Ambush

28

Three days after the final shoot-out in Mindanao, the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven was back in quarters in Coronado. It was a Thursday morning when Murdock came over the quarterdeck, paid his respects to Master Chief Petty Officer Gordon MacKenzie, and made it safely into his small office.

When they hit the North Island airfield, Murdock had sent Senior Chief Sadler with the uninjured men directly to the base. He took Lam and DeWitt straight to Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego’s Balboa Park to check their gunshot wounds. The hospital treated them, checked Lam’s broken leg through the splints, and decided it didn’t need any further medical attention. Told him to stay off it for two weeks, then to come back for a walking cast.

Murdock and DeWitt went to check on Ostercamp. He had been flown to Balboa the day after he was shot. The wound in his upper chest was not as serious as they had feared in Davao, but he was kept in the hospital for observation and would be there another week.

“Nothing strenuous for three months,” the doctor on the floor said. “Then he can begin gradual workouts. I understand he’s a SEAL.”

“He is, Doctor. We want him back in top shape before he’s operational with us.”

Then the two headed home.

Now, in the office, Murdock looked at his personnel chart. He needed two replacements. One would be permanent, one would be temporary for at least five months, and on call after that as a filler for the platoon.

A half hour after Murdock began reviewing replacement candidate files, which MacKenzie had already put on his desk, the phone rang. It was his CO, Commander Masciareli.

“Murdock, I want to see you this second. Get your ass into my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Murdock said. He hadn’t sorted through the stack of paper on his desk, but he knew what it had to be about. Bradford. His trouble with the law.

Three minutes later, Murdock stood stiffly at attention in front of the commander. Dean Masciareli was so furious that his face had turned red and sweat beaded his forehead.

“What the hell were you thinking, taking that man on a mission when the San Diego Police and the district attorney had a warrant for his arrest?”

“I was following Navy procedure. You tell me a dozen times a day that I have to go through the chain of command. I had no orders from you about Bradford. I had nothing that would allow one of my men to be detained. What I did have were orders from you and from the Chief of Naval Operations and the President of the United States ordering my platoon to leave the country. I followed my orders from you to the letter.”

Masciareli frowned. “By God, I never thought about it that way. You’re right. The person who phoned you the day you left had no authority from the Navy to contact you. He should have gone through Navy channels. He didn’t, so it’s his fault and I’ll back you all the way.”

Masciareli sat down, motioned for Murdock to sit. He looked at a sheaf of papers in his hand. “You haven’t seen the charges. The more I go over them the flakier they look. All they have are the words of this one witness, who is the main one facing charges of counterfeiting old-master paintings.”

“Sir, have you seen any of Bradford’s paintings?”

“No.”

“I have. I bought two of them. They are good marine subjects, and fairly well done. But Bradford is by no stretch good enough to fake an old-master painting.”

“Not what the warrant and charges say. They indicate that Bradford is the seller of the paintings to some person up the coast somewhere. He’s charged with concealing a felony, aiding and abetting a felon, and selling illegal goods.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting at 1600 with a Navy lawyer who’s a friend of mine, an assistant DA, and a San Diego Police detective. I want you and Bradford there. Before that, you and I need to talk to Bradford and find out exactly what’s been going on.”

“Bradford will be across the quarterdeck at 0800. I’ll bring him right over here and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Back in his office, Murdock tried to puzzle it out. Bradford simply wasn’t the kind of man to take part in an art scam. Not a chance. Murdock had started on the top of the stack of paperwork MacKenzie had left him when Bradford knocked on the door.

“Senior Chief said you wanted to see me, sir.”

“Right, we need to go over to the commander’s office. He says there’s a warrant for your arrest for being part of an operation that sells fake old-master paintings.”

“Oh, damn,” Bradford said.

“Then you do know something about it?”

“Yes, sir. But I had no part in it.”

“That’s what we have to dig into. There’s a meeting at 1600 with a Navy lawyer, an assistant district attorney, and a San Diego Police detective. Before then we need to have all of our answers, and we want to know everything you do about this situation. Hold it until we get to the commander’s office.”

Murdock stood up to go as the phone rang. He hesitated, then picked it up.

“Missed you this morning for breakfast,” a familiar female voice said. “Can I count on you for lunch at your place?”

