SILENT GUNS (29 page)

“
Not a word.” Simons patted his
pocket, in need of a cigar. The door partly opened, Sgt. Frank
Gonzales stuck in his head. “Your man is on the radio. The Mayor
and Chitterman are on their way over.” Simons face
tensed.

“
We’ll get back to you, Charlie.”
He cut the connection.

* * *

“
Trent. This is Mayor Joe Grille
speaking.”

“
I see by the television that my
message arrived.”

“
Yes! We got it. So what’s
next?”

“
That’s up to you. Have you got
the 30 million?”

“
No. That’s a lot of money. We
can’t raise that much overnight.”

“
You’ve already had 30
hours.”

“
We need to talk more.”

“
Nothing to talk about. You got a
place called the Bartell Drugstore on Fourth and Pine?”

“
Yes! So what.”

“
We have the coordinates. What
time would you like the next message delivered?”

“
You’re not
serious!!!!”

“
You haven’t taken me seriously,
yet.”

“
People could get
hurt.”

“
Now that we both know that, how
about the money?”

“
Damn your hide!” the Mayor said,
flushed and sweating.

“
Oh! By the way, we ran out of
shells like the last one. The only ones we have left go ‘boom’.
We’ll send you one. Let’s say 0500 tomorrow.” Trent cut
off.

The Mayor sputtered. Chitterman bit his lip ‘till it
bled. Simons hung his head, then straightened up and jutted out his
chin. The Navy better do better next time, he half-prayed aloud.
No, he, himself, must do better. Trent is obsessed! Why? Why? Why?
Something is missing. What is it? The clock is running: he must
find out. He must talk to Trent - alone!

* * *

“
Frank. I’m coming over. Hook me
up with Trent. Yeah! Right now.” He hung up. He snugged up his tie,
put on his jacket, switched off the lights and left.

The Police radio dispatchers were neatly arrayed,
six down each wall and one in a private booth, which doubled as an
office. The radio room was brightly lit, always busy and smelled of
charged electricity. The private booth was Frank Gonzales’ office.
Frank wore a shoulder holster and carried a weapon. It made him
feel like a real cop, but he had never drawn it in the line of
duty. Years ago he quit his weekly visit to the basement firing
range, but the weapon still slapped the side of his huge chest.

He was wholly absorbed in the latest issue of
Penthouse when the Chief walked in. He quickly slid the magazine
into his top draw and shoved it closed. He lumbered to his feet and
waved his arms in a welcoming motion, pushing a chair in the way of
the Chief.

“
Something up, Chief?”

“
No. I just want to talk with
Trent.”

“
Are we waiting for the
Mayor?”

“
Not this time, I want to go it
alone.”

Frank shot a glance at a half-dozen dispatchers who
had turned their heads. He scowled, twisted his head a few times,
begged them off and closed the door.

“
Coffee, first?”

“
No. Thanks.”

Frank sat down, then swiveled 180 degrees and
foot-dragged his chair to radio set #13. Green and white lights
shone steadily, a low, steady hum emanated from an ugly, black box
straight out of Buck Rogers. A pewter-colored mike poked up out of
a round base that lay flat on the tabletop. He turned a dial and
pulled the mike close.

“
She’s warmed up. Here, take my
chair, Chief.” Gonzales rose and stepped aside. Sam Simons took his
place, inhaling deeply as if forming words deep inside his
lungs.

“
Think you can talk Trent out of
it?”

Simons tightened his lips, not yet certain he wanted
to hear his own thoughts played out in words. His face hardened as
he screened fragments of the past forty-eight hours. He pushed the
“talk” button.

“
Trent. Come in,” he waited.
“Trent. Come in.”

“
I hear you. Who are
you?”

“
Police Chief Sam Simons, City of
Seattle,” he halted.

“
What can I do for you,
Chief?”

“
I’m alone,” he glanced at Frank
who stepped back and left. “I was hoping you and I might talk,
privately.”

