Sweepers (9 page)

Karen thought about that. If that was the case, then the ad imiral had to have been under surveillance.

“This is stalking, you know,” she said, speaking the thought that had just come to her mind.

“Stalking?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes, sir. There’s a whole new area of criminal law covering exactly this kind of thing. Where there’s a persistent threat of a criminal act but nothing’s happened to the stalker’s target yet. There are federal and state laws against it.

“I’m not sure an ex-SEAL bent on revenge will be worried about breaking the law. Especially this SEAL, since he doesn’t officially exist.”

“Excuse me?” He sighed and sat down again. “I’ve already told you more than is probably wise, Commander. May I call you Karen?”

“Of course, sir.” His request was not improper. Most admirals throughout the headquarters called staff subordinates by their first names. In return, subordinates were graciously invited to address the admiral by his first name: Admiral.

“HMI Galantz was officially listed as MIA. I happen to know personally that a few years later, he was alive and back in the States. But, once again, I can’t reveal how I know’that, and I’m not sure anyone else knows that. Like I said, this is very complicated.” He had said he didn’t want this story to get loose either outside or inside the Navy.

“At the risk of sounding impertinent,” she said, “why are you concerned about this story getting out inside the Navy?”

He gave her a long, speculative look. There was some steel in that look, which made her feel she might have overstepped some bounds. But then it receded and he nodded.

He got up and started pacing around the office again. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve got to keep reminding myself you’re on my side.”

Remembering Mcnair’s comment earlier that day, she almost replied to that, but he was already going ahead.

“I’m a fresh-caught rear admiral. To everyone who’s a captain and below, flag rank is the apotheosis of the career ladder. The man with the stars. But the truth is, I’m really not even promoted yet. I’m frocked.

I can wear the uniform, I have the responsibility, and I can enjoy the title. But until someone who’s currently on the flag registry dies or retires, I have to wait to make my number. I even get paid as a captain.

People think this is a fluke of the Defense Manpower Act, with its grade quotas. But the truth is, I am, like every other new flag selectee in any of the services, very much on probation.”

“How long does this go on?”

“For nearly two years. I probably won’t be promoted to 0-7 until about the time I go off to my second assignment as a flag officer.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So the association of your name with a homicide and a long-buried, potentially embarrassing incident back in Vietnam could mean you’d be invited to retire instead of going on to that next assignment. I I He nodded. “Precisely. And, as you might imagine, there happens to be an infinite supply of eager young captains ready and willing to take my place.” He, looked at his watch. “We’re about out of time. You’ll need a while to think about this. So do 1. And now, of course, you have to figure out what to tell Admiral Carpenter.”

She felt a sudden flush on her face as she looked up at him. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Karen, look,” he said gently. “You’re the king’s eye here. We both understand that. All I’m . asking is that you keep what I’ve just told you closehold while I make up my mind what to do with it. II

“I’m not sure I -understand,” she said.

He nodded again, acknowledging her confusion. “With all the trouble the Navy’s been having lately, the last thing we need is for this particular story to come out. Which means we’re going to want very much to sol ‘ ve it inhouse.

Which also means we’re probably going to need some NIS help to find this guy. The complicating factor is that my superiors are absolutely going to panic at the prospect of another Navy scandal. So for me, this is a political problem as well as a personal problem.”

“Yes, sir, of course.” What the hell am I going to do with this? she wondered. And then she realized she might have the answer right there in her office: von Rensel.

He was pacing again. “I’ll call you. Probably tomorrow.

I have to go to Elizabeth’s memorial service tonight.,’ Once again, she detected a thread of anguish leaking through all his highly professional, controlled composure.

“Would you like some moral support, Admiral?” she asked, surprising herself.

He stopped short. “Would you? I mean, I know that’s a lot to ask.

Especially after your-“

She gave him a steady look. “Yes. I swore I would never face another funeral service after Frank’s. But they tell me that the best cure for grief is to help someone else. Where is it and when?”

