he’s clean?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” Karen replied immediately. “Absent any physical evidence to the contrary. Based on what you said about the time of death-early evening, Friday-he was either in the Pentagon or at that restaurant. Did that check out, by the way?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if gauging whether or not he should answer the question she had just casually slipped in.

“The restaurant, yes,” he said grudgingly. “Like he said, he’s a regular. They remembered him being there. We haven’t talked to his office yet.”

Perhaps I can help with that.” She handed over one of her cards, with Sherman’s deputy’s name and number written on the back. He slipped the card into a pocket in-his notebook and then sat back, looking at her again, a speculative expression on his face. Karen waited. Mcnair appeared to be one of those cops who could be perfectly polite, even solicitous in his approach to people, but who still exuded the stoniness born of dealing with murder and murderers. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Let me try this again, see if I get it right this time. You will stay close to this Sherman guy while we’re working this thing. You’ll pass along to us any information of interest that develops. In return, we will keep you informed as to how our investigation’s shaping up. You want advance notice if we decide to move against Sherman, but you also want us to get off him just as soon as we feel there’s no case to be made. How’s that?”

Karen gave him her brightest smile. “Admiral Carpenter has told me to ensure that your investigation is fully facilitated by the Navy, one way or the other.”

He nodded again. Karen almost thought he was going to offer his hand so they could shake on it, but he didn’t. He surprised her with another question instead.

“Tell me something, Commander. Does this guy Sherman think you’re on his side on this?”

Karen felt the slightest tinge of a flush start around her throat.

“Admiral Sherman wants to clear this up as quickly as we do, Detective,” she replied.

He nodded again, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Damn,” he said. “And I thought we cops were the masters of evasion.”

Karen struggled to maintain her composure as he continued to stare at her. He had understood the setup only too well. Then he got up, signifying they were done. He handed her one of his own cards. She realized that he was almost an inch shorter than she was, but bigger than she remembered. Indeterminate age, maybe late thirties. Metallic gray eyes. An iciness back in there. A basically hard face under all that professional courtesy.

“We’ll be in touch, Commander,” he was saying. “Anything comes up you think is useful, there’s the number.”

“Thank you, Detective,” she said. “I guess I do have one more question: As things stand now, do you think Admiral Sherman murdered his exgirlfriend?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hard to tell just now, Commander. I’m not sure what the slippers signify, if anything. But we’ll sure let you know if that’s what we conclude. “

“Now who’s the master of evasion?” she said, but he only smiled politely and escorted her back out to the reception area.

Karen tried to shrug off the Judas feeling as she drove back into town.

Sherman was a flag officer. He didn’t get to be a flag officer without knowing how the system worked. He had to suspect at least that Carpenter would be working his agenda, which would not necessarily parallel Sherown man’s best interests. As the JAG, Carpenter would have his eye on protecting the Navy. And she was not, in fact, his lawyer. So legally speaking, there were no confidentiality aspects to their conversations.

So there really wasn’t a problem here, right? Right. So why did she feel she was betraying the man?

She mentally reevaluated her tasking: gain Sherman’s confidence, tell him that she had a line into the cops and that she would alert him to anything shaking from those quarters. In return, he would tell her-what, if anything? Well, like going to Elizabeth Walsh’s house last night, where the slipper business had come up. She sighed as she drove down Route 50 toward the Beltway.

Time for a workout. She would call Sherman’s office from the athletic club to see when he had a hole in his schedule after lunch. Then the hard part: She would have to back-brief Carpenter and talk to von Renselshe hadn’t spoken to him yet today.

Ten minutes after one o’clock, Karen entered the OP-32 outer office, with a salad plate in hand. The yeoman got up and knocked on Sherman’s inner office door, stuck his head in, and then held the door open for her. Sherman was finishing a sandwich at a small conference table. His office was similar to Admiral Carpenter’s but smaller and with less prestigious furniture. He did not get up, just waved her over to the table.

“So, how did it go out there with the Polizei?”

She took a moment to summon her thoughts while she unwrapped her plastic fork and opened a carton of milk. She took a bite of salad.

“Well,” she said, “it was pretty short. I told him about your visit to Ms. Walsh’s house, and the slippers-that she would not have been wearing those slippers.”

“And?”

“Mcnair didn’t really react one way or the other, but he did make a note of it.”

“Did he seem to care that I had gone there?”

“No, sir. They’re apparently not treating her house as a crime scene. In a way, it’s kind of strange what they’re doing—or not doing, I mean.

The slippers, the laundry, the basket: All of that would have been held in a lab somewhere if this was a homicide investigation. And their would have been police seals on the house. Frankly, I don’t think there’s anything going on. Or if there is, Mcnair didn’t reveal it.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “Did you get any hint of what those forensic ambiguities were?”

. “No, sir. But I’m almost beginning to think that that term is a euphemism for somebody’s hunch.”

He nodded thoughtfully and finished his sandwich. Crumpling up the’paper plate, he leaned back in his chair. “Do they understand that I’m a little reluctant to be Freddy Forthcoming as long as they’re acting as if I’m possibly a suspect of some kind?”

“Yes, sir. But, Admiral, I don’t think you are a real suspect.

“Then why won’t they just say so? The longer they keep this up, the bigger my political problem in Opnav becomes.”

“Cops don’t work that way, Admiral. They don’t tell outsiders anything they don’t have to. Besides, the converse is true: If you were a viable suspect, they would be acting altogether differently.”

H’ nodded again and looked away for a moment, e as if making a decision.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

“But it has to remain in confidence for now, vis-A-vis the cops at least. Are you okay with that?”

She thought fast. Here it was: the confidentiality issue.

From the cops, he’d said. Did that mean from Carpenter, too? She stalled for time by miming that her mouth was full.

“Admiral,” she said finally, “if you’re about to tell me you’re an ax murderer, then, no, that’s not going to be possible.” She thought about qualifying that, but she said nothing more. Somewhere along the line, she was going to have to face this problem. But he did not seem perturbed by her answer.

“No, nothing like that. I’m a hatchet man, myself” He smiled at her then, and she felt a little less uncomfortable.

But then his expression sobered. “Something happened last night that I think bears on this whole situation. There’s a story behind it, going back more than twenty years. I’ll give you the basics, and then see what you think.”

“This bears on Elizabeth Walsh’s death?”

“Yes, I think so. And unfortunately, it may corroborate my own misgivings about what really happened to Elizabeth. “

“I’m all ears,” she said, finishing her salad and packing up the plate and wrapper.

Sherman nodded and went to his desk. He sat down and put his palms up to his face and rubbed his cheeks.

“Last night, I went home to change before going over to Elizabeth’s.

Went through the mail. Usual stuff-bills, catalogs. And one letter.” He paused and gave her a long look between his fingers. “A threatening letter.”

“A threat? What kind of threat?”

“This relates to something that happened in Vietnamwhen I was a lieutenant. An incident that I suspect the Navy would not want to have come out, even after so many years.

So for now, I won’t disclose what it was. But because of what happened, a certain individual swore revenge-against me. And he apparently understood the old rule about revenge being a dish best savored cold.”

Karen was baffled. “And that’s what this letter was about? Revenge?”

“Yes. Back in the early seventies” this man told me he would get even with me for something we-l-had done.

But he said he would wait until I had something ‘of value to lose. And that when he came back, he would give me one warning.”

“Which is what this letter was.”

“Yes. It wasn’t signed, but it has to be him. Galantz.”

“Galantz?” Karen wished she had had her notebook out, but was unsure she should go digging for it just now.

Yes. Galantz.” He spelled the last name for her. “Hospital Corpsman First Class Marcus Galantz. Last known duty station was as a member of SEAL Team One.”

“A SEAL! Oh, dear.”

He paused and rubbed his face again, then looked across the room at the far wall, his eyes focused out about a mile into space, his lips pressed together in a flat line. She was beginning to understand his concern. A threatening letter from a SEAL. Lovely. “what did the letter say?” she asked finally. “It said,”Sherman: Time to settle up. Things of value, remember? Walsh was the first.’

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.’ “Admiral, we have to get this letter to the police. This changes everything. It also means that Elizabeth-” She stopped, seeing the sudden flash of pain on his face. “I’m sorry, Admiral.”

He nodded but did not say anything for a moment. Then he continued.

“At first, I didn’t know what to do. And I’m not sure I’m ready to bring the police into this. Or at least I wasn’t sure until I went to talk to my sea daddy, Admiral Galen Schmidt. You may remember him: He was Chief of Naval Personnel in early ‘93, when he had to quit because of heart problems. He’d been my mentor ever since my first Bureau tour back in the late seventies. He’s retired and living in Mclean now, not far from my house.”

“Yes, I remember him. Everyone said he was a prime candidate to be the next CNO.”

“Yes. Great guy. Anyhow, after getting that letter and going to Elizabeth’s house, I went to see him. I told him about Elizabeth. He knew her, liked her a lot. I also told him about the letter, and most of the story behind it.” . Which you won’t tell me, she thought. But that detective will surely want to know. “He wasn’t familiar with the incident back in Vietnam?”

“Very few people are, and probably no one still on active duty. It was all news to him. Long story short, I asked. him whether or not I ought to tell the cops about the letter because of what it implies about Elizabeth’s so-called accident. His advice was that I should tell them.”

“But?”

“But I’ve got two problems with that. First, I’m not sure I’m ready to open that can of worms, especially outside the Navy. Or even inside, for that matter. And second, I no longer have the letter.”

I ” What?’ He got up and started to pace around the office. “When I got home from Galen’s house, I found my front door unlocked-not open, but definitely unlocked. I never leave my door unlocked. In fact, it locks itself when I pull it shut. I thought about calling the cops-you know, maybe somebody in the house. But instead I went in and checked the place out. Nothing was missing. So I secured for the night, then took some paperwork upstairs. Only later, around eleven-thirty, when I was ready to go to sleep, I thought about bringing the letter in. I went back downstairs and discovered that’s what was missing-the letter, the envelope, the whole thing.”

“Wow. You think somebody, maybe even this Galantz guy, broke into your house and retrieved the letter? After he was sure you had read it?”

“That’s exactly what I think, yes.”

Karen thought about that. If that was the case, then the ad imiral had to have been under surveillance.

“This is stalking, you know,” she said, speaking the thought that had just come to her mind.

“Stalking?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes, sir. There’s a whole new area of criminal law covering exactly this kind of thing. Where there’s a persistent threat of a criminal act but nothing’s happened to the stalker’s target yet. There are federal and state laws against it.

“I’m not sure an ex-SEAL bent on revenge will be worried about breaking the law. Especially this SEAL, since he doesn’t officially exist.”

“Excuse me?” He sighed and sat down again. “I’ve already told you more than is probably wise, Commander. May I call you Karen?”

“Of course, sir.” His request was not improper. Most admirals throughout the headquarters called staff subordinates by their first names. In return, subordinates were graciously invited to address the admiral by his first name: Admiral.

“HMI Galantz was officially listed as MIA. I happen to know personally that a few years later, he was alive and back in the States. But, once again, I can’t reveal how I know’that, and I’m not sure anyone else knows that. Like I said, this is very complicated.” He had said he didn’t want this story to get loose either outside or inside the Navy.

“At the risk of sounding impertinent,” she said, “why are you concerned about this story getting out inside the Navy?”

He gave her a long, speculative look. There was some steel in that look, which made her feel she might have overstepped some bounds. But then it receded and he nodded.

He got up and started pacing around the office again. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve got to keep reminding myself you’re on my side.”

Remembering Mcnair’s comment earlier that day, she almost replied to that, but he was already going ahead.