“
About the money?”

“
If the City pays, will that end
it? Is there anything else?”

“
What makes you think
that?”

“
Just a hunch.”

“
And if there were?”

“
If there is, you’re not playing
square. Why don’t we talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

“
I want my pound of
flesh.”

“
Whose?”

“
The men who sentenced me to a
living hell.”

“
Who are they?”

“
Admiral Brian Burns, for a
start…shall I go on?”

There was a long pause.

“
You mean, the guy running the
Navy Yard?”

“
He’s one of them; there are
others.”

“
You’re going to fire off another
shell, aren’t you?”

“
If you don’t pay…”

“
No. Anyway.”

“
How did you guess?”

“
I didn’t…” Simons
replied.

“
I apologize—how did you figure it
out?”

“
You were good at what you did. So
am I.”

“
Thanks.”

“
Do your men know?”

“
I haven’t crossed that bridge
yet.”

“
They have their gripes, but the
money is the end of the rainbow for them, isn’t it? What about your
pound of flesh?”

“
I want four men: Captain Denton,
Admiral Kindler, Captain Proust and Burns to publicly admit to
their duplicity in my court-martial. I want to be made whole again
and my record purged. I will submit myself to a public
re-trial.”

“
And all this was to bring this
about?”

“
Yes.”

“
You, of course, have some new
evidence?”

“
Yes. A letter. “

“
What would you have done,
otherwise?”

“
It wasn’t just the City; but, the
Navy, too.”

“
And if I can’t
deliver?”

“
We stay here and keep
shelling…”

“
The money…”

“
I must have it. My commitment to
my men.”

“
If we pay…”

“
I will discharge
them.”

“
And yourself…?”

“
I will remain. The gun will be
loaded: the target remains the Bartell Drugstore at Fourth and
Pine.”

“
There could be
deaths?”

“
I’m already dead.”

“
After the Navy Trial… there will
be another.”

“
I understand.”

“
What assurances do you
need?”

“
As proof, put Kindler, Denton,
Proust and Burns on television.”

“
How much time do I
have?”

“
I’m not sure. If you make
progress, I’ll wait; if not, I’ll fire. I hope we can avoid
that.”

“
You could stop all this right
now.”

“
It’s too late! I’ll be here. The
money first. Call me.”

“
Click…”

* * *

“
What’s it like on deck?” Harper
asked. Newby had climbed the ladder into the turret and hung up his
rain slicker.

“
The rain has let up, and it’s
getting dark.”

He noted the bulkhead clock: it read 1740.

Accepting a cup of hot coffee, Newby continued.
“Thanks. It’s quiet, except on the
Oriskany
. No Marine
charges, again: no Patrol boats nosing around.” He put down his
cup, sat down and tugged off his wet boots and tossed them to the
deck. “I’m beat…beat…beat…there’s a half-moon out there. A guy can
get jumpy, start imagining things.”

“
Hungry?” Harper asked, stirring a
pot.

“
Depends. Whatcha got?”

“
Franks and beans.”

“
My favorite. How did you know?”
Newby smiled, taking a plateful. “Beans are O.K. It’s pretty close
in here, though,” he exclaimed as he stuffed a forkful into his
mouth. Madden got up released the turret hatch, dropped it down and
let it hang open. The inflow of fresh, moist air boosted spirits.
“Think the Navy will try again tonight?” Newby asked.

“
You can bet your sweet bippy,”
Graves rose up from the loading tray and stretched his arms.
“Wouldn’t you? They’re gettin’ a free ride ‘til tomorrow 0500. I’ll
bet the Navy’s catchin’ hell, too!”

Trent looked up, “Burns, I hope.”

Harper handed Graves a mug, “Here, warm your
cockles.” Graves jammed on his cap, “How about a shot of
whiskey?”

“
Ach. Verboten, Heine.”

“
Where did ya learn
that?”

