Mission Critical

Chapter Eleven

With his black, nylon gym bag slung over his shoulder, Grant slammed the car door, then unzipped his windbreaker. He looked overhead through dark, aviator sunglasses at a cobalt-colored sky. The warmth from the early morning sun felt good on his face. February was starting out better than its usual, blustery self. The dark circles under his eyes had faded and the black stitches had been removed from his head. All that remained was a thin, raised scar. It was amazing what a few days leave could do for mind and body.

The phone rang just as he walked into his room at the BOQ. "Stevens."

"Commander Stevens?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Commander, this is Emily at Secretary Canon's office. The Secretary would like you to come to his office at 10 AM. Can you make it?"

He dropped his gym bag on the floor, glancing at his watch. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."

Weaving the black Vette in and out of traffic Grant could merely speculate on why he'd been called to the Secretary of the Navy's office. Monday had been a full day spent at the inquiry and then debriefing. None of the reasons popping into his mind seemed logical.

Twenty minutes later, and wearing a new set of Navy dress blues, he was standing at attention before Secretary John Canon.

"At ease, Commander, and just drop your cap on the chair." Grant complied, then the Secretary walked around from behind the walnut desk and stood in front of him. "Commander, I'd like to present this Legion of Merit Medal to you." The medal hung from a wide, magenta-colored ribbon with a narrow white stripe down each edge.

"Thank you, sir," Grant replied, as he shook Canon's hand.

Canon stepped back as he remarked, "But Commander, I have to tell you, I believe you're out of uniform."

Grant instantaneously went through a mental check list of his uniform and was hesitant to look down. "Excuse me, sir?"

The Secretary leaned over the desk and pulled out the bottom left hand drawer, removing two shoulder boards, each with four gold stripes. He held them out in front of Grant. "I believe these are yours, Captain."

Grant's shoulders went slack. "Sir, I… I–Captain?"

Canon reached for Grant's hand, then put the shoulder boards across his palm. "I have a note here that I'd like to read to you." He picked up the white bond paper and unfolded it, the presidential seal emblazoned across the top. 'To: Commander Grant Stevens, United States Navy. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that you have been approved for selection to the rank of Captain in the United States Navy, effective immediately, pending your successful physical examination and acceptance of this rank, and in accordance with Naval Regulation', etc., etc. I'm sure you know the rest. And, of course, it's signed, President Samuel McNeely."

By now, Grant was again standing at attention, the words ringing in his ears. "Thank you, sir! And the President, too, sir. I… I really don't know what else to say."

Canon nodded. "Captain Stevens, I don't want this to sound trite, but we are the ones who thank you for your service to your country. You took great risks and followed through to the end, knowing full well the consequences."

Grant bit his bottom lip. It would be a long time before the sound would quit hammering against his brain. Because of his anger, he and he alone was responsible for Gene Morelli taking his own life. He told himself repeatedly that he did what was right, but it was difficult to unravel his feelings. The initial guilt he felt for being unable to help Morelli had quickly changed to anger. That anger would stay bottled up in him a long time, but it was the years of friendship that kept getting in the way of his understanding. His long-time friend had betrayed him.

"At ease, Captain." Grant complied. Canon folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the desk. "I believe I know what you're feeling and thinking at this moment." He studied Grant's face for a moment. "You know, it was pure chance I came across a quote by Ulysses S. Grant yesterday, and I'd like to relay it to you now. 'Let no guilty man escape, if it can be avoided. No personal considerations should stand in the way of performing a duty'."

Grant stared straight ahead. "Thank you, sir."

Just then, the intercom buzzer sounded and Canon pressed the button. "Yes?"

"Your next appointment is here, Mr. Secretary," announced Emily Shorter from the outer office.

"Ah, yes, send him in, Emily."

Joe Adler walked in, a surprised look on his and Grant's face. He saluted, then asked with a broad grin, "Sir, what are you doing here?"

Grant held out his hand with the new shoulder boards. "The Secretary said I was out of uniform until I put these on, Joe! You believe it?"

Adler rushed to his friend, his hand outstretched. "Congratulations, sir! Outstanding! I knew this was gonna be a good day!" Even though his arm was finally free of the sling, he still had some mild pain in his shoulder, but he ignored it and continued vigorously shaking Grant's hand.

Grant laughed. "I suppose you got that twitch in your neck again?"

"Like I told you before, sir — it works!"

Canon smiled, listening to the easy conversation passing between the two friends. He reached into his side jacket pocket, looking at the medal with an eagle, hanging from a green ribbon with two white stripes. "Joe, front and center," he called, as he waved Adler toward him.

"Sir," Adler said, standing at attention.

"Joe, I'd like to present you with this Navy Commendation Medal." He pinned the medal to Adler's dress blues jacket. "Thank you, Senior Chief."

"Thank you, sir."

Canon lifted a blue box from his desk. "Stay where you are, Joe." He handed the box to Grant. "Captain, I think you should have the honor."