“I’m a fresh-caught rear admiral. To everyone who’s a captain and below, flag rank is the apotheosis of the career ladder. The man with the stars. But the truth is, I’m really not even promoted yet. I’m frocked.

I can wear the uniform, I have the responsibility, and I can enjoy the title. But until someone who’s currently on the flag registry dies or retires, I have to wait to make my number. I even get paid as a captain.

People think this is a fluke of the Defense Manpower Act, with its grade quotas. But the truth is, I am, like every other new flag selectee in any of the services, very much on probation.”

“How long does this go on?”

“For nearly two years. I probably won’t be promoted to 0-7 until about the time I go off to my second assignment as a flag officer.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So the association of your name with a homicide and a long-buried, potentially embarrassing incident back in Vietnam could mean you’d be invited to retire instead of going on to that next assignment. I I He nodded. “Precisely. And, as you might imagine, there happens to be an infinite supply of eager young captains ready and willing to take my place.” He, looked at his watch. “We’re about out of time. You’ll need a while to think about this. So do 1. And now, of course, you have to figure out what to tell Admiral Carpenter.”

She felt a sudden flush on her face as she looked up at him. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Karen, look,” he said gently. “You’re the king’s eye here. We both understand that. All I’m . asking is that you keep what I’ve just told you closehold while I make up my mind what to do with it. II

“I’m not sure I -understand,” she said.

He nodded again, acknowledging her confusion. “With all the trouble the Navy’s been having lately, the last thing we need is for this particular story to come out. Which means we’re going to want very much to sol ‘ ve it inhouse.

Which also means we’re probably going to need some NIS help to find this guy. The complicating factor is that my superiors are absolutely going to panic at the prospect of another Navy scandal. So for me, this is a political problem as well as a personal problem.”

“Yes, sir, of course.” What the hell am I going to do with this? she wondered. And then she realized she might have the answer right there in her office: von Rensel.

He was pacing again. “I’ll call you. Probably tomorrow.

I have to go to Elizabeth’s memorial service tonight.,’ Once again, she detected a thread of anguish leaking through all his highly professional, controlled composure.

“Would you like some moral support, Admiral?” she asked, surprising herself.

He stopped short. “Would you? I mean, I know that’s a lot to ask.

Especially after your-“

She gave him a steady look. “Yes. I swore I would never face another funeral service after Frank’s. But they tell me that the best cure for grief is to help someone else. Where is it and when?”

He gave her the details and was thanking her again when there was a knock on the door and his deputy stuck his head in with the news that the fourteen-hundred briefing team was ready. Karen got up at once, nodded to the admiral, and walked out past the team of officers waiting to present the budget briefings. She hurried back to her office.

Karen looked for von Rensel, but he’ was signed out at lunch. She got on the phone with the Bureau of Personnel, the enlisted Records Division, and asked for an archives retrieval on one HM 1 Marcus Galantz. The clerk put her on hold in order to access a computer. when the clerk came back on, she said that there was an archived recorc there was a special hold on it.

“This individual’s a Vietnam-era MIA. You’ll have to get clearance from the Office of the Secretary of Defense, and then you can E-mail me a written request indicating the clearance authority.” She gave Karen a number in Crystal City. Karen thanked her and hung up. Should have known I couldn’t do that with just a phone call, she thought. And then she thought about getting the front office to make the calls for the records. But that would mean explaining why she wanted them, and Sherman had asked her to keep that information closehold for the moment. But maybe she should tell Carpenter; he was her boss, not Sherman.

She sat back in her desk chair. Back to that problem again: Whose side am I on?. Her tasking was to find out what the cops were up to, and then to keep Carpenter and, apparently, the Navy hierarchy from getting any nasty surprises. And a nasty surprise now appeared to be a distinct possibility. As best she could tell, Sherman was not entangled in the Walsh matter as a possible killer-that is, assuming he was telling the truth about all this.

She shook her head.’Going in circles here. Go back to your tasking. Find out what the cops are doing, what they are thinking. I did that. So go tell Carpenter. But to deal with this other matter, ‘ Sherman would have to meet with the detective again, this time without any interference from the higher-ups in JAG. She nodded to herself. If Sherman would meet with the cops, she could put off telling Carpenter anything about the stalker-at least for now. She called the number in OSD and began the clearance process.

Train von Rensel came by her cubicle as she was finishing up the E-mail request for the records, and she waved at him.

When she had transmitted the request, she went over to his cubicle. He looked like an adult sitting at one of those tiny school desks on parents’ night at the elementary school, as if afraid to move for fear of breaking something.

“All checked in?” she asked.

“Sort of I have to go back to NIS to finish some checkout stuff, if you can believe it. Over here, I’ve got one more security clearance brief, and I’m on some eternal waiting list for a locker at the athletic club, but otherwise, I think I’m real. How’d your meeting with the Fairfax cops go?’,’ “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?” she asked. He raised his eyebrows, looked around, and then nodded. He got up carefully, trying not to bump into any of the partition walls. They left the office together and went down to the nearby snack bar, where she told Train about her meeting with the police that morning and then what she had learned from Sherman. When she was finished, he stirred his coffee with a wooden stirrer and frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A SEAL?” He looked sincerely concerned.

“Yes, a SEAL,” Karen said solemnly.

Train nodded slowly. “Your admiral’s dead meat,” he I pronounced, then just looked at her. I

“That’s it?” she asked, not sure if he was joking.

Oh God. He wasn’t.

“Probably,” he replied soberly. “Tell me what he said.” again.

She gathered her thoughts for a moment. She had not expected this reaction. Then she went through the whole thing again. Von Rensel sat there like a stone Buddha, unmoving, with those intense brown eyes locked on hers in perfect concentration. When she was finished, he took a long drag on what now had. to be cold coffee.

“Well,” he said, “if some SEAL has materialized out of the mists of the Vietnam War to come after Sherman, the admiral is in serious trouble. It would help if we knew what this was all about.”

“He may yet tell me-us. But so far, he’s holding that back. He feels the Navy wouldn’t want it resurrected, what ever it was, and he definitely doesn’t want to tell the cops.”

“He may not have any choice. What actions have you taken so far?”

“I’ve summoned Galantz’s service records from the federal archives. But first, I had to request clearance from the POW/MIA task force over in OSD.”

“He’s listed as an MIA?”

“Apparently.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

Train paused before replying. “Let me get back to that,” he said finally. “How much of this have you told Carpenter?”

“‘None of it. I haven’t reported back to him yet. My plan was to tell him nothing about this SEAL business until Sherman sorts out what he wants to tell the cops. Sherman’s very worried about surfacing a scandal. Apparently, his own political exposure as a new flag is substantial. I guess the SEAL angle complicates all that, of course.”

“Sure does. I think you’re right: The best move for him is to go back to the cops.” ‘way, too.” She n

“He’s leaning that oddecl

“We’re going to have to tell them about this.”

He looked at her. “We?”

She nodded. “Well, Sherman seemed to think the cops would need Navy help finding this Galantz guy. Of course I immediately thought of NIS.”

Train nodded. “Sherman’s instincts are probably right on target. After Tailhook, the Naval Academy drug thing, a CNO committing suicide-they’d dump him in a heartbeat.”

“Yes. The way I see it, the only people who can help him with a stalker are the cops, so I’m hoping he might be willing to tell them the Vietnam story. If by doing that, he comes off the ‘suspect’ board, then maybe he can ground any possible lightning bolts from the heavies here at headquarters.’ “Fair enough,” Train said. “He didn’t et to be a boy admiral without having keen political instincts.” He looked around the snack bar, which was moderately crowded.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s go take a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes. Like down to that center court area. I like the looks of all those trees and park benches. And exterior walls with no ears.”

The center court of the Pentagon was a combination arboretum and snack bar area, offering a three-acre surprise in the midst of the fortresslike poured-concrete walls of the Pentagon building. There were green lawns, flower gardens, a few dozen varieties of large trees in spring bloom, and chairs and benches placed along the walkways. In another month, the snack bar in the center, fondly called Ground Zero by legions of Cold Warriors, would open for lunch, allowing the 27,000 inmates of the Pentagon a half an hour of fresh air and mental respite from the crumbling concrete pile. surrounding them.

There were. a few dozen people out in the court, and Karen thought the two of them, this great bear of a civilian and a Navy female commander, must present an incongruous image. She was used to being stared at by men, but she wondered now if they were looking at her or at him. Train led them to a park bench near the center, where they sat down. For a moment he just stared down at the sidewalk, saying nothing.

“Okay. NIS investigator talking now. Two ways to look at this. Either our Admiral Sherman is indeed the target of a stalker, who may or may not have iced the admiral’s exgirlfriend, or-“

“Or?” Karen suddenly felt uncomfortable with the direction of Train’s logic.

“Or he’s making it all up. And he pushed the Walsh woman down the stairs. For that insurance policy. Two hundred fifty large constitutes a reasonable motive in these here uncertain economic times.”

But he has an alibi. A verified alibi for the time of death.

“For the presumed time of death. And-it wasn’t really verified in any ironclad sense. That restaurant on a busy Friday night? Look, the Walsh matter-bottom line? He had a motive: the money. There was opportunity: -Re has a key to the house. He had full knowledge of her place, her domestic routines. She would gladly have let him in without a second thought. He had the means: He could have easily surprised her, pushed her down the stairs. And now the mysterious letter from the even more mysterious SEAL? We have only his word for it. His house was broken into, but did he report it to the cops? No. Were there busted windows or jimmied doors? No. And now, most conveniently, there is no letter. If I were the Fairfax cops, and I heard ihis little fable, I’d be thinking that this is smoke he’s blowing my way, a classic case of offense/defense. The killer doesn’t run from the cops, he runs toward them, all anxious and sincere. He feeds them stuff, lots of distracting stuff. Throws crap in the air, and-the slippers, the laundry downstairs instead of upstairs, and now this mysterious letter.”

“Damn,” she said.

Train leaned back and rubbed his hands together, making a sound like sandpaper. He had very large hands, with ridges of callus on the edges of his palms. “The Fairfax cops might, in fact, have something,” he was saying. “‘They might well be feeding out some rope and hoping like hell that Sherman gets cocky and wraps it around his own tricky neck. ” Karen thought about what he said for a long moment, then shook her head.

“I don’t get that sense of it,” she said.

“Obviously, there’s more to this story. He wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened back in Vietnam to start all this. Says he can’t tell, in fact.”

“How convenient for him.”

“Or it ‘could be true. I don’t know. I was just coming into the Navy when that war was ending. He’s made it to flag rank, but I get the impression he’s paid a personal price for his career success. Remember what he said about never wanting to remarry? I saw some pictures of Elizabeth Walsh in that house. She was extremely attractive, and yet he bailed out the moment she started even talking about marriage. Not because of her but because of what he went through the first time he was married. There must be some emotional wreckage somewhere back there in his wake.

That’s why I’m going to go with him to this memorial service tonight.

Now, what was that uh-oh all about?”

Train was quiet for a moment. He looked around at all the spring greenery, his face an impassive mask. “I may be wrong,” he said. “But the Bureau told you Galantz was an MIA. If Sherman is telling the truth-that is, he knows Galantz was in fact alive after he had been declared MIATHEN Galantz may be doubly dangerous.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s do this. See if you can set up a second meeting with the cops. Maybe-do it in Sherman’s house, or anywhere that’s not their turf, okay? You say you have a records-retrieval request in?”

“Yes. They said it will take a few days.”

