by Jeff Noonan
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay, then. Here is where these shop planners become important to us. When the shipyard workers need additional material, equipment, or repair items for their work aboard ship, they ask the shop planners to get the items for them. The shop planners initiate the procurement of that material, sending paperwork over to the supply department who, in theory, determine the source of the material, order it, and receive it. But that is theory only for some of these guys. I’ve found out that some of the shop planners are actually telling the supply department where to buy the material and they’re also demanding that it be delivered directly to them, rather than to the supply warehouses. They’re doing this by claiming that they don’t have time to wait for the normal supply processes. Are you still with me?”
There was a pause as Tom mulled the information over. “Do you mean that these shop planner guys tell the Navy where to get the item, and then the same guys are the ones who certify that the item is actually received? The same guy is ordering an item and then certifying its receipt? How does anyone know what is actually needed or received? Why wouldn’t the supply people get into the middle of this?”
“Tom, that’s a really good question. I think there have to be some supply people in on this. Probably a few planners as well. This isn’t a small operation, if I’m right.”
Again Tom had questions. “Is there enough money in these repair items to make it worthwhile to them?”
Lee chuckled at the naïveté of the question. “Tom, a simple radar klystron could bring them over a hundred thousand dollars. That’s just one repair part. Then there’s things like motor-generator sets, antenna drive motors, gun mount parts, propulsion machinery, and a thousand other expensive shipboard items. Yeah. This could be big bucks. But only in the machinery and electrical/electronic groups. The other groups deal with things like sheet-metal and paint. I don’t think there’s much money there. That’s why I zeroed in on those two groups.”
Tom was again silent for a time while he digested this information. Then he whistled softly. “My God, man. You may have broken this thing open. But why did these two guys jump you? Does anyone know that you’re looking at this?”
“I was out in the shops yesterday. I talked to shop planners in all of the shops I visited. I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.”
“Got it. You take care up there. If they tried once, they may come back for seconds. Are you packing heat like I told you to?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll call you back and let you know what I learn today at Quantico.”
“Okay Tom, but do me a favor. Call me after about 7 p.m. at the BOQ. I don’t completely trust this shipyard phone system.”
“You got it. Talk to you soon.” The two phones went silent.
The telephone rang in Rick Burley’s oak-paneled office at his warehouse. He picked it up, barking “Burley here” into the receiver.
The voice on the other end was obviously agitated, but was speaking in a whisper. “Boss, we found the pickup. It’s sitting out at the end of Mustin Field, almost in the river. It’s empty, and there isn’t a sign of our guys. Just an old baseball bat lying in the grass behind the pickup. It looks like there was another car out there, but its tracks just run back to the road. There’s nothing to tell us where those two got off to, or if they did what they were supposed to do. We checked the water around the seawall, but neither our guys or that Navy dude were there.”
“Okay, where are you now?
“We went back to work. Didn’t want to cause any suspicion.”
“Good. Stay put and keep quiet. I’m going to do some checking around today and this evening. We’ll meet at the rowhouse tomorrow night at about six o’clock. Get the word out to everyone.”
“Will do, boss. If we hear anything, I’ll call.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Another telephone rang, this time in a luxurious mansion on Philadelphia’s Main Line. The distinguished older man who answered did so with a carefully modulated greeting. “Yes?”
The voice on the other end was equally calm. “Papa, I’ve just overheard a conversation between the Navy man and his handler. Our suspicions were correct. He’s the FBI plant, and, worse yet, he’s being protected by Tony Bruno. Between them, they somehow managed to capture two of the Skimmers. They’re in custody now in Quantico, being interrogated.” The facts were presented without emotion.
The old gentleman didn’t even sound surprised. “All right, my son. I’m ready for this. I’ll start things moving to protect our mission. Please stay alert and call if you hear anything else.”
“Will do, Papa.” It was a conversation between two professionals, calm and under control. The two broke the connection.
Papa dialed another number as soon as the dial tone told him the telephone line was clear. A female voice answered, “Hello.”
“Hello, my dear. The time has come. Please initiate termination of the Skimmers.”
“Certainly, Papa. They’re planning to hold a meeting tomorrow evening. Is that soon enough?”
“I think so. If we need to move any faster, I’ll call.”
“All right, Papa. Everything is in order here. I’ll take care of it as we planned.”
“Good. Thank you.”
The phone call was over. Calmly Marie started packing her accounting records into boxes she had long stored for this occasion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - RIFLE SHOT
omehow, Lee managed to stay at work the remainder of the day. He had to keep moving, so he went around the office, visiting with the engineering staff and asking for suggestions as to things he could do to improve the working environment for them. It was busy work, but it was something he had been planning to do, so it was a good time to get it done.
He was surprised to find that the head of the engineering division, the work group that wrote tests and installation procedures for use by the shipboard workers, was also Jane Herperowski’s husband. He had been previously introduced to Lee as simply “Hank from engineering.” Apparently he and Jane didn’t let their relationship affect their work. Lee appreciated that. Hank was a young engineer who’d been working in this division since he was assigned there on a college apprenticeship program. Lee was impressed by his dedication and easy-going, cheerful demeanor. He had the thought that this couple would be people Maggie would enjoy meeting.
