SILENT GUNS (38 page)

“
The Chief didn’t tell
me,”

“
Burns is as unstable as
nitro.”

“
Truce.”

“
Truce.”

“
Let’s keep each other
posted.”

“
You, too.”

They shook on it.

* * *

Admiral Brian Burns vigorously shook Sam Simons’
hand as he jauntily stepped out from behind his desk. His red,
blue-veined pudgy face blossomed in obvious relief.

“
Have a chair, Chief?” Simons
expected an exercise in wits, a most pleasant undertaking, he
thought.

“
What will you have?”

Simons cocked his head. “Whiskey. Straight. No ice;
no soda.”

“
Splendid. You’re my kind of man,”
Admiral Burns extolled as he reached down into his desk drawer. “No
alcohol allowed on the Base,” he winked. Simons heard the clink of
glass. “I keep a bottle for special occasions, like this,” he said,
looking up as he set out two glasses, poured, then laughed as he
thudded the bottle on the desk. “Here’s to your Charlie Wingate,
Chief. A brilliant stroke, if you ask me,” he chortled as he
hoisted his glass. “So damned obvious, so damned simple. Imagine, a
16-inch gun without a trigger. What a joke on Trent!”

“
I’d prefer them under lock and
key, Admiral.”

“
I’m going to take great pleasure
in starving them out.” The Admiral laughed throatily. “They can rot
out there in that God-forsaken, iron prison, for all I care.” He
leaned back; a smug look filled his face.

Simons leaned forward and set his glass down. “I’ve
talked with Trent. He assures me he can still fire the gun.” The
Admiral didn’t flinch; but, carefully re-filled Simon’s glass.
“He’s bluffing. No way can that gun be fired.” Burns set down the
bottle, his bluster tempered.

“
Could there be another way? A
second firelock aboard, perhaps?” Simons touched the glass to his
lips and felt the rawness of the whiskey.

“
Not without a firelock,” The
Admiral responded in a flat voice. “And, the
Missouri
’s
inventory records says ‘no’ to your second question.” Simons
paused, choosing his words carefully, “Can you risk being wrong?”
The Admiral’s brow furrowed deeply.

“
Did you know Trent personally?”
Simons asked, quietly.

The Admiral blinked. “What makes you think
that?”

“
You forget it’s my business to
know things. Weren’t you both aboard the
Missouri
when she
collided with the
Duluth
? You were the navigator, weren’t
you?” Burns grew cold and withdrawn. He reached for the bottle, “Is
that a statement or a question?” His voice trailed off.

The shot hit home.

“
You testified at his
court-martial, didn’t you? From the record, I understand your
testimony was damaging, crucial to the prosecution’s case. Does
Trent hold a grudge against you for your part in his demise?” Burns
shifted uneasily, an ache in his leg acted up causing him to wince
in pain.

Burns’s jaw tightened, “What are you asking?”

Simons clarified, “Trent is convinced his career was
ruined for a yet unexplained reason. Do you know what that reason
was?” Burns said, “Sour grapes! He was the conning officer in
command of the
Missouri
and he screwed up. Men died on the
Duluth
because of him. He got what he deserved.” Burns was
shouting now, his face thrust forward, trembling with rage. He
stood up, gripped the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “Men
like Trent are scum to be cleansed from the face of the earth.” His
eyes were aflame, but behind the flame, Simons saw fear.

“
You mean there’s nothing to be
gained by a further investigation,” Simons said
imperturbably.

Burns replied angrily, “You do get my meaning. It’s
ancient history. It happened over seven years ago. Trent was an
embarrassment to the Navy. Why reopen old wounds. Trent is sick in
the head.”

“
Trent claims to have new
evidence.”

“
What new evidence?” Burns looked
at him with doubt.

“
Let’s say, Trent has been
informed of certain facts.”

“
Balderdash. By whom?”

“
He doesn’t confide in me.” Simons
scowled, “However, he did tell me that after the City pays, he
intends to release his men. We’ve agreed to offer them safe conduct
out of the country. He will remain on board, with the gun loaded,
until the Navy agrees to grant him a re-trial.”

“
Good God! He is mad.”