“Okay. But if he’s an MIA, his record’may not be in deep storage. I’ll join you for this meeting. In the meantime, -I’ve got to check on something; then maybe I can explain what I meant about his being doubly dangerous.”

“And you think we shouldn’t tell Admiral Carpenter anything about this letter?”

“For now, that’s correct.” He looked straight at her. She was struck again by the incongruity between his physical size and the intelligence gleaming out of those eyes. “This could involve some heavy stuff,” he said. “I hope not. I hope our boy admiral is totally innocent.”

“I guess I’m confused,” she said.

He nodded slowly, and she sensed that there was some latent energy stirring in him. “Karen,” he said, “no offense intended here, but you might be getting way -out of your depth. I know I’m the new guy on the block and that I’m probably sounding presumptuous, but I strongly recommend you go slowly, very slowly, and carefully in this matter, okay?”

She swallowed because her throat had dried up suddenly.

She felt a chill that was out of place amid all the vernal warmth and light of the center court.

Karen arrived promptly at Saint Matthew’s at 6: S. church was a smallish Methodist brownstone, and its entrance was set practically onto the sidewalk along Glebe

“Road in Arlington. There was a small, heavily wooded graveyard next door, but there did not appear to be any preparations in place there.

She went in and found Sherman, who was also still in uniform, sitting in one of the back pews, as if unsure of how he might be received by the small crowd of Elizabeth’s coworkers clustered up front. Karen was relieved when an elderly gentleman slipped into the pew behind theirs as the service opened and squeezed Sherman’s arm. Sherman introduced her to Adm. Galen Sc - hniidt. Five minutes after the service started, Mrs.

Karen could sense Sherman’s discomfiture, and she felt a sudden lump in her own throat when she realized where she was. The absence of a coffin in the center aisle of the church only highlighted the stark fact that Elizabeth Walsh was indeed gone. She knew only too well what that felt like. She wondered if Sherman was adding the what-if mantra to the sorrow of his own loss: If I had not run away from this woman, would she still be alive? Or worse: Is she’dead now because of something that happened in a far-off place a very long time ago? That would be a tough one. Train von Rensel’s warning came fleetingly to mind. Looking out of the side of her eyes, she still couldn’t picture this intense man as a murderer. And yet Train’s logic made some sense.

The service was secular and short. When it was over, Karen remained seated in the pew while Sherman’talked quietly to Mrs. Klein and the elderly admiral. Galen Schmidt was of medium height and spare frame, with a congenial, handsome face that she remembered from when he had been Chief of Naval Personnel a few years back. But now his hair was snow white and he had a porcelainlike complexion.

Although he looked as if he were nearing his mid-seventies, Karen knew he couldn’t be much past sixty-three or -four, so that heart condition must be pretty serious. People started to leave, and Sherman herded his small group out the front door.

“Nice service, Tag,” Admiral Schmidt said, adjusting his raincoat and looking at the scudding overcast. Karen stood behind them as she slipped on her own black Navy raincoat.

Schmidt said he was going to get right home before the rain hit. “You going to be okay tonight?” he asked Sherman.

“I think so, Galen. Thanks for coming. Besides you and the ladies here, I’m afraid I was the odd man out. I don’t really know any of those people.”

“They’re not who you came to say good-bye to, Tag.

Chin up. Life goes on. Commander, Mrs. Klein, nice to meet you all. I am sorry for your loss, Tag. Come see me in a day or so.”

“I will, Galen. Thanks again for coming out tonight.”

Schmidt shook hands with everyone. Karen noticed that the bones in his fingers felt like bird bones, featherlight, almost fragile. Sherman waved as the old man steamed off down the sidewalk toward his Cadillac, and then he looked around, as if trying to remember where he had parked his own car. Mrs. Klein made her own hasty departure, and then it was just Karen and the admiral standing on the sidewalk as the rest of the other people came out. Everyone seemed to be concentrating on the first raindrops spattering on the steps. The admiral was not wearing his raincoat, and there were a few stares, but no one came over to them.

“Damn it, I knew it,” he said above a sudden gust of wind.

“You go ahead, Admiral,” she said. “I’m parked in the next block.”

“Right. Look, I’ve decided I do want to talk to that detective. “

“Good,” she replied, holding on to her hat. Then she remembered von Rensel’s suggestion. “How about doing the meeting at your house instead of in the Pentagon? Tomorrow night?”

“Okay,” he said. “Would you set it up? And call me in the morning? Oh, and thank you for coming tonight, Karen.” Then he was jogging away down the sidewalk as the rain began in earnest. Karen followed with her head down, reflecting on how everyone was always anxious to get away from a funeral. Her mother had organized a service for Frank out in Chevy Chase, and she had dreaded leaving the church when it was over. Probably because they then had to go to the cemetery. Elizabeth Walsh had spared them that trauma by donating her body to medical science.

She looked back to see if Sherman had reached his car, when she heard the dissonant sound of a motorcycle coming toward them. She looked up the street and saw the bike and its rider approaching down the inside righi lane, pursued by a small vortex of rain and traffic mist. The motorcycle looked like a fat wingless wasp, shiny and black, with chrome exhaust pipes, an oversized headlight, and only a small windshield. Its engine was running rough, battering the evening air with a painfully loud staccato that seemed incongruous in this neighborhood of older homes and nicely fenced yards. The helmeted rider, wearing a sleeveless, black T-shirt and dark jeans, looked too spindly to be piloting the big two-seater machine. As the bike drew abreast of where the admiral was fumbling with his car keys, she suddenly realized that the’rider had his visor raised and was looking right at Sherman.

Karen, who had stopped about thirty feet away, saw the admiral look back at the rider and then freeze. He whirled around as the bike went by, but it was already accelerating along the right lane in a cone of smoky spray. Karen stood there for a second and Was about to start forward, but the admiral was scrambling to get his car door open, as if anxious to pursue the bike and its rider. But it was not to be: The stream of rush-hour traffic made it impossible for him to get out of his parking place, and she saw him thump the steering wheel in frustration. The rain became heavier, and she hurried to reach her own car. She looked back once more and saw the admiral push his way into traffic, provoking an angry constellation of brake lights and horns behind him.

She got in and struggled out of her dripping raincoat. The rain drummed hard on the roof, and she decided just to wait it out for a few minutes, turning on the engine to get the defroster going. So what the hell was that all about? she wondered. She had had only the briefest glimpse of the rider’s face. The predominant impression was -thin: thin face, narrow hatchetlike head, a hank of greasy-looking black hair down one side, the flash of an earring. But there was no doubt that he had been looking at the admiral, almost as if he had been willing the admiral to see him.

Mystified, she switched on her car phone, got out Mcnair’s card, and placed a call to his office. She got his voice mail. She asked if it would be amenable to meet with Admiral Sherman at his home in Mclean at 6:00 P.m. tomorrow night and said to call her if this would work. As the rain squall passed, she began watching the traffic for an opening. She made a mental note to close the loop with von Rensel first thing in the morning. She would also have to figure out how to put off any questions from Carpenter for one more day.

As he piloted his Suburban carefully through the evening rush-hour traffic on I-95, Train von Rensel made a mental inventory of some things he needed to do before the lovely lady commander got herself too much further into the Sherman matter. A disappearing letter from a disappearing, SEAL who was also supposed to be an MIA-he shook his head.

Assuming the good admiral was being honest, Train felt that his first comment in the snack bar had been the simple truth. Navy SEALS have the reputation of being the baddest of the bad in the Special Forces world, where bad inferred supreme competence rather than a capacity for malice.

If a SEAL had been declared ‘missing in action and then had reappeared back in the States some time afterward, still being carried as an MIA, then there was a high probability that he had found himself a new government job.

Fortunately, Train still had one contact in that organization all the spooks loved to hate, the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Dr. Mchale Johnson was a senior scientist in the Computer Operations and Machine Intelligence Division of the FBI’s Washington laboratories, or at least that’s what he said he was. Train had first met him during an NIS counterintelligence operation connected with the Walker cryptography spy ring. Up to that point in his career, Train had been under the nayve impression that there were rigid rules governing the boundaries of counterintelligence operations, with the FBI solely in charge of domestic counterintelligence, while another agency dealt with security issues beyond U.S. borders. Mchale Johnson quickly had disabused him of this quaint notion, demonstrating repeatedly that both federal agencies had their own interpretations of this rule.

During a subsequent Joint Intelligence Board debriefing on the Walker case, a board member from that other agency had tried to pin Train down as to whether or not he had seen any evidence that the FBI ever operated off the reservation. Train had testified solemnly that he had seen absolutely no evidence of any violations of’this rule during the investigation. Since then, Mchale Johnson had been available for informal consultations from time to time. The FBI kept score.

But first, he needed to be convinced that this wasn’t some kind of smoke-blowing exercise on the admiral’s part. He was a little bit surprised that Karen Lawrence would be so ready to believe such a story.

On the other hand, she was a commander and Sherman was a flag officer.

He had long since learned never to underestimate the capacity of naval officers to put the star-wearing elect of the military congregation up on exceedingly high pedestals.

Train stared out at the stalled river of evening commuters.

Being that he considered himself a Washington-area native, he should be used to this. Born in 1949, he had been the only child of Gregor von Rensel and his wife, Constance.

He had grown up on the family’s riverside home near Aquia, Virginia, which was about thirty-five miles south of Washington.

His father, a Washington attorney, had been on Macarthur’s staff during World War 11. He had followed Macarthur to Tokyo when the war ended, and he’d spent two years on the Tokyo Occupation Staff. Despite being part of the hated army of occupation in that devastated city, Gregor found himself quite taken with the Japanese approach to life.

When he came home to the Washington area in 1947, he met and subsequently married the daughter of an American banker, Hiram Worthfield, of the San Francisco Worthfields, who had himself taken a Japanese wife long before the war.

Wolfgang had been born two years later, growing up on the family estate at Aquia until his ninth year, when his mother contracted breast cancer and then died a year later.

The Worthfield family,- conscious of Gregor’s old-world attitudes about raising their only grandchild, prevailed upon him to accept two young Japanese retainers from their own San Francisco household, Hiroshi and Kyoko Yamada.

Kyoko had quietly become Train’s surrogate mother, while her husband, Hiroshi, took over as groundskeeper, chauffeur, and general factotum.

Hiroshi had generally ignored young Wolfgang until the child’s twelfth year, at which point Gregor von Rensel, aware of impending puberty, had had a quiet word.

With patience and quiet persistence, Hiroshi had infiltrated Wolfgang’s nonschool hours, skillfully bringing the prepubescent boy into his orbit and teaching him the essential arts of manhood. To the young Wolfgang’s eyes, Hiroshi was an aloof, taciturn, stoical man of little apparent humor who was inexplicably starting to take up a lot of his time.

But over the next three years, the rapidly growing teenager was exposed to the best concepts of the Japanese upperclass traditions: a strong sense of honor, an -awareness that there was such a thing as duty, and the iinpoilance of personal integrity. Hiroshi had come from a military family and had received extensive military -training in anticipation of -the impending U.S. invasion of the home islands. When the time came to instruct his new master’s son in the duties of manhood, he imparted a high regard for personal selfsufficiency, including extensive and daily instruction in the martial arts.

Content with Hiroshi’s work, Train’s father insisted on boarding school as the next step, then prelaw at the University of Virginia. It had been Train’s . idea to try military service, and he served for thirteen years in the Marine Corps, first as an infantry officer, and then, after time out for law school from 1975 to 1978, as a Marine Corps JAG officer until 1983.

