Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  “So, two years of arduous sea duty, a new baby, thenwhat, fourteen months of overseas duty, with one week in Hawaii to make it all up?”

  You got it. Except it was five days, not a whole week.

  R and R was actually almost painful for the married guys.

  We tried like hell to carry it off, but it didn’t really work.

  You knew on day one that there were only four days left.

  You could almost tell how many days a couple had left by the looks on their faces. I was jet-lagged, and she was desperately tired, something I didn’t really anticipate. There was a lot I didn’t notice. Like too many of us at that age, my focus was on me. My career. My adventures in Vietnam.

  My prospects for the next assignment. My future in the Navy. And there was another problem: little Jack. The baby was hitting the terrible twos, and giving new meaning to the term. If Jack comes visiting, watch him every minute. He would hit and hurt other kids. He broke stuff. He ran off and hid when you came to find him. He disrupted the nursery school, when we could afford one. He went through baby-sitters by the dozens. Of course, Beth didn’t tell me any of this during our one week in the Hawaiian paradise.

  Jack was ‘difficult at times’ was all I got.”

  “Was the child ADD?” she asked. “Or was it a psychological problem?”

  He smiled. “We didn’t even know about attention deficit disorder, or dyslexia, or any of that stuff. People were just fairly blunt about it: The Shermans had a bad kid, that was all.

  “It is amazing how ill-prepared we humans are to raise a child,” she mused, turning her wineglass in her hands.

  “We train for everything else but just fearlessly jump into the baby scene.”

  “Did you have kids?”

  “No. By the time I married, children were pretty much out of the question, really. We married rather late in life. I was thirty-four, Frank was forty-four. Children would have just messed things up. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.”

  “We play the hand we’re dealt,” he said softly. “Sounds like you made some better choices than I did. Still want to hear this?”

  She nodded.

  “Right. Well, when I got back from Vietnam in 1970, 1 had a three-plus-year-old little horror and a wife with the beginnings of a drinking problem. Once again, I didn’t really notice. I was off to the next rung on the ladder. My career, Liberalles. We sold the house, shagged off to Newport, Rhode Island, for department-head school-that was six months-and then back to San Diego for my department-head tour.

  Oh, great: more sea duty. Not exactly the most stable family life. I was finishing up that tourthat was, I guess early 1972, when Galantz came calling.

  Jack was about five. By then, Beth was using fruit juice laced with vodka just to get through the day, and I was just starting to wonder how this would all come out-especially Jack. “

  “Did you get help with Jack?”

  “Well, yes and no. We used some Navy counselors at Balboa hospital, but they were dealing with seriously disturbed kids-schizophrenics, kids with severe learning disabilities. To them, Jack was a discipline problem-not a mental problem, but behavioral.”

  “They know a little bit more about that today.”

  “I wonder,” Sherman said. “But in our case, there were two problems. The first was the old who’s-in-charge problem. Beth ran the household when I was away at sea, which was most of the time. Then I’d come home for a couple of weeks and try, to take over. Kids are smart: They learn to divide and conquer. But Jack posed a legitimate question: Whose rules did he have to follow? Did everything change just because Daddy was home?”

  “I’ve heard other Navy people talk about that. And the second problem?”

  “Five years ago, I would have said it was hers. But in retrospect, it really was mine. That’s one of the things Elizabeth showed me.

  Basically, I didn’t much like my son, so I abdicated. Jack became Beth’s problem child, not mine. I seized on the excuse that it didn’t make sense for me to come home at irregular intervals and change all the rules.

  By leaving her in charge, I could simply back out of the problem. I had an operations department and a career to worry about. Mommy can be in charge on the home front.

  Mommy can own it. Again, in retrospect, pretty lousy for’ her.” Karen looked down at the table for a long moment. She was struck by the fact that his wife and her replacement had almost the same names. The waiter came by and cleared away the dishes and asked about dessert. Both declined and asked for coffee.

