Silent Vengeance

Chapter 18

With a senior officer approaching them, sailors stepped aside as Grant made his way along narrow passageways, and down ladders. He finally realized how quiet it had become topside. No launches. No traps. Flight ops had ended. He pictured the flight deck crew hustling around the deck, ensuring all aircraft was secured.

Stepping through the last door, he spotted Edmunds, leaning against the bulkhead, flipping through pages of a small spiral-bound notebook.

"Hey, Sid."

"Captain Stevens."

The two shook hands. "Please, call me 'Grant.'"

"Okay, Grant."

"Has your other agent had any luck?"

"Not yet. He's working on the other half of the list. At last contact, he was heading to the engine room. Plus, he's trying to do quick inspections, looking for boxes of pills."

"You think it's an impossible task, Sid?"

Edmunds shrugged his shoulders. "It won't be easy." He pointed to the rolled up paper Grant was holding. "You have any news?"

"Why don't we head to your next stop? We can talk on the way?"

They finally reached the passageway leading to the mail room. "Who's scheduled for an interview here, Sid?"

Edmunds ran a finger down the page. "A Petty Officer Jerome, Seaman Garcia, and Seaman Zajak should be on duty." Edmunds lowered his voice. "Unless you're still thinking we need to pay special attention to the Filipinos."

"I'm not profiling anyone, Sid. My gut's just telling me it's someone on board who could've had a, uh, special relationship with the PNA, and that could only happen if one lived in-country. I don't think that group welcomes outsiders."

"Any proof?"

"Hell, no!" Grant answered, giving Edmunds' shoulder a light slap.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to interview the three."

"Up to you." Grant extended an arm, pointing toward their destination. "Your lead."

A petty officer was standing behind a counter, replenishing stamps and envelopes inside two drawers. Farther back in the room, two men were sorting through orange-colored canvas bags filled with letters and small packages. A row of larger boxes was lined up along a bulkhead.

Grant hung back, closer to the door, while Edmunds walked in and went to the counter. "Petty Officer Jerome, I have some questions for you." He looked toward two men. "Can you tell me if Seaman Zajak and Seaman Garcia are here?"

"Yes, sir, that's them," Jerome pointed.

"I'll be questioning them too. Come with me."

After finishing with Jerome, then Zajak, Edmunds called, "Seaman Paolo Garcia."

"Yes, sir?" Garcia brushed a hand over his short, dark brown hair.

Edmunds unhooked his gold NIS badge from his belt for the third time, and held it up. "Special Agent Edmunds, NIS. Would you mind coming into the passageway with me? I just have a few questions." Edmunds immediately noticed an expression change on Garcia's face. Worry? Surprise?

As Garcia came from behind the counter, Edmunds hooked his badge on his belt. As he did, he saw Garcia's eyes drop to his holstered weapon, a Ruger .357 Magnum SP101, a five shot revolver with a 4" barrel.

Grant tucked the papers into his back waistband, while trying not to draw attention to himself. He slowly backed out of the room, and stood next to the bulkhead.

Edmunds pointed toward a corner of the passageway, indicating for Garcia to walk ahead. Grant remained where he was, just out of earshot of the conversation, but staying on alert.

After ten minutes, Edmunds allowed Garcia to return to the mail room. Garcia nodded to Grant as he passed. "Sir."

Edmunds motioned for Grant to follow him. Once they were down the passageway, Edmunds said in a low tone, "I might be jumping to conclusions here, Grant, but I think he's our man." Two sailors stepped aside for them as they passed.

Edmunds and Grant walked through a doorway. Ahead was a ladder. They stopped in the space behind it, and checking that no one was around, Edmunds picked up the conversation. "You know, usually when I show up, the person I'm ready to question asks 'What's this about?' Not so with Garcia. I asked him if he knew Petty Officer Jacob Ahrens."

"He admitted he did?!" Grant asked with surprise.

"No. That's what sent up a second red flag. His posturing showed me he was nervous. He hesitated, then merely shook his head. So, I figured, what the hell, I'll go right for the bonus question. I asked if he ever heard of the group PNA. Again, he shook his head."

"He's from the Philippines and never heard of it."

"Right."

"Well, Sid, where do you go from here?"

Edmunds glanced at his watch. "He'll be coming off duty in a couple of minutes. I'll try to follow him. In all likelihood he'll head for his rack. What he does from there, we'll just have to wait and see."

"Of course, you'll request permission to search his space," Grant added, facetiously.

"Of course!"

Grant offered his hand. "Okay, Sid. I'm off to talk with the admiral and Captain Conklin. Keep me posted. Good luck."

"You too!"

As Grant walked through the hangar bay, he noticed the hangar bay doors, huge slabs of metal, were sealed tight. Storm must be right over us, he thought.

He wove his way around planes, helicopters, maintenance vehicles, and crew, as he headed for the WTD and ladderwell leading up to the island. But he paused briefly, looking in the direction of the aft hangar bay and engine shop, where a few years ago, a single bullet came close to ending his life. Same ship. Different circumstances. Get movin', Stevens.

The Preston's flight deck was hardly visible from the bridge, as heavy rain fell from a darkened sky, beating against the forward windows. Helm, lee helm, everyone on duty continued assigned tasks. All officers who were on the bridge stood near Conklin.

Conklin heard hurried footsteps. He turned seeing Grant approaching, and motioned him onto the bridge. "Captain Stevens."

Grant removed his cap and tucked it under his left arm. He nodded toward the other officers before approaching Conklin. "If you've got time, I'd like to discuss the upcoming op with you and the admiral. Is he in his sea cabin?"

"He is. Follow me." Conklin looked toward OOD Braebern. "You've got the bridge, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

Another voice announced, "Captain's off the bridge."

A first class petty officer security guard (master at arms) stood outside Torrinson's sea cabin. "Sirs."

Torrinson was sitting behind his desk, when there was a knock at his door. "Come."

The guard opened the door, allowing Grant and Conklin to enter the room. He immediately closed the door.

"Jim, Grant," Torrinson said as he stood then came from behind the desk.

Grant took the papers from his waistband. "Admiral, this is the latest info I received from my contact."

"Let's take a look." Torrinson motioned toward the table. "Am I to assume you and your men have come up with some kind of plan?"

"Yes, sir. I'll meet with them when we're through here, and then finalize. Joe and I already met with the chopper crew, so they've got an idea on where we're going." He spread out the sat images. "I'm hoping my contact can get me a few more answers before departure, but we should be ready to leave somewhere around 2200." He looked toward Conklin. "Will there be a problem with that timeframe?"

"Negative. Sounds okay," Conklin answered. "I'm planning resumption of flight ops at 2400, as long as the weather holds."

"Let's hope it does. We need to move out soon. I hate to give those bastards any more time than they've already had. But I guess if we can't fly out, that Huey will be socked in too." Grant gave Torrinson a sly look. "You wouldn't happen to have a sub hiding nearby, would you, sir?"

"There's one … but you can't have it," Torrinson laughed.

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

As the three men were about to sit, there was a loud, sharp rapping at the door, startling everyone. Torrinson responded, "Come!"

As soon as it opened, OOD Braebern came in, announcing, "Excuse me, Admiral, but the captain's needed on the bridge asap, sir!"