He gave her the details and was thanking her again when there was a knock on the door and his deputy stuck his head in with the news that the fourteen-hundred briefing team was ready. Karen got up at once, nodded to the admiral, and walked out past the team of officers waiting to present the budget briefings. She hurried back to her office.

Karen looked for von Rensel, but he’ was signed out at lunch. She got on the phone with the Bureau of Personnel, the enlisted Records Division, and asked for an archives retrieval on one HM 1 Marcus Galantz. The clerk put her on hold in order to access a computer. when the clerk came back on, she said that there was an archived recorc there was a special hold on it.

“This individual’s a Vietnam-era MIA. You’ll have to get clearance from the Office of the Secretary of Defense, and then you can E-mail me a written request indicating the clearance authority.” She gave Karen a number in Crystal City. Karen thanked her and hung up. Should have known I couldn’t do that with just a phone call, she thought. And then she thought about getting the front office to make the calls for the records. But that would mean explaining why she wanted them, and Sherman had asked her to keep that information closehold for the moment. But maybe she should tell Carpenter; he was her boss, not Sherman.

She sat back in her desk chair. Back to that problem again: Whose side am I on?. Her tasking was to find out what the cops were up to, and then to keep Carpenter and, apparently, the Navy hierarchy from getting any nasty surprises. And a nasty surprise now appeared to be a distinct possibility. As best she could tell, Sherman was not entangled in the Walsh matter as a possible killer-that is, assuming he was telling the truth about all this.

She shook her head.’Going in circles here. Go back to your tasking. Find out what the cops are doing, what they are thinking. I did that. So go tell Carpenter. But to deal with this other matter, ‘ Sherman would have to meet with the detective again, this time without any interference from the higher-ups in JAG. She nodded to herself. If Sherman would meet with the cops, she could put off telling Carpenter anything about the stalker-at least for now. She called the number in OSD and began the clearance process.

Train von Rensel came by her cubicle as she was finishing up the E-mail request for the records, and she waved at him.

When she had transmitted the request, she went over to his cubicle. He looked like an adult sitting at one of those tiny school desks on parents’ night at the elementary school, as if afraid to move for fear of breaking something.

“All checked in?” she asked.

“Sort of I have to go back to NIS to finish some checkout stuff, if you can believe it. Over here, I’ve got one more security clearance brief, and I’m on some eternal waiting list for a locker at the athletic club, but otherwise, I think I’m real. How’d your meeting with the Fairfax cops go?’,’ “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?” she asked. He raised his eyebrows, looked around, and then nodded. He got up carefully, trying not to bump into any of the partition walls. They left the office together and went down to the nearby snack bar, where she told Train about her meeting with the police that morning and then what she had learned from Sherman. When she was finished, he stirred his coffee with a wooden stirrer and frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A SEAL?” He looked sincerely concerned.

“Yes, a SEAL,” Karen said solemnly.

Train nodded slowly. “Your admiral’s dead meat,” he I pronounced, then just looked at her. I

“That’s it?” she asked, not sure if he was joking.

Oh God. He wasn’t.

“Probably,” he replied soberly. “Tell me what he said.” again.

She gathered her thoughts for a moment. She had not expected this reaction. Then she went through the whole thing again. Von Rensel sat there like a stone Buddha, unmoving, with those intense brown eyes locked on hers in perfect concentration. When she was finished, he took a long drag on what now had. to be cold coffee.

“Well,” he said, “if some SEAL has materialized out of the mists of the Vietnam War to come after Sherman, the admiral is in serious trouble. It would help if we knew what this was all about.”

“He may yet tell me-us. But so far, he’s holding that back. He feels the Navy wouldn’t want it resurrected, what ever it was, and he definitely doesn’t want to tell the cops.”

“He may not have any choice. What actions have you taken so far?”

“I’ve summoned Galantz’s service records from the federal archives. But first, I had to request clearance from the POW/MIA task force over in OSD.”

“He’s listed as an MIA?”

“Apparently.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

Train paused before replying. “Let me get back to that,” he said finally. “How much of this have you told Carpenter?”

