Hell Ship

CHAPTER 2

It was a typically quiet Tuesday night in the county lockup and sheriff’s deputy Aaron Conway was looking forward to getting caught up on his homework. Since the department was paying the tuition for his criminal justice courses, he figured they wouldn’t object to him catching up on his assigned reading while on the clock. It wasn’t like there was actually anything to do, aside from glancing at the camera feed every once in a while to make sure that the drunks in the tank weren’t hurting themselves or choking on their own vomit.

He hated it when they did that.

Actually, he hated almost everything about lock-up duty. As a very young boy, he’d dreamed of being a cop, but he could not have imagined his career in law enforcement would be like this. He had to keep telling himself that this was only temporary; everyone had to pay their dues. That’s all this was.

A buzzer warned him that someone had just come in through the visitor’s entrance. It wasn’t unusual for someone to show up, even at this late hour, to bail out one of the “guests.” He set his book aside, straightening in his chair to look more official. He was surprised to see that the newcomer was in uniform — a naval uniform with a pair of silver bars on the collar.

Aaron Conway, who prior to joining the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department had served three years active duty in the United States Marine Corps and was still a reservist, immediately stood up and assumed the position of attention. He felt foolish at the automatic response, and told himself to relax; inside these walls, he was the superior officer.

Easier said than done.

The naval officer advanced to the desk and deftly removed his cap to reveal close-cropped blond hair. Conway did not fail to notice a distinctive badge perched above a rack of ribbons on the man’s chest, an eagle with wings spread above an old-fashioned pistol and a trident.

The man was a Navy SEAL.

Sometimes the Shore Patrol would send a petty officer to round up sailors who’d tied-on one too many while on liberty and wound up in the lockup, but this was an altogether new experience for Conway.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant…” He shifted his gaze to the name plate over the man’s right shirt pocket. “Maxwell?”

The officer didn’t waste time with pleasantries or even courtesy. “You arrested a man earlier this evening. Big guy… tall. Dark hair, dark complexion.”

“Uh…” Conway glanced down at the roster even though he knew immediately who the lieutenant was referring to. “You mean the Indian?”

A faint head shake. “He’s Pakistani. That’s a common mistake. So he is here?”

Conway’s eyebrows drew together. He thought maybe the SEAL officer had misunderstood him, but he wasn’t about to argue with the man. “We have someone who matches that description. No ID and he refused to give his name. Had a few too many and started breaking chairs at one of those beachside bars.” He didn’t add that the chairs had been broken over the heads of a few other drunken rowdies, all of whom were repeat offenders and probably deserved their lumps.

The lieutenant nodded and then heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you’ve got him. There might still be time.”

“Time? For what?”

The SEAL ignored the question. “Deputy, I need to take custody of your prisoner.”

“Take custody? I—”

The officer leaned closer, as if preparing to share some profound secret. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this — hell, I’ve already said more than I should have — but this is a matter of national security. I don’t — no, make that we don’t have time to pussyfoot around with ‘proper channels.’” He made quote marks with his fingers. “Where I’m taking him…well, it’s somewhere rules and proper channels won’t be a problem.”

Conway gaped. “Is it really that serious?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Officially? I can’t comment on that. Unofficially, let’s just say that if you don’t turn him over to me ASAP, tomorrow’s headlines might be…memorable.”

The deputy’s first impulse was to pick up the phone and call his department head at home. The navy man seemed to read his intention. “Tick tock, son. If you don’t have the cojones to act decisively, then you’d damn well better call someone who can.”

Conway bristled. “Screw that, sir.” He picked up the phone, but instead of dialing an outside line, he called the deputy stationed in the holding area. “Rex. Bring out the Indian.”

“He’s Pakistani,” the SEAL insisted.

Conway didn’t pass along the correction. Instead, he added: “Wait for me. This guy could be trouble.” He set the handset back in the cradle and turned to Maxwell. “You want to come along?”

“Right behind you.”

Conway pushed a button on his desktop to temporarily disable the electronic door locks, and led the SEAL into one of the holding areas. They’d given the Indian — or rather, the Pakistani — his own cell instead of locking him up in the drunk tank. Once the responding deputies — four of them in all — had subdued the man, he’d been cooperative enough. Now, a few hours closer to sober, he appeared completely docile, offering no resistance as a deputy ushered him out of the cell. But when the tall prisoner caught sight of the man in the Navy duds, his expression hardened. He locked his gaze on the SEAL. “You.”

Before the prisoner could elaborate, the lieutenant spoke. “Deputy, if he so much as looks at me cross-eyed, you have my leave to use your baton on him until he’s a quivering puddle of Jello on the floor. Do I make myself clear?”

Although he was addressing the deputy, his eyes never left the prisoner.

“It would be my pleasure,” Conway answered, resting a hand on the grip of his nightstick.

The big man raised his hands, but his swarthy face twisted into something that looked almost like a smile. “You win, paleface. Let’s bury the tomahawk, or whatever the hell that saying is.”

Conway threw a perplexed glance at the SEAL; he was pretty sure that wasn’t the sort of thing a Pakistani would say. Maxwell however kept his stare fixed on the prisoner. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your trap shut.”

The prisoner barked a derisive laugh, but the SEAL was done talking to him. He gestured toward the exit. “Put him in my car. I’ll take it from there.”

He led the procession through the building and out the visitor’s entrance to a non-descript sedan with government motor pool license plates. Once there, he opened the rear door and gestured for the prisoner to get inside.

Conway frowned. “Sir, I know you SEALs are all badass and everything, but are you sure it’s safe for you to escort him by yourself?”

Lieutenant Maxwell cast an appraising eye at the hulking prisoner. “I don’t think he’s going to be any trouble. But on second thought, maybe you’d better put him up front where I can keep an eye on him.”

Once more, Conway got the sense that the SEAL had missed the point, but surely the guy knew his business, and despite being a little unsteady on his feet, the big drunk Indian—Pakistani, Conway corrected himself — did not resist in the least as he was guided into the passenger seat. With the door firmly closed, the officer donned his hat and circled around to the driver’s side.

He lingered behind the open car door for a final exhortation to Conway. “Thanks for your assistance, deputy. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that what happened here tonight needs to be kept under wraps. National security, you know.”

Conway nodded. “Where you taking him? Leavenworth?”

The SEAL’s craggy expression cracked into something almost like a wry smile. “Trust me, where I’m taking him makes Leavenworth look like a vacation resort.”