Two factors drove him to resign his commission in the Marines: the increasingly complex demands of managing his financial affairs after his father’s death in 1982, and the fact that he had developed a passion for the art of investigation, following an assignment to prosecute a widespread contracting-fraud ring with foreign government industrialespionage overtones in 1980. He put away his major’s uniform in late W83, and he split the next eleven years between the Office of Naval Intelligence and, later, the Naval Investigative Service. He operated increasingly as an independent investigator, to whom his superiors often turned to handle those politically sensitive cases that needed as much discretion as detective work He sighed as the traffic restarted and then groaned immediately to a stop again. Although Train was one of the very few -people out on the interstate who did not have any particular deadline by which to get home, the house at Aquia was increasin gly his little island of tranquillity along the Potomac-a tranquillity he sincerely hoped was not about to be disturbed by the appearance of a rogue SEAL. Maybe he could ask around the NIS operations directorate tomorrow, talk to some of the people who’d worked with the SEALS, see if anybody had ever heard of this guy.

THURSDAY Karen called Admiral Sherman’s office the next morning at nine to relay the message about the proposed meeting.

Mcnair had agreed to meet with Admiral Sherman at his house, as requested. The yeoman put her on hold and then came back on the line.

“Admiral asked if you can come down here commander.

Says something’s come up.”

She agreed and hung up. Now what? She looked around to see if Train von Rensel was in yet, but then she remembered he had to go back over to NIS to close out some files.

She gathered her purse and headed down the corridor to Sherman’s office.

“Good morning, Admiral,” she said, waiting to see what had precipitated his request for her to come down., “Developments,” he began, after they had exchanged greetings. “OP-03 himself, Vice Admiral Kensington, apparently wants to see me. His deputy just called down ten minutes ago. l suspect it has to do with this Fairfax police visit. I’d like you to go with me.”

“My, my,” she said. “Word gets-around.”

He smiled ruefully. “Indeed it does. That flag-protection network people are always talking about. Sometimes it works too well. I found out earlier that Admiral Kensington had sent down for my bio. Do you know Kensington?”

“No, sir. Other than who he is.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a surface nuke. His full name is Vice Admiral Richard Millard Kensington. No nickname, except the occasional play on Millard.

Spend about five minutes with him and you’ll see why. Archetypical nuclear-trained officer. All business, all the time. Whenever he talks to the division directors, he speaks from a collection of three-by-five index cards.”

Sherman’s yeoman knocked and stuck his head in the doorway. “Admiral Vannoyt’s office called down, Admiral. 03’s available, sir.”

“Available. I love it. I guess it beats yelling down the passageway for me to get my bucket up there,” Sherman said, getting up and reaching for his jacket. “Rear Admiral Vannoyt is Kensington’s deputy,” he told Karen as he opened the door for her. “When the summons from Kensington comes down formally through Vannoyt, it means this is not going to be a social call. Which is why I wanted someone from JAG in the lion’s den with me.

That okay with you?”

She smiled bravely. “Wouldn’t miss it, Admiral.”

“You lie ‘well, Commander. What is it the Army guys say?”We’re behind you, Major. Way behind you, if we can manage it.’ Vice Admiral Kensington’s E-ring office was comfortably appointed, as befitted a senior three-star. A window wall gave a fine view of the Pentagon heliport four floors below, beyond which sprawled the marble-dotted hillsides of Arlington Cemetery, visible in the middle distance across Washington Boulevard. The view reminded Karen of that poignant sixties poster, an aerial view showing the Pentagon in the foreground and Arlington cemetery in perspective, under which were the words THE PENTACON AND ITS, PROD UCT. There were two couches, several leather armchairs, and a large mahogany conference table. At the end away from the windows Was a very large mahogany desk, behind which sat the austere figure of Vice Admiral Kensington. He was wearing his jacket fully buttoned, an affectation that had to be very uncomfortable. He was obviously a tall man, and he had a humorless, stony face that reminded Karen of a cardinal she had seen once in a Shakespearean movie.

Admiral Vannoyt remained standing and announced Sherman’s presence.

Kensington was concentrating on a staffing folder and did not look up for several seconds. Karen, standing to one side of Admiral Sherman, watched the interplay among the three flag officers. Vannoyt focused at a point somewhere behind and over Kensington’s head, his face expressionless, his physical position indicating a clear distance between himself and Sherman. Then Kensington looked up, first at Vannoyt and then at Sherman. He ignored Karen completely. He had piercing gray eyes and he stared directly at Sherman with the unblinking gaze of a fire-control radar.

“Admiral,” Kensington said in a dry, nasal voice. “Are you in some kind of difficulty?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Admiral,” Sherman replied, which surprised Karen. His answer sounded evasive.

“Sure enough to be working with counsel from the JAG’s office, Admiral,”

Kensington replied, flicking a glance at Karen. “I have two questions: What’s it all about? And why am I finding out about it from my executive assistant and not from you?”

Good questions, Karen thought. She saw Vannoyt move over to a chair and sit down, bringing Sherman’s little joke about being behind you, way behind you, to mind.

“I didn’t come tell you about it because I have very few facts, Admiral,” Sherman replied. “You’ve stressed the importance of facts many times. But, basically, a woman with whom I had a relationship for a few years was found dead in her home last Friday. The police investigated, made a preliminary determination that her death was accidental, but then they learned that she had named me as the beneficiary in a life-insurance policy. They came calling via Admiral Carpenter’s office Tuesday morning to talk about it. To my knowledge, that’s it. I’m going to meet with them again tonight to make sure there are no more questions. Commander Lawrence here is from Navy JAG, and she is acting as liaison with the police.”

“Then why do you need a lawyer, Admiral?”

“Commander Lawrence isn’t acting as my lawyer, Admiral. She works for Admiral Carpenter.”

Kensington finally looked directly at Karen for a-second, giving her the feeling she was being exposed momentarily to dangerous radiation. He then trained back on Sherman.

“Commander Lawrence is not a trial lawyer,” he said. “She is an expert in investigations review. Why her?”

Whoa, Karen thought. Not many secrets left in this little box.

Kensington’s EA had been doing some homework.

“She was Admiral Carpenter’s choice, Admiral.’ And I suspect it’s because if there’s anything going on right now, it’s a low-level investigation. The police are not talking about a crime. As I said, we’re meeting with them tonight.

If they decide otherwise, and if they name me as a suspect, then I’ll probably go hire a civilian attorney. Commander Lawrence is sort of a neutral adviser at the moment. I don’t think I need any more help than that. For what it’s worth, I was still here in the office at the time when they think this happened.”

Kensington looked down at his desk for a moment. Karen wondered if he had one of his three-by-five cards there with his questions on it. But then he looked back over at Sherman, locking on again with those glittering gray eyes.

“Any interaction between a flag officer on the Navy staff and homicide police is a matter of concern. To me, to the CNO. Please make sure I am apprised of how this matter is resolved, Admiral. On your initiative, please, and not mine.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sherman replied, hesitating just long enough to make it clear he didn’t like the way he was being treated. But Kensington had already refocused on the staffing folder. Vannot was tipping his head in the direction of the door. They followed him out.

“Commander, if you will excuse us for a moment,” Vannoyt said pointedly.

Karen said, “Of course,” and went out into the E-ring corridor. Vannoyt took Sherman into his-office and closed the door. She noticed that the yeomen were all concentrating very hard on their paperwork, and then she remembered that Kensington’s door had been open through a of that. A minute later, Sherman came back out and joined her. As they walked back toward the OP-32 office in silence, Sherman’s face was grim. She resisted an impulse to put a finger in her collar and unstick it from her neck.

The brief session with Kensington had made her appreciate the congenial atmosphere of IR, and she had not even been in the line of fire. She wondered if Vannoyt’s last-minute discussion had been about taking her into Kensington’s office. The three-star had generally ignored her, as if to show the one-star that she should not have been there in the first place. Sherman didn’t say anything -until they reached his office.

“Okay. Six o’clock at my house in Mclean. It’s in that cluster of town houses off Old Dominion just before you reach Mclean. Number nineteen on Cheshire Street, second left after you come in the main entrance. The numbers are visible.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

He paused, and then his face relaxed a bit. “Curious?”

She smiled. “A little. I’m guessing he was not pleased to see me in there.

“Correct. Vannoyt reminded me that flag officers never indulge in antagonistic interpersonal relations. And when they do, the help waits outside, thank you very much. More along that line.”

I’ll in surprised he didn’t just tell me to wait outside.”

It was his turn to smile. “The fact that’they didn’t was intended as a message to me. By all means, if you’re in trouble; bring your lawyer in.

That’s really what Vannoyt wanted to make sure I understood.” His expression grew serious. “We need to reach some kind of resolution with these people tonight if we can. That whole little scene was a political warning shot across my bow.”

“Yes, sir, I could see that. But resolution will depend on how forthcoming the police want to be.”

“Forthcoming homicide cops. Well.” He looked less than hopeful. Then she remembered Train.

“Oh, and I’ve asked Mr. von Rensel to be there tonight.”

“Why? I want to limit disclosure, not expand it.”

“You said we would probably need some NIS help with the Galantz problem.

He’s a senior investigator with the NIS, working directly for the JAG.”

“I see.” He paused, staring at nothing for a moment. “I guess we’ll have to. It’s just that this adds yet another person in the loop. Oh ‘ well, I’ll see you this evening, I guess.”

As she walked back toward her office, she wondered if he understood that he, too, would have to be a little more forthcoming about what had happened in Vietnam. She was also wondering where he really stood with his bosses. Presumed innocent or presumed suspect? He had been concerned right from the beginning about this story getting out in flag circles before the issue was properly defined, and now she had had a taste of why he was worried. She would have to fill Train in on what had happened in Kensington’s office and alert him to the fact that Sherman had been reluctant about folding NIS into this picture.

Karen and Train arrived at Sherman’s house nearly twenty minutes-later than she had planned, thanks to an overturned pickup truck and trailer at the north end of the GW Parkway.

He had followed her to Mclean in his car, a large fireengine-red Suburban, which he parked behind her in front of Sherman’s town house.

There did not seem to be any lights on in the town house, so once again she found herself waiting outside a strange front door. After her excursion to OP-03’s office, she had spent the rest of the morning harassing the Bureau about getting the records on Galantz. Train von Rensel had not returned until just before she left the Pentagon to make the meeting at Sherman’s house. She had not had time to back brief him on the meeting with Kensington before they had to get on the road..

Von Rensel’s open skepticism about the admiral’s story of the disappearing letter irritated her. She resented the inference that she would be getting way out of her depth if the mysterious SEAL really did exist. She also wondered if von Rensel’s reaction to the admiral’s story had anything to do with simple male competitiveness. She was getting the feeling that the big man was interested in her, although she couldn’t put her finger on why she felt that way. She had seen men do this before, getting competitive just because she was involved. Train wasn’t really . y her type, if there was such a thing, but still, he was interesting in some indefinably exotic sense. Sherman was an extremely handsome, smooth, and obviously very successful naval officer; Train, a great bear of a man whose watchful demeanor did not seem to quite square with his physical size. She smiled in the dark at her silly mental meandering. She had always been interested in men, but now, in her newfound widowhood, she had turned inward, unwilling to expend the energy required for a new relationship. The disturbing possibility that Frank might have been meeting another woman in that hotel, however much she suppressed it, had unsettled her selfconfidence. She had been ruthless about tamping down that subject every time her subconscious mind wanted to surface it. But she really did wonder every once in a while what she had done, or failed to do, that would have led Frank to seek out another woman’s companionship. Maybe I just got lazy, she thought. Or at least complacent. But then her independent self would react angrily: Why should I assume it was my fault if Frank was unfaithful?