“Hey, wondered where you were.” Murdock motioned Bradford out of his office. “Yeah, you’re late. I’ve been home almost twenty hours now. What happened?”

Ardith Manchester laughed softly, and Murdock felt that surge of delight at simply hearing her voice. “I knew you were coming, I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive. You’ve been all over the newspapers. This is the first time, since this one was not covert at all. Your platoon has been hailed as heroes in a dozen different countries.”

“Good, but that and a five-dollar bill will get you a double latte at a coffee shop. Great to hear that you’re in town. Lunch at home for sure. I’m in the middle of a big brouhaha with one of my men and the San Diego Police. Trying to get to the bottom of it. Call you later about lunch for sure. Got to go.”

“See you then. I have a surprise for you.”

“Can’t wait.”

They hung up, and Murdock hustled Bradford straight over to the commander’s office. They were shown directly in.

“What the hell is going on, Bradford? I’ve got cops and district attorneys all over me. Take it from the start and tell us what this is all about.”

Bradford gulped once, then twice. “You say there’s a warrant for my arrest? I don’t see how.”

He told them about his painting, how he’d teamed up with the other artists and rented this run-down building almost a year ago. He told them about the other artists in the group.

“Yeah, yeah. But what about this girl Xenia? Doesn’t she have a last name?”

“No last name. A lot of artists do that. She’s good. She sells some. I’ve been selling some, but we hadn’t been making the nut on the rent and utilities. I guess she had been paying the rest of the tab. I didn’t know that. I didn’t ask where the extra money came from.”

“Now you know,” Masciareli said. “You sleeping with her?”

“I don’t see how that—”

“Bradford, it will come out, so you might as well get used to it,” Murdock said.

“Yes, I’m sleeping with her. She’s good at her painting, and I’m learning from her work.”

“You knew she was faking the old masters?”

“Not until two weeks before we left for the Philippines. That’s the first I knew about it. I never sold any of her paintings, never arranged to sell them. I don’t even know that guy in Santa Barbara who evidently is the middleman on the scheme.”

“Then you swear that you didn’t know about this until two weeks before we left for the Philippines, that you never acted as her agent to sell or place any of the paintings, and that you never received any kind of compensation in relation to these fake old-master paintings that she created?” Masciareli asked.

“Correct,” Bradford said. “Absolutely true. I don’t know how they could charge me with anything like this.”

“The charges were made by Xenia,” Murdock said.

Bradford scowled, shook his head. “Not a chance. You’re joking. Why would she make up a lot of bullshit like that?”

“Why?” Masciareli asked. “To spread the blame. To give the cops another victim they could prosecute. To make her a little less guilty-looking. Lots of reasons. Maybe she was mad because you wouldn’t marry her. Maybe she wanted a baby and you said no. Who knows how a woman thinks?”

“Is she out on bail?” Murdock asked.

“Yes, and restricted to the county area.”

“I want to talk to her,” Bradford said.

“Not a good idea,” Murdock said. “But I’m going to. She should be at that studio?” he asked Bradford.

“She lives there.”

“Okay, Bradford,” Masciareli said. “Let’s go over it again from the top. Everything that happened since you started there with the other painters. I want it all. We’ll have a lawyer here this afternoon. He’s Navy, but since this is a civilian warrant, the Navy can have no part in the case. He’s here as a personal favor to me, to see what we can do before you get arrested. If what you say is true, he may be able to help us blow enough holes in the girl’s testimony to get your charges reduced or maybe withdrawn. No guarantees.”

Murdock stood. “I’m going to see that girl. When is the attorney going to be here?”

“Fourteen-hundred. Be careful with the girl. Tell her nothing about what Bradford just told us. Tread carefully.”

“I’ll be back for the 1400 meet.” Murdock picked up his floppy hat and hurried out to his office. Senior Chief Sadler was running the show at Third Platoon. J.G. DeWitt had been sent on a three-day leave to let his arm heal. Lam was back at Balboa, where his leg was being checked over again. They might need to take the cast off and reset the bone.

“Make it an easy day, Senior Chief,” Murdock said. “A five-mile training run this morning, and a five-mile swim this afternoon, then early release at 1600. Bradford will not be here. He’s in a meeting.”