Finally the day was over, and Lee got ready to leave. Chief Warrant Officer Tim Connors was in the reception area, talking to Jane. When Lee went into his office, Tim followed him, closing the door as he entered. He had an earnest look on his face that got Lee’s attention. “Lieutenant, I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I’m not a stupid man and I know something is cooking. I just want you to know that, whatever it is, you can count on me.”
Lee started to deny everything, but Tim held his hand up to stop him. “I’ve been here a while, and there are certain people in this shipyard that I’d trust with my life. But there are others you have to watch out for.”
He paused to let this sink in and then continued, “Lieutenant, I think you’re here about those cost overruns the FBI was trying to investigate a while back. I didn’t say anything when you came in this morning, but I know for a fact that there aren’t any bathtubs in the BOQ, so you didn’t fall there and crack your ribs. I think you’ve got the attention of some bad people. If I can help, I’m here for you. That’s all I wanted to say. Please think about it.”
With that, he opened the office door and left without waiting for Lee’s answer.
Lee grabbed some papers from his desk and threw them in his briefcase to read over later. Then he left the office and headed directly for the officers’ club, hoping that the restaurant was open this early. He had planned to go directly to bed for the night, but first he had to have food. He was in luck; the doors had just opened when he arrived. He ordered their largest steak dinner, complete with all the trimmings. He devoured the mea
l as fast as it arrived.
By five o’clock, he was leaving the club and walking across the parking lot to the BOQ. Stopping at his car to get his briefcase, he leaned in the driver’s-side door, reaching across to get his briefcase from the passenger side. Just as he leaned into the car, it happened.
There was a loud crunching sound, and Lee saw padding suddenly fly loose from the back of the driver’s seat cushion. This was followed by the distant “crack” of a large-caliber rifle. Instinct took over, and Lee dropped to the ground on his belly, wincing at the sudden pain from his ribs. He spun around to look in the direction of the rifle’s sound, but saw nothing. Grabbing the pistol from its holster, he rolled behind a nearby car and stood up, still hiding behind the car. Then he saw it.
Across the fence that separated the Navy base from the civilian community, a black Mercedes squealed its tires as it took off from a behind the big bus stop building outside the gate. It was moving fast as it made the corner onto the freeway ramp, heading north to rapidly merge into traffic and disappear. Lee tried to get in position to see the car’s license plate, but the trees and bushes along the fence line got in the way
Lee carefully checked for any other potential threats. But there was literally nothing between him and the far-away freeway except the fence line with its vegetation, the bus stop, and empty pavement. He was certain that the shot had come from the Mercedes.
Lee holstered his pistol and moved back to look at his car. The bullet had only missed him by inches. It had entered the car through the open door just above his stooped back and had torn into his car seat, leaving a large rip in the seat back. Then it had ricocheted off the floor in the back seat, and made a small round hole in the rear side panel. Walking around the car, Lee was relieved to see that it hadn’t gone through the side of the car. In fact, there was no indication on the outer metal that the shot had even touched it. That meant the bullet was still somewhere in the side panel padding.
I’ll have to dig that out so Tom Wright could have his people analyze it. But that can wait until tomorrow. He looked at the spot where the Mercedes had been hidden. That’s at least 150 yards. Whoever was in that Mercedes knew what he was doing with that rifle. I wonder if it was the same 30-06 that killed the guy that was dumped in South Philly?
With that thought, he locked the car and entered the BOQ. Within ten minutes, he was out of his clothes and sound asleep.
But a full night’s sleep was not to be that night. At about eight o’clock, the telephone rang. He buried his head and tried to ignore it, but it didn’t stop. Finally the ringing ceased, only to start again a moment later.
“Shit!” He reached for the phone, and answered with a very sleepy-sounding, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end belonged to Tom Wright. “Hey, are you okay, Lee?”
“Yeah, just trying to get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“Oh. Sorry. But I wanted to let you know what we learned from your two prisoners today. They look like they’re afraid to talk much. But gradually, we’re pulling bits and pieces of the story out of them.”
“What are they telling you?” Lee was awake now.
“Well, there is definitely a gang working the shipyard. They call themselves ‘the Skimmers.’ I dunno why. They haven’t spilled much more than that, but you could see the truth in their faces when I mentioned the shop planners and material not being delivered. We’re interrogating them separately, and they both reacted to that line of questioning. We were at them until just a few minutes ago. I intend to go back at it after I eat dinner. My gut is telling me that we’ll have the full story within a day or two. They’re afraid, but they’re weakening because they think we know more than we do.”
“The Skimmers, eh? That’s an odd name.”
“Yeah. I tried to ask where the name came from, but the guy clammed up as soon as he realized he’d told me something I didn’t already know. Anyway, I’ll let you know what we learn as soon as we know more. Anything new there?”
“Well, the doc says I have two cracked ribs. Oh yeah, someone took a shot at me tonight with a high-powered rifle. Other than that, this was just another day in paradise.”
“Jesus! You gotta be kidding! He didn’t hit you, did he?” Tom was stammering. He was honestly shocked by the news.
