Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  Alive, and lucky not to be on the bottom of the Potomac.

  Unable to hear anything, she had had no idea of what was happening when the helicopter lifted the bag out of the water, and for one heart-stopping moment she had thought she was in midair, going over the falls. And the incredible relief when she felt the vibrating floor of the aircraft under her, and helping hands peeling her out of that bag.

  She had tom the tape off her eyes and mouth as soon as her hands were free. The helo crewman had given her a quick once-over, not trying to speak in a the noise roaring through the open hatch, and then he was gone, back out on the skid, holding the rescue cable in one hand and concentrating on something below, something in the glare of large searchlights. She had been stunned when Gutter had come crawling out of nowhere to lick her face, his whole posture one of abject apology. She remembered the noise, the spray billowing up from under the helicopter, looking like white smoke from some awful fire below, the dipping and weaving of the aircraft as the pilot positioned the bouncing machine in one turbulent hover after another, a fleeting glance of rapids and distant black trees over the crewman’s shoulder. Now she knew what real terror was like. It was cold, cold in your core, cold your insides turn to liquid and your mouth taste’d metal, like right now.

  She took a deep breath and got up and ran to the bathroom as a wave of nausea boiled up in her stomach. She barely made it in time. It was several minutes before she was able to get up off her knees, turn on the bathroom lights, and wash her face with hot water. Then she realized there was a shower. She didn’t hesitate, shucking her hospital gown and standing in the hot water for a long, long time.

  When she finally felt clean and her stomach seemed to be relatively calm, she turned the shower off and dried herself.

  There was a bathrobe on the back of the door, and she put it on and went back to the bed.

  There was a knock on her door, low, almost tentative, but definitely someone there. She found herself holding her breath and then saying, “Yes?’ ‘ She was vastly relieved to see Train’s large gleaming head poke around the door. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand, and he was wearing a ridiculously small Johnny and white socks. He looked over his shoulder and then edged through the door, which shut behind him.

  “Hey, Counselor. You look, um… “

  “That good, huh, Train?” she replied, trying to follow his lead, keep it light. But it didn’t work. She felt her face get rubbery and her eyes filling. And then he was sitting on the edge of her bed and she was in his arms, wailing like a baby while he patted her back and told her that it was all right, that they were safe. When she was finally still, he grabbed a handful of Kleenexes from a box on the bedside table and wiped her eyes and face. Then he kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes.

  His eyes were luminous. Up close, she saw that he had pronounced crow’s-feet in the comers of his eyes. He held her hands in his, and they felt like two warm, calloused paws.

  “Wanted to do that for a good long time,” he said. “Under better circumstances, of course.”

  “These are pretty good circumstances, considering,” she replied. Then she reached for his face and gave him a long, lingering kiss on the lips. She felt him stir in response, but then she sensed that he was imposing control on himself She felt slightly embarrassed as they stopped, feeling as if she should look away, but for some reason, she couldn’t.

  The affection in his eyes was right out there, fully visible.

  She tried to summon up that demure look-away expression, the one she’d used to deflect the interest in men’s eyes since Frank had died, but she couldn’t find it, and suddenly she didn’t want to. Train must have sensed what was going on in her mind, because he put a finger up to her lips.

  “Slowly,” he whispered. “Let’s not screw this up.”

  She smiled at him and reached for his hands again. “No, let’s not,” she said. “I’ve been in limbo for a while, Train.

  Observing all the proper conventions. But after tonight … well, I don’t want to put off life or living anymore.”

  He nodded his understanding. There was a rattle of some kind of trolley outside in the hallway, and he stood up to pull a chair right next to her bed. “Considering the circumstances, neither one of us should ever go to Vegas. We used up every ounce of luck tonight, and then some. So, tell me what happened.”

  They exchanged stories. As she began hers, he extended the coffee cup and she sipped some and then handed it back.

  He drank some while he listened, an unconscious small intimacy, which she registered even while she was talking.

  When she had finished, he just sat there, his face grim. She realized he felt responsible.

  “I know. I should have taken the dog,” she said.

  He nodded absently. “And I should have trusted my instincts and gone out there when I first thought about it. Oh well.”

  “We’ve got to talk to Sherman,” she said urgently.

  “About what his son said. There were two of them.”

  Train got up and went to the window. At the moment, he was sick of the Sherman business. What he really wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her for the rest of the night. He rotated the venetian blinds.

  Karen’s room had the same view of the same parking lot, which was still empty. There was a hint of fog hovering over the of grass beyond the parking lot. Three hospital corpsmen in their orderly uniforms were smoking cigarettes out under the ER portico.

  “I think we have to talk to Carpenter first,” he replied.