Headlights appeared in her mirror as Sherman showed up in a big Ford sedan. She got out of her car as von Rensel got out of the Suburban.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, locking his own car. “There was a last-minute flap.”

“At least we didn’t keep the detective waiting,” she said.

“Admiral, this is Mr. von Rensel of the NIS. You were introduced at the first meeting, I think.”

The two men shook hands, visibly sizing each other up.

“Mr. von Rensel, thank you for joining us,” Sherman said.

“If we’re going to need NIS, it’d be good for you to be in on this from the beginning.”

“Hope we can help, Admiral,” Train replied, but he left it at that.

Sherman nodded, looking around, and they walked across the street to the front steps of his house, which was a large and fairly elegant three-story affair. Once inside and settled in the living room, Sherman looked at his watch. “Mcnair should be here in just a few minutes. We’re agreed I should tell him about the SEAL, as little of the history as I can get away with, and what happened the other night, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Karen said. “And then I think we should try to find out what they’re really doing. Is this a homicide? Is there an investigation?

Like that. In the spirit of your telling them everything, Mcnair should be a little more forthcoming.’ “And you’ve briefed Mr. von Rensel here.

“Yes, sir. And I’ve called for the records on Galantz.”

“They’ll want to see those.”

“Yes. Another opportunity for a quid pro quo.”

He looked at her, nodding thoughtfully. But she could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably on what he was going to say to the detective. The doorbell chimed., “Action stations,” he said, then got up to let him in.

Mcnair came in, shucking a trench coat. He looked a little like a prizefighter in a three-piece suit, she thought, and she noticed that he frowned across the room when he saw Train.

The admiral was making introductions.

Mcnair looked at Train again, as if acknowledging the presence of a fed.

When they were finally all situated in the living room, the admiral kicked it off. “First, I should tell you that Commander Lawrence and I have talked about the nature and extent of my cooperation with you.”-

“Is Commander Lawrence acting in the capacity of your lawyer, Admiral?”

Mcnair asked immediately. Karen was amused by the way they talked as if she were not even in the room.

“No. Commander Lawrence is officially acting on behalf of the JAG. At the moment, I have not sought counsel. One of my main objectives for this meeting is to find out if I should seek counsel.”

Mcnair nodded, as if this was the most. reasonable position in the world.

Sherman leaned forward. I haven’t requested counsel because you have indicated that I am not suspected of any crimes. As I said, I’ve kicked this around with Commander Lawrence here, and she has advised me to cooperate fully with your, um, inquiries. I have a new development to bring to your attention, which is the other reason I wanted this meeting. But first I’d also like to get confirmation that nothing’s changed as to where I stand in this thing.”

Karen watched with interest. She was sure that Mcnair would have expected to conduct the meeting. It was interesting to watch the admiral turn the situation around.

“Admiral Sherman,” he said, “we’ve been over the pathologist’s report with respect to the estimated time of death.

We’ve verified where you were during the most likely window of opportunity. We’re satisfied that you were where you said you were, and that you could not have been in Ms. Walsh’s house at the presumed time of death. You are not a suspect, per se.”

“Has a crime been committed?” Karen asked.

“Perhaps we can let the admiral tell me what he wants to tell me, .

Counselor,” Mcnair suggested. “Then we can talk about a crime.”

Karen was about to argue when she saw the admiral nodding. She deferred.

Train stood by a window, remaining silent.

“Fair enough,” the admiral said. “As I believe you know, 1-we, actually, Commander Lawrence and myselfwent to Elizabeth’s house Tuesday night. I wanted to call on Dottie Klein. She and Elizabeth were very close. I also wanted to see the house. Somehow, this whole thing wouldn’t be real unless I could go there. That probably sounds pretty strange.”

Mcnair listened attentively, his notebook open.

“So, anyway, as Commander Lawrence has told you, I noticed something odd about the scene, or the scenario, perhaps. Beyond the business about the laundry basket. The slippers. I gave her those slippers as a present, but the fact was, she detested them. One of those awkward things, a present that didn’t work., But the key point is, she never wore them.”

“Yes,” Mcnair said. “commander Lawrence mentioned them. But if she never wore them, why did she keep them?”

“I’m guessing because they had been a gift from me.

Who knows? Like I said, one of those awkward things. But I was very surprised to see them down there. Dottie said it looked as if she had been wearing them. Then, of course, there’s the problem of her taking a laundry basket of clothes to the basement level. I can’t think of a single reason for her to do that.”

“Yes, sir,” Mcnair said. Karen thought she heard a trace of impatience in his voice. I’ve heard all this. Cut to the chase, please: Sherman seemed to catch it.

“Okay. Before I went over there, I came home first to change. I found something in my mail that was pretty upsetting.” He went on to tell Mcnair about the letter, what it said, about later going over to see Galen Schmidt, only to come home and find that his front door was unlocked, and that when he had gone looking for the letter before going to bed, it was gone.

Mcnair made some notes. “The door was definitely locked when you left, Admiral?” , “Yes. It’s set to lock itself You can take a look if you’d like. I would have to make a special point of unlocking it, which of course I never do. This is Mclean, but hardly a crime-free area.”

“And you are positive the letter was gone when you got back?” Mcnair asked.

“Yes. Although I didn’t realize it until after I had gone up to bed. I did some paperwork upstairs, where I have a small study. Then I decided that I’d take the letter into the office, so Karen here could see it. I came back downstairs to look for it. It must have been after eleven. I’d left it on the kitchen counter, with the rest of the mail, before going to see Admiral Sherman. I’d put the envelope in the trash with the junk mail. I couldn’t find either one when I looked.”

“Anything else in the house missing?”

“No. I checked that as soon as I got into the house. As best I can tell, that’s all that was taken.”

Mcnair consulted his notebook. “So you think this guy has come back after all these years to get revenge for sorfiething that happened back in Vietnam, and that he’s started the game by mailing you a warning letter. Then he watched your house to make sure you got the letter, and then, when you left, broke into the house, retrieved the letter and the envelope, and left the door unlocked so you would know he’d been here?”

Karen saw a trace of embarrassment on the admiral’s face.

“I don’t know what else to think,” he said. “I’m very upset about what’s happened to Elizabeth,, and I’m beginning to conclude that her fall was no accident. I’m also worried that whatever happened to her might be my fault, at least indirectly. ” . Mcnair leaned forward. “This thing in Vietnam. You’re implying that something happened over there that would inspire a guy to come back after more than twenty years to do something to you, that soipething including maybe killing your girlfriend?”

Sherman studied his feet for a moment before replying.

Then he looked up. “I Suess I am,” he admitted.

“It would make your hypothesis a lot more credible if we knew what that incident in Vietnam was all about.”

“I’m sure it would. But it involved some highly classified operations. All I can say is that I can fully believe it,” Sherman looked down at the rug again for a moment. “I know.

That’s not much to go on.”

Mcnair gave him a look that made it quite clear he was in full agreement with Sherman’s last remark. “See, Admiral, it’s not just us,” he said.

“To open a homicide investigation, especially if there’s a new element, we have to convince our lieutenant-and maybe a judge-that we want to do some searching. Now if we just had that letter-“

“I know,” Sherman interrupted. “But it’s cane. Maybe? the postman might recall sorting it. I don’t know. But as to what happened in Vietnam, it’s classified. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Is there a homicide investigation in progress?” Train asked from his perch by the window.

There was a sudden silence in the room. Mcnair opened his mouth but closed it without saying anything. Karen decided to make her move.

“Detective Mcnair,” she said, “in our original meeting, you mentioned certain forensic ambiguities. The admiral here has been concerned that, over and above the slippers problem, if he told you about this letter, it would make Elizabeth Walsh’s death seem less like an accident and more like a possible homicide. The problem is, up to tonight, the only person you are talking to is him.

He’s told you as much as he can. What can you tell us about those forensic ambiguities?”

Mcnair thought about that, and then he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Our first take was accident. Lady fell down the stairs, landed wrong, broke her neck. Medical examiner’s preliminary report said the same thing. We caught the fact that the laundry room down there didn’t appear to be used very-often, if at all. But she could have been carrying that stuff down to store it, and using a laundry basket to carry it. Who knows? There was no apparent forced entry, no physical evidence of personal violence, other than that which could have reasonably been caused by the fall. Abrasions where you would expect them. And later, postautopsy, nothing in the pathology reports indicating assault, poison, drugs, rape, or anything like that.”

“You did an autopsy?” Sherman asked. Karen had seen him wince at the word., “Yes, sir. Standard procedure in an unexplained death.

Unless the victim’s doctor can come in and give us a reasonable explanation, an autopsy will normally be performed.

But, like I said, that didn’t give us any indication of homicide.”

“So what were the ambiguities?” Train asked.

“Well, it’s like this. When there’s no obvious cause of death, we assume misadventure, or accident. But we also look at it from the other perspective: If this had been a homicide, what kind of evidence should be there? Well, first of all, some physical evidence of someone else being in that house. So just to make very sure, we had our crime-scene unit come in and do a standard sweep.” He leaned back in his chair for a moment before going on.

“Let’s put aside fingerprints for a minute. Let’s postulate, for instance, that someone who knew what he was doing broke in waited for her, and, surprised her, say, and then pushed er down the stairs. He probably wouldn’t have come in the front door-too exposed. More likely, he’d use the back door or a back window, say from that garden. Either way, there should have been some physical traces of that garden in the house-grass, dirt. And the back porch paint is old and dried out. There should have been some tiny flakes of that paint in the carpets. None of the windows had been kicked in, right? The back door lock is a Baringer.

They use a peculiar steel alloy for their keys. If somebody had picked the lock, there should have been physical evidence of foreign metal-alloy particles in that lock, or in any of the locks. Stuff like that.”

“But there wasn’t?” Train asked.

“That’s right.”

“This sounds like a pretty thorough examination,” the admiral said. “But I don’t understand the premise. If this was an accident, none of this evidence would be there in any event.”

“Ah, yes,” Mcnair said, leaning forward. “But from a forensic perspective, that place was hinky.

Like’fingerprints?

Well, we did find fingerprints-hers, Mrs. Klein’s, and, incidentally, even some of yours, Admiral-but only upstairs.

Remember what I said about physical evidence a mirfute ago? That there wasn’t any? We didn’t get a single fingerprint lift downstairs. None.

Zero. Zip. And you know what else? Mrs. Klein, the nice old lady who says she goes over there all the time to have coffee, shoot the breeze, whatever?

Mrs. Klein says she always comes over via the back porch.

They’re connected. She even has a key. Her porch paint is like Miss. understand,” Sherman said. “Except for the very obvious trail she left when she found the body, there were no other signs of that paint in the Walsh kitchen, or in any of the rugs on the main floor. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in those rugs. Very little dirt. And no sand or bits of moss from those bricks in her front walk. Assuming Miss. Walsh came home via her own front door that afternoon, there should have been something, see?”

Karen twisted anxiously in her chair. This was beginning to sound like something far different from the cut-and-dried accident they had been talking about all along.

“Admiral,” Mcnair continued, “this may be painful to hear, but there was something wrong with Miss. Walsh’s clothes, too, besides what you told us about the slippers.”

“Her clothes?” he asked, obviously baffled now.

“Yes, sir. We found none of the things on her clothes that should have been there after a working day in the office-no dandruff, no loose hairs, no foreign fibers on the seat of her slacks from an office chair, no ink smudges on her fingers, no residue of toner from a copy machine or a laser printer on her hands or sleeves. Now you know most Washington people can’t spend a day in the office without touching a Xerox copy of something, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And in. addition to all the stuff that collects after a day in the office, there’s the ride home on the Metro. She took the Metro, didn’t she? There was a fare card in her purse.”