  “How did she handle it?” she asked.

  “She didn’t. Jack defeated her. He was wary of me, and he learned not to push things when I was around. But he just plain defeated her. I wasn’t much help. I think I lost respect for her because this kid had her number. And, of course, because of the drinking. Anyway, we went off to our first shore-duty tour, up at the graduate school in Monterey. Other guys took advantage of graduate school to get reacquainted with their wives after a couple of sea-duty tours. I was first in my class instead.

  I simply took advantage. I think that was when Beth lost hope.”

  “Surely you’re being a little hard on yourself, aren’t you?

  Most divorce stories I’ve listened to have two sides.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve had years to think about it. Upshot was that after three more assignments, it all finally came apart. We were divorced in 198 1, when I was enroute to my first ship command. Jack was almost fifteen, and solidly hooked up with the teenaged hoods in school. D student.

  Not stupid, mind you, just rebellious, uncommunicative, cigarettes, then dope. Beth was sustaining herself on near y a bottle of vodka a day. I had to be sent home from the Mediterranean one time to straighten things out when the neighbors got the social workers into it. Not the sort of thing up-and-coming commanders in the Navy are supposed to have to deal with.”

  “What happened to Jack?”

  “He bummed his way through high’school, graduated, and then got picked up for some low-level stealing with his gang. Because Jack was the youngest, he was offered a shot at the county’s youthful offenders boot-camp program. It was a brand-new thing back then, but, amazingly, Jack took to it. They contacted me toward the end of his program and asked if I could pull some strings, maybe get him into one of the services. The Marines, of all people, took him.”’ “Are you in touch with him nowadays?”

  After a slight hesitation, he said no, prompting Karen to wonder what he was holding back.

  “No,” he repeated. “Not since he was in Marine boot camp. He told me in the one and only letter I ever got from him after the divorce that he had been selected for the Marine recon battalion-that’s their Special Forces group. But then something happened in his third year, and he apparently was discharged early. I never found out what it was. Jack and I have had no contact since then. I’m sure I’m not the guy in his life’s story.”

  “How do you feel about that now?” she asked, looking at him over the rim of her wineglass.

  “Sad, I guess. He is my son. I feel a duty to love him.

  But I still don’t like him.”

  “People can change. Have you ever tried to find him?”

  Another moment of hesitation. Some evasion there. But it was such a personal and painful story, she was ready to forgive any omissions.

  “For my own sanity, I have to consider it ancient history,” he said.

  “Long story short, these experiences are what conditioned my response to Elizabeth’s marriage overtures. I know now that the whole mess was mostly my fault-for being gone, for being too centered on my career.

  The career worked; the marriage didn’t. Now I know what I do best.”

  She cringed mentally at the bitterness in his voice and decided not to say anything for a minute. When she did, she was being very careful. “I think,” she said, “that most of us get one free shot at the love-and-marriage prize. You had a wife and child, but the marriage did not s
ucceed. I had a good marriage for almost ten years, or at least I thought it was good, but then he just .’.. died. I never did get to play mommy. I’ve been up and down the emotional hill over that, but the reality is, that chapter of my life is simply closed.

  That’s the main reason I’m getting out of the Navy on twenty.

  “What do you mean, at least you thought it was good?”

  Damn, she thought. I didn’t mean to let that slip out. “I told you that Frank died in the lobby of a hotel down in Washington. It was a residential hotel. I could never get a satisfactory answer from anyone who was close to him in the office as to why he had been there. In fact, the harder I tried, the quicker the shields went up. His junior partner finally told me just to leave it alone, for my sake more than anything else.”

  “Wow. And you had no idea?”

  “None whatsoever. I’ve often wondered if I simply got too complacent. I know I’m a reasonably attractive woman.

  But Frank was wealthy and influential, if not downright powerful in the energy-lobbying industry. You know Washington. What is it, seven eligible females for every one male? Power is stimulating.”