  “Mccarty’s orders were pretty specific. Back off the Sherman matter. I don’t know if that’s because you had gone missing or if those were orders from Carpenter given before you went missing. Either way, Sherman is being isolated.”

  “Sherman is getting the shaft,” she said, sitting up straighter in the bed. She was silent for a moment. “On the other hand, it got awfully up close and personal today.” She was starting to feel cold again. “Train.”

  He turned around.

  “Will you sit with me for a while? I don’t want to think about this case right now. I want to make it all go away until I can see sunlight again.

  I-“

  He shushed her, going back over to the chair next to her bed. He sat down and smoothed her hair. “Let’s kill all these lights. You sleep.

  I’ll be right here.”

  She hit the switches for the lights, which left only the subdued rose-colored light from the parking lot suffusing the room. Karen shut her eyes and pulled up the covers, leaving her hands clenched up under her chin. He put his hand on her forehead again and smoothed her hair back away from her brow. She reached for his hand and clasped it between her own until her breathing slowed.

  He watched her sleep. He was surprised to find himself fantasizing: If he was married to a woman like this, would he ever wake up at night and just watch her sleep? He thought he might. Then he smiled in the darkness. Married?

  The lady had been widowed for only a year. She was just feeling grateful, that’s all.

  He got up and pulled down a blanket and a pillow from the closet shelf and laid them out on the chair. Then he went over to the window again and looked out. It was now almost 2:00 A.M., and the parking lot was practically deserted. He stepped back over to check on Karen. She was still sleeping, her hands clutching the. covers up under her chin, her breathing deep and regular now. Maybe the sedative had finally taken effect. He sat down in the chair next to her bed and pulled up the blanket. Was this place safe? he wondered.

  Should he wake her and get them out of there? He decided against it. He looked over at her sleeping face again. You predicted something was going to happen, and it did. Galantz had made a move against them. And Carpenter was losing his nerve, it seemed. Train slept.

  THURSDAY By 11:30 Thursday morning, Train and Karen were sitting, in Admiral Carpenter’s outer office, awaiting an audience.

  Train had called Mccarty at seven o’clock to
give him a quick debrief of the previous day’s events. Mccarty had seen a short article in the morning paper about a rescue out on the river, but there had been no names. He was stunned into silence when Train gave him the details.

  Train also told him they needed to talk to the JAG. They would spend the morning getting released from the hospital, get Karen home for a change of clothes, and then come in to the Pentagon, he said. Train lived too far south of the city to bother going home, so he was sitting there in his suit, the jacket of which was reasonably presentable. The rest of his outfit had been attracting careful glances all morning.

  Karen was properly dressed, if a little pale around the edges. He had to work at it not to take her hand fight there in the front office. She had seemed steady enough until the yeoman handed her a cup of coffee, and Train caught the little ripples in it when she held the cup with both hands.

  He watched her out of the comer of his eye. She’s solidified on the surface, he thought, but underneath she’s still scared.

  Hell, so am 1. Karen stared across the office area as officers and clerks came and went. “This has gotten way out of hand,” she said softly.

  “That’s what we’re here to tell the JAG,” Train replied.

  The door to Carpenter’s office opened, and Captain Pennington came out.

  Captain Mccarty was standing behind him in the doorway. Pennington looked briefly at both Karen and Train, his face neutral. He nodded curtly but did not say hello, then left the office.

  “TA-oh,” muttered Karen as they got up. “That’s not a good sign.” But Mccarty was beckoning them into the admiral’s office. He wrinkled his nose at Train’s clothes ds they went in, Admiral Carpenter was standing by one of the windows, his back to them. Mccarty shut the door and cleared his throat. They all stood in the middle of the room for a moment before Carpenter turned around.

  “Karen,” he said. “I am so glad you’re back among us.

  You gave us all quite a scare.”

  “Nothing like the scare they gave me, Admiral,” she replied. Train felt a flush of pride at her quick comeback. If they were going to be yelled at, she was showing no timidity.

  But Carpenter did not appear to be angry. “Please, sit down,” he said.

  “You, too, Train. I’ve just been on the horn with Detective Mcnair, who told us some of what happened yesterday. We didn’t learn any of this until this morning. Mcnair said he didn’t see the need to wake people up. guess he was never in the Navy.”

  “It was a seriously long day, Admiral,” Train said. “And now I think we need to revisit the guidance.”

  “You do, do you?” Carpenter said with a faint smile as he sat down.

  “Can’t imagine why. According to Mcnair, you did some amazing things out on that river.”

  “Admiral, whoever this is, he’s not messing around. One, probably two homicides, a kidnapping, and attempted homicide. I think this thing has expanded well past Admiral Sherman’s involvement.”