“Yes, she did. Park and Ride from the West Falls Church station. “

“Well, okay. You come home Friday at rush hour, it’s back-to-back, belly-to-belly, right? But her street clothes were clean-much too clean.

No one else’s hair. No traces of another human being anywhere on her collar or her raincoat. We checked.”

“Like somebody had vacuumed them?” Karen asked.

Mcnair gave her a look, as if to say she had just incriminated herself.

“Maybe. Or the clothes she was wearing weren’t the clothes she wore to work.”

“How about her shoes?” Train asked.

Mcnair smiled. “Bingo,” he said softly. “Oh, we found shoes aplenty up in the closet, but none that showed evidence of having been worn to the office that day and then exchanged for slippers.”

Karen let out a long breath. “So can’t you check with the people in her office, find out what she was wearing that day?”

“We did,” replied Mcnair., “Slacks, blouse, sweater. But no one remembers exactly which ones, which colors. One guy said gray; another guy said dark. They were mostly men in the office. You know how it is, Commander: Men never notice a woman’s shoes. And you review investigations, right? You know how poorly even eyewitnesses’ statements correlate.”

Karen knew only too well. “Yes, I do. How about her vacuum cleaner?”

“New bag.”

“Ah,” she said, understanding what he was trying to say.

“So the evidence in this case is backward. It’s the evidence you didn’t find that’s bothering you.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” the admiral muttered. “The dog that didn’t bark.”

“That’s correct, Admiral,” Mcnair said, nodding. “So your news about the slippers is, unfortunately, entirely consistent. But until you told me about this letter, it was still ambiguous. What was this guy’s name, Admiral?”

“He was a hospital corpsman-a medic, as well as a SEAL. HMI Marcus Galantz.”

Mcnair blinked, almost as if the name meant something to him. But then he asked the admiral to spell it for him, and he wrote it’in his notebook. Then he asked another question. “Since Mr. von Rensel is here, can we assume the Navy’s working on this Galantz I angle, Commander Lawrence?” t,” That came out of nowhere, Karen thought quickly. “On getting his old service records, yes,” she replied. “Beyond that-“

Beyond that, the Navy didn’t yet know about Galantz.

“The records may be of use, and they may not,” the admiral interjected.

“My guess is that they’ll end abruptly in 1969.

Mcnair stared at him, his expression making it clear that the admiral could not go on with all this secrecy.

Sherman looked back at him for a moment and then got up, walked over to a front window, and stared out at the growing darkness. Mcnair, as if sensing a critical moment, remained quiet, watching him. Then he spoke.

“Admiral, it’s becoming pretty clear that something happened to Elizabeth Walsh, something that was not an accident. We-‘re reasonably satisfied that you didn’t go over there Friday night and do something to her. Now you’ve given us another lead to pursue, but you’re leaving too much out. We need your help. We need to make this guy real.”

And to get you entirely off the hook, Karen thought.

The admiral remained at the window, his back to them, for almost a minute. “Okay,” he said finally, so quietly that Karen wasn’t sure she had heard him. Then he turned around, and she was startled by the pain in his eyes. “Okay.

This’ll take a while.”

He returned to his chair and sat down, his eyes slightly out of focus as the memories came flooding back. Then he told them the story of the aborted SEAL pickup and that terrifying night on the river.

“Did they go back the next night?” Train asked.

Sherman hesitated. “No. They didn’t. Saigon naval headquarters called it off. They concluded that the SEAL never made the rendezvous and that the VC probably had him, which was why there was a mine ambush waiting.”

“But they were wrong, weren’t they, Admiral?” Train said. The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sherman looked away and exhaled. “Yes. They were wrong. Because three years later, the SEAL came to see me.

I was finishing up my department-head tour in a destroyer and was actually home for a change. But I remember it.

God, do I remember it. He was a memorable guy. I was sitting in my dining room, working on some overdue fitness reports.”

It had been after ten o’clock on a rainy February night, one of the few such nights in San Diego’s unvarying pattern of monotono usly beautiful weather. Sherman had been downstairs in the dining room when he thought he heard the front door open. He remembered sitting up and thinking, What the hell? I locked that door. There had been a gust of wind and the sudden sound of rain, and then suddenly a figure was standing in the entrance to the dining room, just outside the cone of light from the chandelier. Sherman absorbed a vague image of jeans and a wet black windbreaker, but the face-the face looked familiar. Only this time, there was no brown and green paint. Just those eyes. Actually, just one eye. I

“Remember me?” the figure asked in a husky, strangled I voice.

There was something wrong with his throat. There was a small swatch of gray bandage where his voice box should have been, and a livid scar.

Sherman had been speechless, glued to his armchair, try-I ing to comprehend what he was seeing. A very dangerous looking one-eyed man was n his dining room, dripping rainwater on the rug.

“How-who-“

“Oh, you remember, Lieutenant. You know who I am.

Or who I was,” the man said, advancing closer to the table, into’ the light, appearing to get bjgger as he did so. He was not visibly armed, but there was no mistaking the menace in that mutilated face. And then Tag Sherman knew.

“You’re-you’re the SEAL.”

“Yeah, the SEAL. The one you left behind. In the Rung Sat.”

Sherman could only stare at him, trying to remember what the division commander had said-what, exactly? He couldn’t recall the words, other than him saying, “You did the operationally right thing, aborting the mission.” But by then, the SEAL had come even closer to the table, and with a sweeping motion of his left arm, he scattered Sherman’s pape rwork. That’s when Sherman saw the glove, the black glove with a glint of stainless steel at, the-left wrist. What was his name? he’d asked himself. Galantz, that was it.

Galantz perched on the edge of the dining room table, making it creak, and leaned down to stare directly into Sherman’s eyes. His face was pale, gaunt, hollow-eyed, with taut skin, a bony forehead fringed with only a stubble of closecropped black hair. The right eyebrow was flat, but the left was bisected by an ugly red and obviously unstitched scar running from his voice box up into his jaw and then exiting across the left cheek up into his scalp, transacting the puckered skin of his empty left eye socket. Sherman had been able to smell the wet clothes, overlaid with the rising scent of his own fear.

“See this?” the SEAL asked, pointing to his face and throat with his finger. “One of your fifties did this. Ricochet round. While you girls were busy running away, shooting that stuff indiscriminately all over the riverbanks-where I was hiding, waiting for you. And this”-he brandished the bulky black glove in Sherman’s face-“this is where I had to amputate my own hand after a croc bit most of it off.”

He leaned even closer to Sherman, who remained frozen in his seat.

Sherman had to crane his neck just to look up at this man, whose single eye burned in his face like the headlight of that proverbial oncoming train.

“It had lots of time to’get infected, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “Five nights in the mangrove roots, while I tried to get down out of the Rung Sat and into the harbor. Couldn’t quite make it, though, because the Cong knew I was running, see? And I couldn’t go into the main river because by then the crocs could smell the arm. All that heat and mud and humidity. They call it gangrene. Stinks real bad. I’m a medic. Know it when I smell it. Crocs love rotten meat. So finally one night, I found a tree stump and chopped it off at the wrist with my trusty knife. This knife, right here.” Out of nowhere, he brandished a heavy dulled steel knife, then deliberately put it down on the table right in front of Sherman. It looked bigger than he remembered it, when the SEAL had had it strapped to his ankle. It made an audible clunk when Galantz laid it on the table.

Galantz had leaned back then, staring down at the knife, and continued his story, “I clamped off the artery with a piece of string and then that night I bellied into a VC camp and killed some people so I could get to their fire and cauterize the stump. Didn’t happen to have any anesthetics, by the way. It hurt a lot. But I did what I had to do.

Stuck that bloody stump into the fire and bit a piece of bamboo right in half waiting for it to cook. I gotta tell you: I did scream.

But the screaming sounded better than the barbecue noises, you know?”

“We were in an ambush,” Sherman had said, feeling his stomach grab. His voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, which was as dry as sand. “There were mines. We had standing orders to withdraw. We came back the next night.”

And then he remembered: No, they hadn’t.

The SEAL had just looked at him with that one baleful eye. “Sure you did, Lieutenant. But you know what? I was three klicks from the main river by then, trying to lick my wounds with my tongue swelling out of my mouth, hiding out inside the hollow trunk of a dead tree that was full of that Agent Orange stuff. And trying to figure out if that was my eyeball dangling on my left cheek or just another leech.

And that was just the beginning. It took me five weekv to get back to friendly territory. Five weeks of crawling around in the Rung Sat, no compass, no landmarks, no food, no clean water, moving only at night, going the wrong god damned way every god damned time. And killing people.

Lots of people, you know? Anyone who got anywhere near me ate steel.

This steel, right here. Men, women, children anyone. Five bloody weeks until I got into the outskirts of Saigon. And then I got arrested by the White Mice, who put me in a Chinese jail for a year in Cholon until they found somebody who would buy my ass out. All thanks to a bunch of chickenshit Swift boat guys. Like you.”

“I did what I had to,” Sherman had protested. “They were setting off mines. Lose the boat and nobody gets out.

I’m sorry it happened. But we had no choice.”

The SEAL had stared down at him with that one glaring eye, his ravaged face twisting in contempt.

“What do you want?” Sherman whispered.

“Want?” The SEAL leaned forward again. “I want revenge. I want to stick this knife through your hand and into this table here so you don’t go anywhere. Then I want to go upstairs and rape your wife and blind your kid, and then I want to come back down here and open up your belly with this knife and strangle you with your own guts. That’s what I want.

The knife had been lying on the table the whole time, right in front of him, but Sherman was transfixed in the chair, a watery feeling in his stomach, his mouth still arid.

And then with the swiftness of a rattlesnake, the man had him hauled up out of his chair and bent over the table, his right arm pinned behind his back by the SEAL’s knee in a bone-cracking arch, his face pressed down on the table by the SEAL’s left forearm, the edge of the table pressing hard against his windpipe. He could barely breathe, and then he felt, rather than saw, the cutting edge of that knife resting across the bridge of his nose about one millimeter from his eyes. The SEAL’s voice hissed in his ears.

“What do I want, Sherman? I want to pop your eyeballs out and make you eat them while the nerves are still attached. I want to drive twentypenny nails into your skull and wire them to your car battery. I want to jam your mouth open with a bent fork and put a black widow spider in there and piss her off. I want lots of fun shit for you and yours, Lieutenant, but guess what?-I’ve learned to wait for what I want.

I’ve learned to be a patient man. I’m going to wait some more. I’m going to wait until you have accumulated some things of real value. And then I’m going to make you pay for what you and your crew did to me, no matter how long it takes. You were the skipper, so you’re the Man.

You’ll never know when I’m coming. Until I tell you. And I will tell you, you son of a bitch. You will get one warming.”

His air shut off by the table’s edge, Sherman’s vision had gone red and his ears were roaring ominously. He had barely heard the small voice from the edge of the room. “Daddy?”

The SEAL had come off his back in an instant, leaving Sherman to slide off the table and onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, his mouth working but nothing coming out, all his muscles putty. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Galantz had grabbed his son, Jack, and was holding the petrified child off the floor with his good arm, growling at him like a wild animal, as if he was about to dash him against the wall.

Sherman had tried desperately to move, to get up, but he had been perfectly helpless, gagging on the floor, his nearly dislocated right shoulder preventing him from even beginning to get up.