“Heard about the charges,” Sadler said. “Sound phony as hell to me.”

“Yes, to me too. I’ll be back tomorrow, Senior Chief. You’ve got the con.”

It took Murdock almost forty minutes to get out of Coronado, across the sweeping bridge into San Diego, and then downtown to the studio. He’d been there twice to showings, and remembered where it was. The door was locked, so he pounded on it until he heard someone coming.

“Yes, yes, what do you want?” A woman’s voice. There was no glass in the door. It opened slightly, then all the way.

Xenia stood there with two artist’s brushes in her hand. The smock she wore had smudges of a dozen different shades of paint, and there was one small spot of blue on her cheek.

“Oh, it’s you. I remember you from the showing. Bill’s friend.”

“Bill Bradford’s commanding officer. We need to talk.”

“My lawyer told me not to talk to anyone.”

“I’m not Bradford’s lawyer. I’m not anyone’s lawyer. I want to know why you’re trying to ruin the life of a fine young man when you know that you’re lying right through your fucking teeth.”

She stepped back a bit, then smiled. “You SEALs always talk so colorfully. How do you know that it isn’t Bill who’s lying?”

“Because I know Bill. He and I have put our lives on the line for each other a dozen times. We’re bonded in a way you never could be, that you couldn’t even understand. You shit on my friend like this, you shit on me and I don’t like it.”

She took another step back. “Commander, are you threatening me?”

“Hell, no. If I threaten you, young lady, you damn well will know it for sure. I could snuff you right here and get away with it. Nobody would ever know. And you’d be dead and rotting in some garbage dump. I’m not threatening you. In fact, I’m trying to help you.”

“Help, oh, shit, yes, you’re a big help.”

“If you maintain that Bill was your sales agent, we can shoot that down in the first hearing. Then the judge and a jury will go twice as hard on you, and there could even be additional charges brought against you. Whoever your lawyer is must know this. Remind him about it before the preliminary hearing. You must have some feelings for Bill since you’ve been sleeping with him. Why drag him down to your level?”

“I have my reasons.”

“He wouldn’t marry you, would he?”

She turned and flounced away, looked back at Murdock, and threw both slim artist’s brushes at him. “Fuck, no, he wouldn’t marry me. I pleaded with him. He said not quite yet. Too dangerous a job, he had. He said people shot at him, tried to kill him. I said, sure, sure, show me some newspaper clippings. So, he was my contact man for the old masters that we ‘found.’ Nothing on paper, all verbal. Lots of cell-phone calls to Santa Barbara. Easy to trace. Check it out. Yes, that stupid son of a bitch wouldn’t marry me.” She grabbed a painting off an easel and threw it at Murdock, then ran up the stairs to her studio.

Murdock figured the room above would have a lock on the door and it would be a good one. At least he had talked to her. Maybe planted some doubts in her mind. Now to see what the DA and the cops said. He didn’t see how they could have anything more than the girl’s word against Bradford. That wouldn’t hold up in court. Trouble was, Murdock didn’t want this to get to court. No way it should get that far.

Time to get home for lunch with Ardith. Murdock began to grin; it spread across his face, and was still there when he pulled to a stop in front of his apartment in Coronado. He ran up the steps to the second-floor unit and barged in the door.

Ardith Manchester had heard the car stop and had seen him coming. She stood waiting for him.

Murdock stopped just inside the door and stared at her. She was tall and slender, with long blond hair, a face with high cheekbones and perfect eyes, so beautiful it made him wince and wonder at his luck. She was a lawyer working in Washington, D.C., for her father, the senior senator from Oregon. She was so smart and quick and just plain nice that it made him gulp in a quick breath.

“Hi there, sailor.”

“Hi, beautiful lady. I thought you said something about lunch.”

“Maybe just dessert.” She hugged him and put her head on his shoulder, pressing against him hard so he wouldn’t leave her again.

“I have a whole envelope full of Washington Post clippings about our daring SEALs, the hostage busters.”

Murdock grinned again. “Yeah, for once we’re out of the closet. Feels kind of good.” He looked around. “You mentioned dessert?”

She unwound herself from him, caught his hand, and led him toward the bedroom.

“It’s in here,” she said. “I’m it.”