Simons sat back and withdrew a cigar from his inside
coat pocket, which he slowly unwrapped. He placed the cigar in his
mouth, lit it and waited. The Admiral’s face hardened. Simons drew
in a breath then said quietly, “Trent is not mad, he’s obsessed.
Why, Admiral?”

“
How should I know?” Burns’ eyes
narrowed as he fought to regain control of his voice. He gave a sly
smile and asked, “Is the City still going to pay him off?” Simons
cracked a wry smile. Good try, he mused. Burns waited. Simons
replied, “The Mayor and City Council are not aware of these new
demands.”

“
You got your neck stuck out
pretty far, Simons.”

“
I merely seek to assure the City
that Trent either can’t or will not fire, or barring that, the
Navy’s agreeing to his terms. He insists on a re-trial. If you had
taken up his invitation to visit the
Missouri
, you would
know this, but you didn’t. I am just a humble policeman, not a
politician.”

Burns eyed him threateningly. “I can get your ass in
big trouble.”

“
You’re too smart for that,
Admiral. True! I’m walking a knife’s edge; but, as you say, ‘can
get my ass in big trouble’, is not in the Navy’s, ‘er, pardon me,
your best interest. I have a line open to Trent and I have his
trust.”

“
He’s bluffing,” Burns strained to
regain lost ground. “He’s only after the money and he will do
anything to keep the pressure on. Get the money and cut out, that’s
it! Otherwise, he’s dead meat, and he knows it.”

“
The Navy’s neck is stuck out.
Your neck!”

“
What the hell do you want out of
me? A press conference to placate a nut!!” The Admiral
blasted.

“
Well, then, what did go on before
that court-martial?

“
Call up Denton, he’ll tell you.
It’s all in the record.”

“
We’ve read the record. What about
the rest of them?”

“
Proust is dead.”

“
Farr and Kindler?”

“
I don’t know.”

“
Time is running out,
Admiral.”

“
Simons, your tactics don’t scare
me.”

Sam Simons stood up. “Admiral. It’s still the Navy’s
nickel.” He shoved his chair back, jammed his cigar in the ashtray
and said, “I’ll be at Wingate’s apartment until 1130. I’m catching
the 1157 to Seattle. I’ll be in my office at 1400, if you need to
contact me. Otherwise, I’m going where this investigation takes me
– with or without your help. Good day, sir.” Burns watched Simons
leave. He waited for the door to close. The Admiral grabbed his
phone and dialed.

“
Harley. Simons suspects. We’re in
a hell-uv-a fix.”

“
Are you in your
office?”

“
Yes!”

“
Then get off this line. Call from
an outside phone.” Admiral Harley T. Kindler, retired, hung
up.

* * *

Sam Simons hauled himself up the stairs to Charlie
Wingate’s apartment nearly out of breath. “Did Burns call anyone?”
Simons asked, gulping air. Charlie Wingate explained, “.... then he
hung up, Chief.”

“
Did Noonan get anything?” Chief
Simons asked.

“
A phone number and a first name -
Harley.”

“
Has Noonan run a
trace?”

“
He’s on it. Think there is
something going on?”

“
I do now.”

“
Any idea what?”

“
None at all. We’d better do a
background check on Kindler’s crowd. There has to be a loose thread
somewhere.”

“
That will take time,” Wingate
admonished.

“
Burns is taking cover under Trent
pulling a pressure tactic.” Wingate said, “If he’s right, and the
City pays off, it’s all over. Smart bastard, Burns.”

Simons replied, “And, if Burns is wrong and Trent
releases his men and remains aboard…Charlie, get cracking. Get a
tail on Burns. If we’re hot, Burns will have to do his own dirty
work. Call me on the hour. Chief Milt Inness, Bremerton Police
Department, owes me a couple of favors. I’ll see if he can assign a
man to cover the main gate. It’s Sunday and only one gate is open.”
Simons checked his watch.

“
What am I looking
for?”

“
Burns is our only live body until
we can track down Kindler and the rest. Judging by his reaction, we
may have just set some wheels in motion. Boxed in and set up is
just where I’d like to keep our friendly Admiral.” He’s scared; I
panicked him, now he’ll run. We’ve flushed one of the birds from
the nest. I’m betting on Trent. His senses better be
true.”