“
The movie: Das Boot.” Graves
threw his cap at Harper. “Here! Look at this!” Madden turned up the
television set.

Citizens are asked to avoid the downtown after
midnight tonight. The area around the Bartell Drug Store will be
cordoned off. Now, a word from our Mayor, Joe Grille:

“
Good Evening. Our wonderful City
has been threatened. Today, a shell from the Battleship Missouri
damaged the Smith Tower Building. I want you all to know, you are
safe so long as you obey our police and firemen. The City and the
U.S. Navy are cooperating and will soon have the terrorists under
arrest. Please watch for further reports. Thank you!”

“
Christ! Look at that!” Graves
bellowed. “That red car looks like it’s been through a junkyard
press. And, the blue one…” “The side of the building: look at that
hole!” Harper whistled. “What are those cops and firemen poking
around for?” Graves added, “Probably looking for the
shell.”

“
Wow! We did all that! Hey! That’s
the ladies bathroom.”

“
Any ladies in there?” Newby
craned his neck.

“
Shut up and listen.”

“
Chief Simons, What does the
City plan to do next?
The Chief replied,
“We’re in contact
with the terrorists. I really can’t say more.”
The Chief turned
away.

Trent studied Simon’s face. The hairs on the back of
his neck stood erect. So that’s him, he thought. Trent detected
doggedness, a determination in the way he held himself. A worthy
ally, or, a deadly adversary, he wondered.

“
It’s getting dark, better take
stations,” he ordered impulsively.

The men nodded. Graves tugged up the turret hatch.
Harper was gone, his feet rattling on the ladder to the second
deck, on his way to seal off the ‘Broadway’ and the lower deck
passageway aft. Madden pulled on his rain gear. Trent turned to
monitor the radio. Newby bedded down.

* * *

“
Maxie, it’s me,” Madden called
ahead. “I’m on my way up. Shift to the port side. If I get any
trouble, I want you up at the masthead. Newby appreciated your
covering his ass.”

“
Anytime, ol’ buddy,” Maxie
replied.

Maxie had already cleared out when Madden arrived at
the starboard Quad 40 gun tub. Over his shoulder, Madden heard him
shifting his gear. Madden settled his buttocks against the tub,
lifted his binoculars and narrowed his eyes. An unlit cheroot
dangled precariously from his lip. He preferred the openness of the
gun tub to the feeling of entrapment in the barbette. His mind
turned to thoughts of Ingrid and his father. He tried to
rationalize life and death and God; subjects he never bothered with
before, concepts he couldn’t touch or feel. Words and ideas, he
mused, were not reality. But, then what he was doing wasn’t real
either. His muscles tightened. A tap on the shoulder: he swung
about.

“
You scared the hell out of me.”
It was Newby.

“
Pee break. The Commander figured
you needed one.”

“
I need a quick smoke.”

“
You better go below,” Newby
warned.

“
I got a good spot. No one can see
the glow.”

“
That cheroot smells good,” Newby
beamed. The first few puffs wafted in the air rising to the tub. An
ear splitting crack rang out. A single bullet smacked the deck by
Madden’s feet. From above, high up, a second sudden, ear-splitting
sound ricocheted off the tub. Madden fell away the instant a bullet
sped past his shoulder. Fear squeezed his chest.

“
It came from the
Oriskany
,” Newby shouted.

“
Damn! That was from high
up.”

“
There’s a guy in the foretop
gaping down our throat,” Newby found himself firing back, the M-16
whistling a high pitch.

Trent appeared in a rush, “What’s up?”

“
Sniper,” Newby pointed to a slim
figure lashed to a mast. Trent grabbed up the binoculars. A weapon
flashed, something whacked above his head. “He’s got us pinned down
right enough, and here comes company.” A rubber raft moved out from
under the pier and crossed under the fantail. And there’s a raft
heading for the bow. Trent pressed the talk button, “Newby get
Graves and get aft. Boarding parties!”