And then suddenly, it was over. The terrified child was sobbing in the comer of the dining room, and Sherman was pulling himself across the floor to get to him. His wife had slept through it all, even when little Jack had begun to wail like a banshee in his arms. It had taken him an hour and a half to calm the child and get him back to bed. He had not awakened his wife. There seemed to be no point in her being terrified, too. He had gone back downstairs to get some brandy to steady his shaking hands and to close the front door, which was still standing wide open in the rain. He had nearly lost it again when he found the knife lying on the dining room table-a little reminder that it had all been real.

A little message from the SEAL: I don’t need the knife anymore. But you might.

Now Sherman’s eyes refocused and looked over at Mcnair. “I was mostly ashamed when it was all over.

Ashamed for what we had done back there in the Rung Sat.

Ashamed that I had been scared to death in this guy’s presence. Ashamed that I had been helpless to do anything when he had my son up against the wall like a rag doll.”

Karen ‘remembered to breathe, and she swallowed hard.

Mcnair, who had been listening intently, reopened his notebook.

“This was when, Admiral? And you’re sure this man’s name was Galantz?

Marcus Galantz?”

“In 1972. February. And I’m sure about the name.”

“And you’re sure this was Galantz?” Mcnair asked again, his face a study in concentration. Sherman said yes.

Sherman looked drained, as if the memories had emptied him of all energy. He was slumped in his chair like a teenager.

“Well, this of course makes a difference,” Mcnair said.

“The fact that he came back proves he lived through what happened out there in Vietnam.”

“If he was that disfigured, he should be easier to find, don’t you think?” Karen asked.

Train shook his head. “That was 1972. Cosmetic surgery has come a long way since then.” He turned to Sherman.

Admiral; is there a possibility that he was still in the Navy then? That he was on active duty?”

“I don’t think so.” He took a deep breath, as if trying to make the memories go away. But then he looked over at Mcnair. “I’ve told you this story because now I’m more convinced than ever that she was killed.

Elizabeth, I mean.

But the Navy would not take kindly to having this story get out.”

“It’s been over twenty years, Admiral,” Mcnair said.

“Why would it be. such a big deal if it comes out now?”

Sherman rubbed his face with both hands. “We left one of our own behind, Detective,” he said. “‘In the armed forces, that’s a big deal. You don’t abandon your wounded, and you sure as hell don’t leave a guy out there just because headquarters makes some assumptions. You go back and get him. Guys count on that, in return for which, they’re willing to fight and die.”

“I understand, Admiral,” Mcnair replied. “But if Miss. Walsh was indeed murdered, that takes precedence, don’t you think? What I’m saying is that you did the right thing in telling me this. I promise to be discreet about this matter.

Although, now that I think about it, we may have a small bureaucratic problem here.”

“Which is?”

“The department has several cases that are clear-cut homicides.

The admiral nodded slowly. “I think I understand. Cases where there is direct evidence of a crime, as opposed to evidence that isn’t there.”

“Something like that,” Mcnair said. “Our lieutenant isn’t convinced about this, although he doesn’t know what you’ve told me tonight. But right now from an evidentiary point of view, this one’s still sort of a reach.”

Sherman looked perplexed. “But-“

“Don’t get me wrong. I mean, we can work this thing, okay? But it will help a lot if the Navy can help us locate this Galantz. Turn him into a living, breathing human, instead of a missing letter and a story from some twenty years back.”

Everyone looked over at Train.

“As soon as we have anything at all I’ll get it to you,” Karen offered.

“And I’m sure Mr. von Rensel can turn on some Naval Investigative Service assets.”

“That would help,” Mcnair said. “We need something tangible here.

Otherwise-“

The admiral was rubbing his face again. Karen’s heart went out to him.

His face had taken on an ashen hue with the inescapable conclusion that Elizabeth Walsh had been murdered. Train remained silent.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Adnidral?” Mcnair asked.

The admiral shook his head. “I can’t think of anything, other than to reiterate the need for discretion.”

“I understand,” Mcnair said. “And I need to reiterate the need for full disclosure, Admiral. If nothing else, it will save us all a lot of time.”

Karen stood up to indicate that’the interview was over.

Mcnair got the message and stood up as well, thanked the admiral for his cooperation, retrieved his coat, and left.

Karen saw him out, then came back to the living room.

Sherman was still sitting there in the armchair, staring at nothing, his chin in his right hand.

“Well, did we do any good?” he asked finally.

“I think so,” Karen said. “He’s certainly got something new to think about.”

“We all do,” Train said. “We’ve got to find this guy.”

Sherman let out a long breath. He looked as if he’d been through a mental train wreck. “You tell me how I can help you with that, Mr. von Rensel, and you’ve got it. For the Navy’s sake, it’d be better if you guys found him than the police.”

“Adjniral, I’ll get on this right away,” Train said, getting up.

“Commander Lawrence and I will meet first thing tomorrow.”

“And go see Carpenter?” Sherman asked.

Karen, feeling she knew more about the political sensitivities than von Rensel,. intervened. “Not yet, Admiral,” she said. “I think we have all the authority we need to turn on NIS help right now.” She was hoping Train would just leave it at that for the moment, and apparently he understood.

“So do I,” he said. “Karen, I’ll see you in the morning.”

After Train left, Karen came back into the living room.

The admiral was still just sitting there, looking emotionally sandblasted. Karen suggested that a drink might be in order.

An hour later, they were sitting in a booth at a small Greek restaurant.

Afraid that he would sit there and polish off the bottle of scotch, she had suggested they go get something to eat. And after watching him down a good-sized drink, she had even volunteered to drive. He had been silent during the drive down to the restaurant. She had tried to divert him from his visibly grim train of thought.

“Admiral, what’s done is done. And we may still all be wrong here. Even the cops feel they’re backing into a homicide. She really may have just fallen.”

Sherman was quick to shake his head. “No,” he said.

“Elizabeth was a competent woman. She was less of a klutz than I am, and I’m pretty agile for my age. She’d lived in that house for ten years.

Those aren’t treacherous stairs.

Now this letter, and then the business with my front door, and what we’ve learned about the forensic gaps in her house. I just can’t swallow all that as coincidence. Maybe if I’d just been there …”

She toyed with her salad, waiting while he wandered mentally in the what-if thicket again. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just kicking myself in the ass again. I guess I missed a good thing when I told her no.”

“Told her no?”

Sherman recapped ‘the story of their relationship, how they first met, and how well it worked out up until the point where Elizabeth began steering conversations around to the logical next step.

“I told her no. I was married once before and it was an unqualified disaster. Although that all seems a lifetime ago now.

“I’m. sorry to hear that,” she said. “Would it help to talk about it?”

He started to reply but then hesitated, as though unsure of her. “It’s not a pretty story,” he said at last. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I apologize, Admiral,” she said immediately, afraid she had overstepped the bounds of junior-senior propriety. “1-“

“No, don’t apologize.. And let’s put the admiral commander stuff aside for a moment here, Karen. After what we’ve learned tonight, I need your help. I need your legal expertise. I need your brains, now more than ever. This is no longer admiral-commander territory. But there’s history, history that bears on what happened between Elizabeth and me. I guess what I’m saying is that I just can’t toss off a cavalier answer.

And the other thing is, I wouldn’t want this to be discussed with anyone else. I’ve already disclosed too much to the police, I’m afraid.”

She thought about that. He was obviously referring to her real loyalties visa-vis Carpenter. But, as a woman, she was also very curious as to what could have happened to make a marriage to this attractive and intelligent man go off the tracks.

“Yes,” she said. “I do want to help you. But you must understand something: Except as a very junior officer, I’ve never been anyone’s lawyer. Anyone’s advocate. I’ve been a professional second-guesser for most of my career. My specialty is to sit in judgment over other people’s investigative efforts. That’s not the same as being an experienced investigator or trial attorney. And, as much as I do want to help you, I’m in an equivocal position here: I work for Admiral Carpenter. So if you’re about to tell me something he shouldn’t hear, you probably shouldn’t tell me.”

“I understand that,” he said. “At this point, I probably should go into JAG and ask for formal counsel. But you were there in Kensington’s office: The moment I do that, there’ll be red rockets going up in the flag community, which, as best as I can tell after a few months of being a member, would happily cut its losses where someone in my situation is concerned. I’ve worked for nearly thirty years to get this star. I’m not ready to just throw it away because the admiral herd is getting antsy.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled. “Now tell me as much of the history as I need to know.” He signaled the waiter and asked him to bring them another glass of wine.

“I grew up a Navy junior,” he said-. “When my dad was a commander in a heavy cruiser based down in Norfolk, he was killed in a shipboard accident. He was an Annapolis grad, so naturally I gravitated to the Academy. With some help from his classmates, I got in on a presidential appointment.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Well, I graduated it( 1966. Did the not-terribly-bright thing of getting married on the same day.”

“Had you known her long?”

“Yes. Since high school. We’d been sort of circling each other in the eighth grade. When Dad was killed, she became terribly important. When I went into the boat school, she went off to American University. For the first year, my plebe year, none of us was allowed to date. But her letters kept me alive. And we saw each other during Christmas holidays, and later, after my summer cruise. After that, we dated steadily for the next three years. It was all so, I don’t know, convenient. Comfortable.

Reliable. She was pretty, bright, and fun. I was nothing much at the Academy, did okay in academics but was otherwise undistinguished. She helped to define who I was: the guy with this good-looking girlfriend.”

“What was her.name?”

“Her name was Beth. Actually, her name was Marcia Kendall. Beth was a name she adopted in the third grade, and that’s what everyone called her. Her father was a history prof at the Academy, in what we called the”Bull’ department: English, history, and government.” He caught her look. “Yeah, well, Canoe U. has always been a little bizarre in its nomenclature. If you didn’t go there, you probably can’t understand how inbred Annapolis and the whole Naval Academy scene was.”

“Sounds like a typical college town.”

“Probably. Except that Annapolis also happens to be the capital of Maryland. But the mids are oblivious to that little fact. Anyway, back then there was only one academic major, and that was naval engineering.

Everybody did the same thing, the same-the summer cruises. Marched to class. Same plebe year BS. You couldn’t whine or complain about the regimen or discipline to anyone. But I had Beth.”

Karen sipped her wine.

“She’d been around the Academy as long as I had, so she knew the score.

Knew what I was going through. Anyway, we got married, graduation day wedding number thirteen-thirty minutes, guests in, ceremony, guests out, swords up, swords down, next couple, please. But even on the assembly-line basis, it was romant;c-the chapel, the big organ, the guys holding crossed swords, the whole bit. And we were free-free of the Yard, the walls, our parents, all the chicken rules and regs. I knew my old man would have been very proud. I had done it-carried on the all-important tradition. It was a day to remember.”

“And then?”

“And then a month to get across the country, report in to the fleet, and experience our first collision with reality.

We set up housekeeping in a little cracker-box house in San Diego, three tiny bedrooms, two baths, a living room and a kitchen, and the all-important two-car garage. All the houses the same, and all eight feet apart. Three cars in every yard.

And then I went to sea. And I mean, I went to sea. My first ship was gone seventy percent of the time. Vietnam was starting to come to a boil in the fall of 1966. Hell, when I left the Academy in the summer of 1966, 1 don’t think I even knew where Vietnam was. But off we went, out to WESTPAC, to the Seventh Fleet, and that was the big time, the Navy’s first team.

“Back in San Diego, Beth had Jack-that’s my son-in January 1967. Seven months after graduation, but who was counting? And that’s when the trouble began, I think. She was pregnant, on her own, and trying to live on ensign’s pay, which in those days was two hundred and twenty-two dollars a month. And then I heard about the Swift boat program, and naturally I volunteered. At first they said no. I was Academy, a regular officer, bound for department-head school. They were sending only extended reservists to the boats. But then they changed their mind, and off I went to gunboat school in Coronado.”