“
What can Burns do?” Wingate
asked.

“
I don’t know for
sure.”

“
Well, your squeeze play did work.
He could hardly wait for you to get out of his office to call
Kindler,” Wingate snickered.

“
Have Noonan stay on that
wiretap,” Simons ordered.

“
Thanks to Conover. It grabs my
balls, but we’re palsy-walsy. If Burns tries anything, Conover
could be in on it? We have a ‘no-secrets’ pact. He said he’d call:
visa-versa with me. We wait, watch and listen, eh! Chief.” Sam
Simons glanced at his wristwatch. “I’d better make my call and run
or I’ll miss my ferry.” He phoned, slipped out and was
gone.

* * *

Charlie answered the phone.

“
You Wingate?”

“
Yeah!”

“
Detective Toby Wheeler, Bremerton
Police Department, here. I tracked a big, blue Navy sedan out to
Dungeness Spit. It left the Yard at 1212. Your Admiral was driving.
He was alone and in a hell-uv-a big hurry. Damn near ran down a
Marine sentry manning the gate. It’s a small place, way out in the
sticks. Your Admiral met with this older guy for over half-an-hour.
They stood on the front porch. The older gent was tall with white
hair, ramrod straight. The mailbox read H.T. Kindler. I followed
the Admiral back, just got here. He’s back in his office. Sorry, I
couldn’t call any sooner.”

“
Understand. Stay with him, if he
comes out again.”

“
Right!” Detective Wheeler hung
up.

Charlie picked up the phone and dialed.

“
Noonan. Wingate.”

“
Burns put in a call at 1822 to
another phone on the Base.”

“
Any idea to whom?”

“
No name: no one
answered.”

“
That’s no surprise, it’s a
weekend.”

“
Shit!”

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 26

Charlie Wingate lay sprawled, half asleep, when the
ringing of the phone broke his reverie. Startled, he scattered his
half-read Sunday newspaper to the floor, stabbing for the offending
phone. A cup of cold coffee got in the way.

“
Wingate? Conover, here!” Clipped
tones hushed, as if forced against the mouthpiece. “I’m across from
the Headquarters building. Burns is meeting with Tronquet and the
Major. And, no, I wasn’t invited. It could be innocent
enough.”

Conover pressed, “That’s odd. Navy business. Sunday.
Four in the afternoon?”

“
Urgent? Could Trent be up to
something?”

“
Not that I’m aware of; but, get
this, Mate Scarese slips into the building about half hour later.
Coincidence? I tracked him. He bee-lined it straight for the
Admiral’s office. He was in there about an hour, then Tronquet and
the Major come out: Mate Scarese is still in there with Burns. It
could be nothing, but…”

“
You make a good tail, Conover.
Did anyone see you?”

“
I don’t think so.”

“
Be careful. You may think this is
a picnic, but I don’t. When Scarese comes out, follow
him.”

Wingate felt a chill as he fumbled for cigarettes,
finding them open on the table. He wondered, who’s playing what
part in what game? Are the players hiding knowledge from each
other, or are they shielding each other? He pondered as he hung up:
Either way, I don’t get it. He clicked his lighter, glanced down as
if expecting the phone to ring again; then, snapping it up, he
dialed. “Noonan, anything going on?”

“
Not a peep.”

Wingate rubbed his unshaven, rough-stubble chin.

“
There’s been a pow-wow in the
Admiral’s office, and no one used his phone, you say? Does that
strike you as strange?” Wingate’s voice tightened.

“
Well, he could have stepped out,”
Noonan said.

“
Damn. Outsmarted. Noonan, you
better cover the Main gate. Hurry. If the Admiral leaves the Base,
tail him.” Wingate slammed down the receiver, then dialed. “Chief,
Charlie here. Something weird is going on.” He felt a rush of
adrenalin, “Conover reported in. It looks like Burns has Scarese up
to something and I’d lay odds he’s wrangled Tronquet’s and the
Major’s blessing to cover his ass. It smells bad!”