  It was his turn to hold his tongue. But then he smiled at her. “You are more than just reasonably attractive, Commander. Notice I used your rank, so that was an official observation, not personal.”

  She smiled back at him and there was an awkward pause.

  “So what’s next for you?” he asked, opening the way for her to talk about something else. She realized then how smoothly he had steered her off his own story.

  “I have no idea. Frank made a lot of money as a lobbyist, so I’m financially secure. Once my release from active duty comes around, I’m probably going to close up the house in Great Falls and do some traveling. See what happens next, I guess. If I was twenty-one, I’d probably be trying to plan everything out. Now I’m just going to roll with it, see what happens.”

  “Sounds very sane, Karen. But be careful. What might happen next is the male version of an Elizabeth Walsh will move into your life. That’s one thing I’ve learned: Life doesn’t just leave you alone just because you feel like sitting next few dances.” He stopped. “Christ. I can’t be out the lieve Elizabeth is gone. I miss her.” He paused to collect himself.

  “Well, enough of my sad story. What do we do next regarding this police matter?”

  “We get the records on Galantz over to the cops. Train von Rensel will turn on an NIS search.”

  “Von Rensel, yes. I think NIS is going to be crucial in this. Okay. And when next you see CONNTER, perhaps you can tell him that the cops and I are on the same’side for now.

  The penitent was gone. The admiral was back. “Of course, sir,” she replied. If he caught the change in her tone, he gave no indication of it. He was looking at his watch.

  “Reveille beckons. Thanks for brokering that meeting tonight. I think having you in the room probably predisposed that guy to be nicer than he had to be.”

  She nodded. “I think you did the right thing in telling him the story behind the Galantz problem. As soon as the files come in, I’ll fax an extract to Mcnair so he can see that this is, or was, a real person.”

  “He’s real enough.”

  “I believe it, Admiral.”

  He paid the bill and then excused himself to use the bathroom before they left. She waited by the front door. When he came out, they walked out to the car. ““Train’?”

  “He said it was’a football nickname. He’s very different from most of the NIS people I’ve encountered. Not the typical exenlisted guy playing at gumshoe. He has a law degree, and he has worked in the counterintelligence world at ONI. Oh, and with the FBI too, I think. He appears to know his way around.”

  “Going after Galantz, he’d better,” Sherman said as they reached her car. Only then did she remember Train’s warming about the ex-SEAL. She unlocked her car with the remote key, which activated the interior light. He made as if to open the door for her and then stopped. She was about to ask what was the matter when she saw what he was staring at.

  There was a medium-sized syringe, its steel needle glittering in the light, lying in plain view on the driver’s seat.

  They both stared down at the syringe. What was this evillooking thing doing in her car? Karen wondered. She looked quickly around the parking lot, as did Sherman. Only one of the cars in the lot appeared to be occupied, and that by a young woman trying unsuccessfully to control three squalling children. A thin, sloppy-looking young man came out to the car, unwrapping a fresh pack of cigarettes. He got in the car, cuffed one of the kids, and then drove off.

  “Okay, I give up,” Sherman said. “Where the hell did that thing come from?” “And how?” she said. “This car was locked. I think I want to call a cop.”

  “I agree, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “What if it’s loaded with heroin or cocaine or something?

  And it’s in your locked car?”

  That got her attention. She looked back down at the driver’s seat and felt a small tingle of alarm. A syringe. An empty syringe, from the looks of it. The plunger was depressed all the way into the barrel. She felt helpless. Call a cop? Or reach in there, pick it up, and throw it into that Dumpster over there? Where had this thing come from? She looked up at Sherman, who was obviously having the same thought that she was: Galantz. This was just like the note.

  The cabin light in the car went out, as if the car was tired of Waiting for them. The admiral reached forward and opened the door. The light came back on.

  “You’re sure you locked it?”

  “I’m sure. I always lock it.”