Grant opened the lid. He snapped his head up first to look at Canon, then at Adler, a broad grin immediately flashing across his face. "Joe! Your neck twitching again?"

Adler's brow furrowed. "Sir?" Grant held the open box in front of him. Adler’s blue eyes went to the size of dinner plates when he saw the silver bars. "Shit, sir! I… ! What… ! Not me, sir!"

Canon practically fell against his desk from laughing so hard. There had been very few times during the past months that the Secretary of the Navy heard laughter in his office.

Grant pinned the bars on Adler's collar then grabbed his hand. "Congratulations, Lieutenant(j.g.) Adler! And now, I believe you're out of uniform, mister!"

Handshakes went all around before the Secretary of the Navy finally said, "Gentlemen, have a seat so we can discuss some business," and he motioned toward the couch. "Can I get you something to drink?" Grant and Adler both declined. "Captain, your new assignment will be as Chief of Staff at NIS. Lieutenant Adler is being assigned as your aide."

"Sir, excuse me, but before we go any further, may I make a recommendation concerning the Bronson?"

"Of course, Captain." Canon sat back, crossed his legs, and smoothed his blue pin-striped trousers.

"Well, sir, we've got the 'only game in town' with that ship, and with the Cold War situation as it is, someone is bound to try again."

"Captain, don't you think the odds are pretty slim of there being another mole?"

"Yes, sir, but there are many ways for it to happen."

"What do you suggest?"

"Sir, I believe you should assign a squad of SEALs from Team 1. Agent Mullins has made that same recommendation, sir."

Canon raised an eyebrow, but there appeared to be somewhat of a smile on his lips. "What, no Marines, Captain? You aren't just being biased here, are you?"

"Maybe somewhat, sir, but I strongly believe they'd be your best defense for the ship."

"I'm sure the Appropriations Committee will ask, but wouldn't that mean a major overhaul to accommodate them?"

Grant shook his head. "It shouldn't be, sir. The after repair bay could be converted into a galley and bunk room."

"Isn't there already a galley on board?"

"The galley Agent Mullins uses is on 03 level, sir, the same level as the communication's center. I think you'd want the team to be closer to topside security."

"Sir, may I say something?" Adler asked. Canon nodded. "Sir, I agree with the Comman… I mean, the Captain. It seemed awfully easy for those Russians to board. If we hadn't been there, sir, Agent Mullins wouldn't have had a chance and the Bronson would most likely be destroyed."

"Appreciate your input, Joe. Is there anything else?" he asked as looked back and forth between the two men.

"Yes, sir," Grant replied, "but one more thing. I suggest that you let it be known that the SEALs are on board."

Canon stood and slipped his hand into his pocket. "Would that be wise, Captain?"

"I believe so, sir. If the other side knows, their only option would be a direct strike and that would be an act of outright aggression, which could mean war. This incident was as close as it came, sir. We were lucky this time."

"Point well taken," Canon nodded. "I guess your first assignment at NIS will be to start putting the wheels in motion for this to happen, and I'll do what I have to do. Right now, you both need to go over there and start picking up the pieces before your new boss arrives."

Grant nodded in acknowledgment and asked, "Do you know who it will be, sir?"

"We have a few names in mind, but actually, we hoped you would make a recommendation."

"Well, sir, there are some good men out there from the Teams. If you want someone with covert background—"

"That's exactly who we're looking for," Canon interrupted as he walked behind his desk. "It seems that recent world situations are leading more and more to those types of encounters."

"I'd recommend Admiral Torrinson, sir. He's at WARCOM."

"Hmm. Very well, Captain. I'll pass that along to the President." Canon made a note on his desk pad, then walked back toward the two men, who stood immediately. "Gentlemen, congratulations again. And, Joe, you need to keep your boss out of trouble, you hear?"

Adler grinned. "Yes, sir. I've done it before!"

They left the office and Grant motioned, "Come on, Joe, I'll give you a ride to NIS. We may as well get started."

He unlocked the Vette's passenger side door then walked around the back. Adler rested his hand on the car's shiny, black roof, glistening in the sunlight.

Grant was slipping on his sunglasses when Adler asked, "Think my Mustang can give you a run for your money, sir?"

"Take you on any time, friend! As soon as you get that 'horse' here, I'll take you to a perfect place for us to spin our wheels!"

Grant opened the door and tossed his cap in the back. They both settled into the black leather bucket seats. He turned the ignition key and the Vette's powerful engine roared, responding immediately.

Adler cocked his head to the side and grinned, loving the sound of a racing engine. "You know what this means, don't you, sir, I mean about the two of us being assigned to NIS?"

Grant shook his head. "No, but I expect you're gonna tell me."

"Well, sir, it seems evident that they're just making it all the more easier for us to get into trouble together!"

Grant threw the gearshift into first, popped the clutch, and the wide, rubber tires smoked and squealed as he pulled away from the curb, leaving black streaks down a length of pavement.

"Yeah, Joe. Life's good!"