“No. But you guys have got some automobile work to pay for. He did a number on my car’s upholstery.” Lee went on to tell Tom about the incident in detail.
“A black Mercedes, eh? Know anyone around there who has one?”
“Nope.”
“These guys aren’t wasting any time, are they? Two attacks on you in one day. Maybe you need to cool out and stay hidden for a few days. Or maybe I can get someone in there to shadow you until we break this. What do you think?”
“No, Tom. I think I’ll be all right as long as I’m careful and stay on the base. I know how serious they are now, and I’ll keep my eyes open for them. Besides, I spotted Tony’s guy sitting in a car in the shipyard today. Apparently my babysitting service is still in place.”
“Okay, but be careful. I’m starting to get attached to your big-mouthed Navy self. I’d really hate to lose you after all this.”
“Not a problem, Tom. But now can I get back to sleep?”
“Of course. But one thing. Tomorrow, dig out that rifle slug. Do it carefully so you don’t scratch it or anything. Put it in a plastic baggie and save it. Have someone witness you getting it out and bagging it. I’ll have one of my guys call you and come over for it. I want to run ballistics on it against the slug that killed that other guy.”
“You got it. Good night now.” The conversation was over.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - FIRE AND DEATH
ee decided that his ribs were hurting far too much to run the next morning. He stayed in bed for an extra hour and then made himself a leisurely breakfast. With his stomach full, he headed for work, feeling much better than the previous day.
As he pulled into a parking spot just outside his office, he noticed the now-familiar big black car parked across the alleyway in a visitor parking area. The driver was Bill Jordan, the huge man who worked for Tony Bruno. I wonder how he gets past the shipyard gate guards? He decided not to ask. Cheerfully he waved at the big man and saw him wave back. Somehow, that was comforting. He might be outnumbered here, but they would have a fight on their hands if they came for him.
The morning went by uneventfully. At about ten o’clock, he asked Tim Connors if he would step outside with him. Tim looked quizzical, but agreed. When they were outside, Lee turned to him. “Tim, last night you said that you wanted to help. I need to have you witness something now, and please don’t ask any questions. I can say that your instincts are almost correct about me, but that’s all I can say. The clearance level of all of this is far above anything that we know, so don’t ask anything because I can’t tell you anything. Can you deal with that?”
Tim didn’t hesitate. “Yup. What’cha need me to witness?”
“Follow me.” Lee walked to his car and opened the passenger door. He’d brought a small plastic bag for the bullet. Now he got out his pocketknife and started cutting into the side panel around where the bullet had entered. At first, he didn’t find anything, but then he realized that it had probably dropped from the entry point, so he made a long slit from the entry point down to the car floor. Sure enough, he felt it at the end of his fingers as he probed the slit. Pulling back, he turned to Tim who was watching this procedure with a curious expression on his face.
“Tim, if you would. Please reach into the side panel where I’ve cut it and feel around. You should feel a small, hard piece of loose metal in there. See if you can get it and put it into this plastic bag.” He moved out of the way so Tim could get into the car.
Soon Tim was backing out of the car, looking at the object in his hand. “A 30-caliber slug. Looks like the ones I used when I was hunting back home.” He looked up at Lee, commenting, “Man, you’re into some shit. I won
’t ask any questions, but I do want to help.”
“Thanks, Tim. But for now, just put the slug in the bag and tape the bag shut.” He handed Tim a roll of masking tape.
When Tim had done as asked, Lee took out a ball point pen. “Here, sign over the tape so a person could tell if it were opened. You’re now a witness to the fact that this was taken from where you found it. Oh, yeah, date it, will you? And write the time on it.”
Tim finished writing and handed the bag to Lee. “Lieutenant, when you were cutting into the upholstery, I noticed that you were wearing an ankle holster. I’m not asking anything, but would you mind if I brought some protection and kept it in my desk out of sight? I have a couple of pistols at home, and I’m pretty handy with them.”
Lee had to think about that. He knew that Navy regulations didn’t tolerate firearms on the base. But it would be good to know someone else would be armed if worst came to worst. “Tim, I can’t officially authorize anything like that. But if it were kept out of sight, it might not be the worst idea in the world. Just be careful.”
“You got it, sir. Just call me when you need me.” Lee noticed that he said “when,” not “if”. He nodded at Tim and said, “Thank you.” Then, as he turned to go back into the office, he spotted Big Billy, still sitting in his car nearby. He smiled. He didn’t feel totally outnumbered any more.
He resolved to call Tony tonight from the BOQ and thank him for the help. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be a good call to make from his government office’s official telephone.
The rest of the work day passed quietly. Lee made arrangements to meet an FBI agent at the front gate after working hours so he could turn over the rifle slug. Then he had a quiet frozen dinner in his BOQ room before settling in to make some calls.
The Skimmers were all on time for the meeting. Marie had already set out the normal pitchers of iced tea, and the group poured a round of tea while they waited for Rick to finish a telephone call and come to the table. When he hung up, he called the meeting to order, announcing that this was a special meeting and the reading of the past minutes was waived. Then he got to the business of the day.
