The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER TEN

The setting sun was a molten ball of orange hanging over the shimmering waters of Cape Cod Bay as the executive jet made its approach to Otis air base, but the beauty of the scene was lost on Hawkins. Nearly twenty-four hours had elapsed since he’d told Fletcher he’d have a team in place.

Two down and one to go.

As he drove back to Woods Hole from Otis, he thought about his whirlwind trip to Washington. Abby and Calvin had been easier to snag than Hawkins had expected. The next call might be the most difficult, and risky.

Returning home, he fed Quisset, and then climbed to his study, sat at his desk, stared at the computer screen, and thought about his first meeting with the enigmatic Molly Sutherland.

Hawkins had refused to stop pushing for an investigation into the ambush that had nearly killed him and he’d been ordered to see a navy psychiatrist. He had limped into the waiting room of a navy medical building in Bethesda and flopped into a chair. Sitting opposite him was a young woman in her twenties, wearing army khakis, who was tapping away at a laptop computer. She was slightly plump, with a creamy white complexion and a round, pretty face framed by short black hair.

She looked up and blinked through black-framed round glasses at Hawkins with the most beautiful orchid blue eyes he had ever seen. He nodded and gave her a half smile. She gazed at him with a neutral expression, and then returned to her computer. He thumbed through an old dog-eared copy of Guns and Ammo magazine. He was pondering the idea of walking away from his appointment when the young woman spoke.

“He’s a snake, you know.”

Hawkins looked up from his magazine. “Pardon me?”

She jerked her head toward a closed door. “Dr. Mengele.”

Hawkins wanted to ask the woman why she used the name of the Nazi concentration camp doctor, but a door opened and a stern-looking nurse said, “Dr. Trask will see you now, Lieutenant Hawkins.” The nurse handed the woman a clipboard. “The doctor would like you to fill out this paperwork before he sees you, Corporal Sutherland.”

Sutherland smirked at Hawkins. “Have a nice day.”

A minute later, Hawkins was sitting in front of a mahogany desk occupied by the psychiatrist. Dr. Trask was gaunt, almost cadaverous, in appearance, with a weak chin that was diminished even further by his long face. He picked up a folder and let it drop onto the desk top.

“I’ve gone through your records,” he said. “Disturbing.”

“You’ve done a psychiatric evaluation without talking to me?” Hawkins said.

Dr. Trask stiffened at the unexpected retort. He was used to patients cowering at his pronunciations from on high.

“I didn’t have to talk to you. It’s obvious from the statements of your superiors that you have paranoid delusions. You think someone is out to get you.”

“That’s not the way I look at it. I just want the Navy to investigate the circumstances of a military operation I was involved in.”

Trask leaned his elbows on the desk and folded his hands in front of him. He gazed at Hawkins with slate-colored eyes. “The ambush that injured you, and resulted in the deaths of three men under your command, is making you feel inadequate and less of a man.”

Hawkins had the urge to rip the man’s face off with his bare hands, but he knew that the doctor was deliberately trying to prod him into making an unwise move that would support his diagnosis. He remembered the warning of Corporal Sutherland.

He’s a snake, you know.

Hawkins sat back in his chair and folded his hands in imitation of the doctor.

“We can save a lot of time if you dispense with the psychobabble and get right to the point, Dr. Trask.”

Trask’s eyes narrowed, giving his face a predatory look.

“Very well, lieutenant. I’m sure you understand your situation. Your hostile attitude gives me no choice but to recommend a psychiatric discharge unless you stop your private vendetta against the Navy.”

Hawkins understood the situation very well. Trask was a snake, but the real reptiles were the higher-ups blocking a probe.

“Thank you very much for being honest with me,” Hawkins said. “I’ll certainly give your warning serious consideration.”

He pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the door. As he walked through the lobby he saw Corporal Sutherland look up at him with questioning eyes.

“You were right,” he said. “Good luck.”

She folded her laptop. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got snake repellant.”

Hawkins was tempted to go the nearest bar and numb his brain with booze, but he waited outside for Corporal Sutherland. She emerged after less than ten minutes.

“That didn’t take long. How’d you make out?” he asked.

“Medical discharge. At least it wasn’t a psychiatric one like yours.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Dr. Mengele threatened me with the same thing, but held off after I used my repellant.”

Hawkins grinned in spite of himself. “I could use some of that stuff myself. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

She cocked her head and looked at him, thinking, then said, “There’s a Starbucks a couple of blocks from here.”

They found a table at the back of the coffee shop. Sutherland sipped at a caramel latte coffee and watched Hawkins’ face as he read the report on her computer. It had been prepared by a professional board investigating charges that Trask had a number of improper relationships with his female patients in private practice. The report recommended that his license to practice be revoked.

Hawkins studied the report. “It doesn’t surprise me that he’s a sleaze. Where did you get this stuff?”

“It’s easy when you know how,” she said with a smile. “Watch.”

She tapped the computer keys and Hawkins saw his name on the screen. She scrolled down through several navy documents, going back to his SEAL training, and hospital records detailing his injuries.

“Hell,” he said, not entirely pleased to see how easily details of his life could be accessed by a complete stranger. “You got all this from my last name?

“And navy rank. Didn’t intend to pry, but I’m careful about who I go out to coffee with. You and I have a lot in common.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” he said.

She told him she was born in Wheeling, West Virginia. Her full name was Molly Sutherland Suggs. Her father had named her Molly after country singer Molly O’Day. Her mother liked film actor Donald Sutherland. Molly dropped her last name because she didn’t like the way it sounded. Too hissy.

She joined the army at a young age to escape her family’s cycle of poverty, received computer training and excelled at it. The army became her new family. She made corporal and was sent to Iraq. She was ambushed in the barracks and sexually assaulted by her fellow soldiers, but the army hushed up the incident and, like Matt, she was sent to counseling and threatened with a psychiatric discharge when she refused to stay silent.

“What happened to the guys who assaulted you?” he said.

“Nothing.” She gave him an evil smile. “Officially, that is. I took care of it though.”

“What do you mean? Took care of it.”

“I got into their personnel files and inserted homosexual incidents and child pornography into their records. They’re toast for the rest of their lives. Jobs. Marriages. Military service. Down the drain. One of them committed suicide.”

That had been years ago, but as he sat in his study, Hawkins still remembered the dead emotionless tone of her voice and the calmness in the purple-blue eyes. He decided that something had died inside the young woman when she was attacked and pushed out of the army.

It was the only time she talked about her past. And it was the only time he had ever seen her in person. Sutherland still dropped him an email from time to time. She said nothing about what she was doing, or where she lived, and he didn’t inquire. He assumed she was living on a navy disability, with her computer her only companion — a lone computer genius with a mental problem.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, he assured himself.

He took a deep breath, called up Sutherland’s address and typed:

He had barely hit the Send key when the reply appeared.

Hawkins had to think of an answer.

Hawkins typed a summary of the expedition, starting with the call to go to Newport. He included the part about his demands for an honorable discharge. At the end of the summary he wrote:

He waited for her to complete the sentence, and when she didn’t respond he typed:

A photo flashed on the screen of Sutherland in her army uniform. A second later she signed off and the picture disappeared. Hawkins felt a moment of exhilaration. His team was complete. He had the best people he knew in logistics, security and intelligence. Oddballs every one of them, but the best.

Then reality hit home. Oh yeah, he thought. This merry crew is led by a man who is certifiably insane.

He let out a groan that woke Quisset out of a sound sleep.

“We’re doomed,” Hawkins said.