“‘None of it. I haven’t reported back to him yet. My plan was to tell him nothing about this SEAL business until Sherman sorts out what he wants to tell the cops. Sherman’s very worried about surfacing a scandal. Apparently, his own political exposure as a new flag is substantial. I guess the SEAL angle complicates all that, of course.”

“Sure does. I think you’re right: The best move for him is to go back to the cops.” ‘way, too.” She n

“He’s leaning that oddecl

“We’re going to have to tell them about this.”

He looked at her. “We?”

She nodded. “Well, Sherman seemed to think the cops would need Navy help finding this Galantz guy. Of course I immediately thought of NIS.”

Train nodded. “Sherman’s instincts are probably right on target. After Tailhook, the Naval Academy drug thing, a CNO committing suicide-they’d dump him in a heartbeat.”

“Yes. The way I see it, the only people who can help him with a stalker are the cops, so I’m hoping he might be willing to tell them the Vietnam story. If by doing that, he comes off the ‘suspect’ board, then maybe he can ground any possible lightning bolts from the heavies here at headquarters.’ “Fair enough,” Train said. “He didn’t et to be a boy admiral without having keen political instincts.” He looked around the snack bar, which was moderately crowded.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s go take a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes. Like down to that center court area. I like the looks of all those trees and park benches. And exterior walls with no ears.”

The center court of the Pentagon was a combination arboretum and snack bar area, offering a three-acre surprise in the midst of the fortresslike poured-concrete walls of the Pentagon building. There were green lawns, flower gardens, a few dozen varieties of large trees in spring bloom, and chairs and benches placed along the walkways. In another month, the snack bar in the center, fondly called Ground Zero by legions of Cold Warriors, would open for lunch, allowing the 27,000 inmates of the Pentagon a half an hour of fresh air and mental respite from the crumbling concrete pile. surrounding them.

There were. a few dozen people out in the court, and Karen thought the two of them, this great bear of a civilian and a Navy female commander, must present an incongruous image. She was used to being stared at by men, but she wondered now if they were looking at her or at him. Train led them to a park bench near the center, where they sat down. For a moment he just stared down at the sidewalk, saying nothing.

“Okay. NIS investigator talking now. Two ways to look at this. Either our Admiral Sherman is indeed the target of a stalker, who may or may not have iced the admiral’s exgirlfriend, or-“

“Or?” Karen suddenly felt uncomfortable with the direction of Train’s logic.

“Or he’s making it all up. And he pushed the Walsh woman down the stairs. For that insurance policy. Two hundred fifty large constitutes a reasonable motive in these here uncertain economic times.”

But he has an alibi. A verified alibi for the time of death.

“For the presumed time of death. And-it wasn’t really verified in any ironclad sense. That restaurant on a busy Friday night? Look, the Walsh matter-bottom line? He had a motive: the money. There was opportunity: -Re has a key to the house. He had full knowledge of her place, her domestic routines. She would gladly have let him in without a second thought. He had the means: He could have easily surprised her, pushed her down the stairs. And now the mysterious letter from the even more mysterious SEAL? We have only his word for it. His house was broken into, but did he report it to the cops? No. Were there busted windows or jimmied doors? No. And now, most conveniently, there is no letter. If I were the Fairfax cops, and I heard ihis little fable, I’d be thinking that this is smoke he’s blowing my way, a classic case of offense/defense. The killer doesn’t run from the cops, he runs toward them, all anxious and sincere. He feeds them stuff, lots of distracting stuff. Throws crap in the air, and-the slippers, the laundry downstairs instead of upstairs, and now this mysterious letter.”

“Damn,” she said.

Train leaned back and rubbed his hands together, making a sound like sandpaper. He had very large hands, with ridges of callus on the edges of his palms. “The Fairfax cops might, in fact, have something,” he was saying. “‘They might well be feeding out some rope and hoping like hell that Sherman gets cocky and wraps it around his own tricky neck. ” Karen thought about what he said for a long moment, then shook her head.

“I don’t get that sense of it,” she said.