  “Just like I always lock my front door. So whoever did this was able to open the door without damaging it. Just like the front door of my house.”

  “I still think we should call the cops,” she said again.

  “Get word to Mcnair, or at least a patrol car.”

  He reached in and picked up the syringe, touching only the edges of the flange nearest the needle. He smelled the needle, then withdrew the plunger a bit, again touching only the edges of the upper flange. She could see a tiny speck of red on the bottom of the barrel, below the zero line. He handed it to her gingerly, pointing out the speck.

  “Do you suppose that’s blood?” she asked.

  Suddenly, there was a blaze of bright headlights as a car came diagonally down the parking lot and headed directly for them. Only when it had pulled up fight next to her car did she realize that it was a police car. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, standing there in the parking lot, in uniform, with a, syringe in her hand. Two police officers got out and walked casually around the nose of the cruiser to the driver’s side of her car.

  “Evening, sir. Ma’am. Got a problem here?” the taller one asked, eyeing the syringe. The other cop, a woman, was peering into Karen’s car with her flashlight.

  “Yes, we do,” Sherman said. “I’m Admiral Sherman.

  This is Commander Lawrence. We just had dinner in that Greek restaurant there. When we came out, we found this lying in the front seat.” Karen handed the syringe, point up, to the policeman, who took it and held it the same way Sherman had been holding it, by the edge of the top flange.

  “We got a call that some Navy guy was shooting up drugs in the parking lot,” the cop said, looking first at the syringe and then at Sherman.

  The policewoman had moved to the other side of the - car and was pointing her flashlight into the backseat area. Karen tried to remember what she might have back there.

  “Well, I guess I can understand that,” Sherman said.

  “We were just about to call you guys. This is Commander Lawrence’s car.

  It was locked when we went into dinner, and there’s no sign of forced entry.”

  “Yeah,” the cop said. “Can I see some ID there, Adimral?

  Commander?”

  Sherman fished his wallet out and flashed his Navy ID card. Karen fumbled in her purse for her
wallet. She was angry to see that her hands were trembling. The policewoman came back around the rear of Sherman’s car and shook her head at the other cop.

  “Give me an evidence bag, will you, Carrie?” . he said.

  “One with one of those test-tube dealies in it. So, you found this thing where, exactly, Admiral?”

  “Right on the driver’s seat. We saw it after Commander Lawrence activated the remote lock system and the interior light came on. It was out in plain view, as if whoever put it there wanted to make sure we saw it.”

  “And you’re sure you locked the’doors, Commander?” ‘me cop sounded as if he was starting to get bored with it all. The policewoman was back with an evidence bag The cop handed the syringe to his partner, who dropped it gingerly into a tube in the evidence bag and took it back to the cruiser’ The cop took out his notebook.

  “Yes, positive,” Karen said. Sherman asked him if he knew Detective Mcnair in the Homicide Section.

  The cop stopped writing in his notebook and gave Sherman a suspicious look. A car went by, the driver slowing to gawk. Karen suddenly felt very conspicuous in her uniform. She could only imagine how the admiral felt.

  “Mcnair? Sure. What’s he got to do with this, sir?”

  “We just finished a meeting with him. This syringe may relate to a case he’s working, one that involves me. Can you make sure he knows about this?” -The cop put his finger in his notebook to hold his place and gave Sherman a perplexed look. “This something we should do right now, Admiral? Call the homicide people?”

  Sherman shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Well, actually, I don’t know. I’m involved in a stalking situation, which may be related to a possible homicide. That’s where Mcnair comes in. I know, this isn’t making much sense.”

  The other cop came back with a clipboard full of forms and handed them to the first cop. “You want a Breathalyzer kit?” she asked. “If not, I’ll go ahead and clear us.”

  The first cop shook his head, and she went back to the car and got on the radio. The first cop took down their identification data. When he was finished, he put away-his notebook.