“How did she feel about that?”

“About what you’d think. The training lasted two months, which was ironically the longest straight period of time I’d been home in over two years. But then I shipped out with my boat crew to the Philippines for two months, and then went in country for a year. I saw Beth once during that year-in Hawaii during our one R-and-R period.”

“So, two years of arduous sea duty, a new baby, thenwhat, fourteen months of overseas duty, with one week in Hawaii to make it all up?”

You got it. Except it was five days, not a whole week.

R and R was actually almost painful for the married guys.

We tried like hell to carry it off, but it didn’t really work.

You knew on day one that there were only four days left.

You could almost tell how many days a couple had left by the looks on their faces. I was jet-lagged, and she was desperately tired, something I didn’t really anticipate. There was a lot I didn’t notice. Like too many of us at that age, my focus was on me. My career. My adventures in Vietnam.

My prospects for the next assignment. My future in the Navy. And there was another problem: little Jack. The baby was hitting the terrible twos, and giving new meaning to the term. If Jack comes visiting, watch him every minute. He would hit and hurt other kids. He broke stuff. He ran off and hid when you came to find him. He disrupted the nursery school, when we could afford one. He went through baby-sitters by the dozens. Of course, Beth didn’t tell me any of this during our one week in the Hawaiian paradise.

Jack was ‘difficult at times’ was all I got.”

“Was the child ADD?” she asked. “Or was it a psychological problem?”

He smiled. “We didn’t even know about attention deficit disorder, or dyslexia, or any of that stuff. People were just fairly blunt about it: The Shermans had a bad kid, that was all.

“It is amazing how ill-prepared we humans are to raise a child,” she mused, turning her wineglass in her hands.

“We train for everything else but just fearlessly jump into the baby scene.”

“Did you have kids?”

“No. By the time I married, children were pretty much out of the question, really. We married rather late in life. I was thirty-four, Frank was forty-four. Children would have just messed things up. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.”

“We play the hand we’re dealt,” he said softly. “Sounds like you made some better choices than I did. Still want to hear this?”

She nodded.

“Right. Well, when I got back from Vietnam in 1970, 1 had a three-plus-year-old little horror and a wife with the beginnings of a drinking problem. Once again, I didn’t really notice. I was off to the next rung on the ladder. My career, Liberalles. We sold the house, shagged off to Newport, Rhode Island, for department-head school-that was six months-and then back to San Diego for my department-head tour.

Oh, great: more sea duty. Not exactly the most stable family life. I was finishing up that tourthat was, I guess early 1972, when Galantz came calling.

Jack was about five. By then, Beth was using fruit juice laced with vodka just to get through the day, and I was just starting to wonder how this would all come out-especially Jack. “

“Did you get help with Jack?”

“Well, yes and no. We used some Navy counselors at Balboa hospital, but they were dealing with seriously disturbed kids-schizophrenics, kids with severe learning disabilities. To them, Jack was a discipline problem-not a mental problem, but behavioral.”

“They know a little bit more about that today.”

“I wonder,” Sherman said. “But in our case, there were two problems. The first was the old who’s-in-charge problem. Beth ran the household when I was away at sea, which was most of the time. Then I’d come home for a couple of weeks and try, to take over. Kids are smart: They learn to divide and conquer. But Jack posed a legitimate question: Whose rules did he have to follow? Did everything change just because Daddy was home?”

“I’ve heard other Navy people talk about that. And the second problem?”

“Five years ago, I would have said it was hers. But in retrospect, it really was mine. That’s one of the things Elizabeth showed me.

Basically, I didn’t much like my son, so I abdicated. Jack became Beth’s problem child, not mine. I seized on the excuse that it didn’t make sense for me to come home at irregular intervals and change all the rules.

By leaving her in charge, I could simply back out of the problem. I had an operations department and a career to worry about. Mommy can be in charge on the home front.

Mommy can own it. Again, in retrospect, pretty lousy for’ her.” Karen looked down at the table for a long moment. She was struck by the fact that his wife and her replacement had almost the same names. The waiter came by and cleared away the dishes and asked about dessert. Both declined and asked for coffee.

“How did she handle it?” she asked.

“She didn’t. Jack defeated her. He was wary of me, and he learned not to push things when I was around. But he just plain defeated her. I wasn’t much help. I think I lost respect for her because this kid had her number. And, of course, because of the drinking. Anyway, we went off to our first shore-duty tour, up at the graduate school in Monterey. Other guys took advantage of graduate school to get reacquainted with their wives after a couple of sea-duty tours. I was first in my class instead.

I simply took advantage. I think that was when Beth lost hope.”

“Surely you’re being a little hard on yourself, aren’t you?

Most divorce stories I’ve listened to have two sides.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve had years to think about it. Upshot was that after three more assignments, it all finally came apart. We were divorced in 198 1, when I was enroute to my first ship command. Jack was almost fifteen, and solidly hooked up with the teenaged hoods in school. D student.

Not stupid, mind you, just rebellious, uncommunicative, cigarettes, then dope. Beth was sustaining herself on near y a bottle of vodka a day. I had to be sent home from the Mediterranean one time to straighten things out when the neighbors got the social workers into it. Not the sort of thing up-and-coming commanders in the Navy are supposed to have to deal with.”

“What happened to Jack?”

“He bummed his way through high’school, graduated, and then got picked up for some low-level stealing with his gang. Because Jack was the youngest, he was offered a shot at the county’s youthful offenders boot-camp program. It was a brand-new thing back then, but, amazingly, Jack took to it. They contacted me toward the end of his program and asked if I could pull some strings, maybe get him into one of the services. The Marines, of all people, took him.”’ “Are you in touch with him nowadays?”

After a slight hesitation, he said no, prompting Karen to wonder what he was holding back.

“No,” he repeated. “Not since he was in Marine boot camp. He told me in the one and only letter I ever got from him after the divorce that he had been selected for the Marine recon battalion-that’s their Special Forces group. But then something happened in his third year, and he apparently was discharged early. I never found out what it was. Jack and I have had no contact since then. I’m sure I’m not the guy in his life’s story.”

“How do you feel about that now?” she asked, looking at him over the rim of her wineglass.

“Sad, I guess. He is my son. I feel a duty to love him.

But I still don’t like him.”

“People can change. Have you ever tried to find him?”

Another moment of hesitation. Some evasion there. But it was such a personal and painful story, she was ready to forgive any omissions.

“For my own sanity, I have to consider it ancient history,” he said.

“Long story short, these experiences are what conditioned my response to Elizabeth’s marriage overtures. I know now that the whole mess was mostly my fault-for being gone, for being too centered on my career.

The career worked; the marriage didn’t. Now I know what I do best.”

She cringed mentally at the bitterness in his voice and decided not to say anything for a minute. When she did, she was being very careful. “I think,” she said, “that most of us get one free shot at the love-and-marriage prize. You had a wife and child, but the marriage did not succeed. I had a good marriage for almost ten years, or at least I thought it was good, but then he just .’.. died. I never did get to play mommy. I’ve been up and down the emotional hill over that, but the reality is, that chapter of my life is simply closed.

That’s the main reason I’m getting out of the Navy on twenty.

“What do you mean, at least you thought it was good?”

Damn, she thought. I didn’t mean to let that slip out. “I told you that Frank died in the lobby of a hotel down in Washington. It was a residential hotel. I could never get a satisfactory answer from anyone who was close to him in the office as to why he had been there. In fact, the harder I tried, the quicker the shields went up. His junior partner finally told me just to leave it alone, for my sake more than anything else.”

“Wow. And you had no idea?”

“None whatsoever. I’ve often wondered if I simply got too complacent. I know I’m a reasonably attractive woman.

But Frank was wealthy and influential, if not downright powerful in the energy-lobbying industry. You know Washington. What is it, seven eligible females for every one male? Power is stimulating.”

It was his turn to hold his tongue. But then he smiled at her. “You are more than just reasonably attractive, Commander. Notice I used your rank, so that was an official observation, not personal.”

She smiled back at him and there was an awkward pause.

“So what’s next for you?” he asked, opening the way for her to talk about something else. She realized then how smoothly he had steered her off his own story.

“I have no idea. Frank made a lot of money as a lobbyist, so I’m financially secure. Once my release from active duty comes around, I’m probably going to close up the house in Great Falls and do some traveling. See what happens next, I guess. If I was twenty-one, I’d probably be trying to plan everything out. Now I’m just going to roll with it, see what happens.”

“Sounds very sane, Karen. But be careful. What might happen next is the male version of an Elizabeth Walsh will move into your life. That’s one thing I’ve learned: Life doesn’t just leave you alone just because you feel like sitting next few dances.” He stopped. “Christ. I can’t be out the lieve Elizabeth is gone. I miss her.” He paused to collect himself.

“Well, enough of my sad story. What do we do next regarding this police matter?”

“We get the records on Galantz over to the cops. Train von Rensel will turn on an NIS search.”

“Von Rensel, yes. I think NIS is going to be crucial in this. Okay. And when next you see CONNTER, perhaps you can tell him that the cops and I are on the same’side for now.

The penitent was gone. The admiral was back. “Of course, sir,” she replied. If he caught the change in her tone, he gave no indication of it. He was looking at his watch.

“Reveille beckons. Thanks for brokering that meeting tonight. I think having you in the room probably predisposed that guy to be nicer than he had to be.”

She nodded. “I think you did the right thing in telling him the story behind the Galantz problem. As soon as the files come in, I’ll fax an extract to Mcnair so he can see that this is, or was, a real person.”

“He’s real enough.”

“I believe it, Admiral.”

He paid the bill and then excused himself to use the bathroom before they left. She waited by the front door. When he came out, they walked out to the car. ““Train’?”

“He said it was’a football nickname. He’s very different from most of the NIS people I’ve encountered. Not the typical exenlisted guy playing at gumshoe. He has a law degree, and he has worked in the counterintelligence world at ONI. Oh, and with the FBI too, I think. He appears to know his way around.”

“Going after Galantz, he’d better,” Sherman said as they reached her car. Only then did she remember Train’s warming about the ex-SEAL. She unlocked her car with the remote key, which activated the interior light. He made as if to open the door for her and then stopped. She was about to ask what was the matter when she saw what he was staring at.

There was a medium-sized syringe, its steel needle glittering in the light, lying in plain view on the driver’s seat.

They both stared down at the syringe. What was this evillooking thing doing in her car? Karen wondered. She looked quickly around the parking lot, as did Sherman. Only one of the cars in the lot appeared to be occupied, and that by a young woman trying unsuccessfully to control three squalling children. A thin, sloppy-looking young man came out to the car, unwrapping a fresh pack of cigarettes. He got in the car, cuffed one of the kids, and then drove off.

“Okay, I give up,” Sherman said. “Where the hell did that thing come from?” “And how?” she said. “This car was locked. I think I want to call a cop.”

“I agree, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“What if it’s loaded with heroin or cocaine or something?

And it’s in your locked car?”

That got her attention. She looked back down at the driver’s seat and felt a small tingle of alarm. A syringe. An empty syringe, from the looks of it. The plunger was depressed all the way into the barrel. She felt helpless. Call a cop? Or reach in there, pick it up, and throw it into that Dumpster over there? Where had this thing come from? She looked up at Sherman, who was obviously having the same thought that she was: Galantz. This was just like the note.

The cabin light in the car went out, as if the car was tired of Waiting for them. The admiral reached forward and opened the door. The light came back on.