  “Just so,” Carpenter murmured, staring at Train over steepled fingers.

  Both Train and Karen looked at each other.

  “Admiral,” Karen said, “what is Admiral Sherman’s status?”

  “Admiral Sherman has been given temporary administrative as the president of a selection board.”

  “So he’s not on some kind of admin leave or even suspension?” Train asked.

  “No. Whoever gave you that idea?”

  Karen looked down at the floor. Train pressed ahead.

  “Can I suggest a meeting?” Train said. “I think he needs to know what’s happened to Karen, and perhaps some other things as well.”

  Carpenter looked over at Mccarty, who nodded imperceptibly. “There is a small problem with that,” Carpenter said. “No one actually seems to know where Admiral. Sherman is at the moment.”

  Karen and Train stared at him.

  “Indeed. When Karen went missing, someone from the police attempted to contact Admiral Sherman to see what, if anything, he knew, or even if she might be with him.”

  Train saw Karen color slightly at this comment. The admiral continued.

  “The OP-32 front office told them he was on leave, which is what they’ve been instructed to say, of course. But then this morning, the secretary of the selection board called into OP-32 and asked where he was, since the board could not convene without him. Thirty-two Acting called us, but we’re in the dark,. too.”

  Train leaned forward. “Admiral, Detective Mcnair told me yesterday that the Fairfax County Police Department was being pressured by someone to move slowly with this investigation. Do you know why, and who might be doing the pressuring?”

  “I have no idea,” Carpenter replied, looking from one to the other with a sincerely neutral expression, as if daring either one of them to challenge what he had just said. Train thought of a hundred things to say, including reminding the admiral of their earlier words on this subject, but it was pretty obvious that something had changed and the admiral wasn’t going to talk about it. After a few seconds of silence, Carpenter got up and walked around to his desk.

  “I think it is indeed time to review your tasking. Both of your taskings, for that matter. Karen, I think Admiral Sherman, wherever he might be at the moment, has problems that are beyond the scope of your initial tasking. I want you to resume your normal duties in Investigations Review.”

  Karen’s expression registered protest, and she looked over at Train as if for support. But Train was studying Carpenter.

  “Mr. von Rensel,” Carpenter asked, “you remember those things I was going to order you not to do, when we last discussed this matter?.”

  “Yes, sir, but-“

  Carpenter cut him off. “Right. Execute.” The other thing I told you that I did want you to do remains in effect.”

  Train was momentarily baffled. “The other thing.” Then he renyembered.

  Keep Karen safe. “Oh, right,” he said.

  “Good. I don’t think ‘we need to discuss this matter any further. Karen, you’ve been through a truly harrowing experience. I suggest you take a couple of days’ leave. In fact, I insist on it. You, too, Mr. von Rensel. How about we see you both back here, say Monday? You’ve both been through a lot.”

  “What about Admiral Sherman?” Karen protested.

  “What do we do if he gets in touch with us?”

  “Refer any calls from Admiral Sherman to my office.

  Captain Pennington will be instructing the IR yeomen to do the same.”

  Then Mccarty was standing up, indicating the meeting was over. The admiral looked at both of them as they stood before his desk. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that there are currents in this case moving above your respective pay grades,’ as the saying goes. Above my pay grade, for that matter. You both did well. You two were very lucky yesterday. Now I think it’s time to observe the golden rule about following orders when you don’t understand the reasons behind those orders: You must assume your boss knows something you don’t, okay?

  Captain Mccarty will let you know if there are any new developments.

  Thank you both. That’s all.”

  After the door closed behind Karen and Train, Admiral Carpenter instructed his yeoman to hold all calls. He then went to his computer desk and entered the JAG archive system.

  A minute later, the Rung Sat incident investigation report was on the screen. He read through the by-now-familiar findings of fact, opinions, and then the all-important endorsements. The archive files were, by law, read-only files.

  He cursed his JAG forebear who’d put that restrictive protocol into the system. Access could be controlled, but content could not be modified.

  Well, that would never do, he thought with a sigh. He dispatched the file back to the mainframe over in the Navy Yard across the river, and the screen settled into an undulating helix screen-saver routine.

  But then he had an idea. It was a program protocol preventing anyone from altering data. M
aybe, with the right kind of help, he could change the protocol, or perhaps inhibit it long enough to make one small change. He thought of the-dour Kensington. Okay, two small changes-if he’s nice to me. And he thought he knew right where he might get some help of that kind.

  He picked up his secure phone and autodialed-the DNI’s office. The EA patched him in to the admiral. “‘Yes, Thomas?”

  “Subject is the flag officer in difficulty.”

  “No, Thomas, I rather think the subject is larger than that. “

  Carpenter, surprised, said nothing for a moment. “Okay.

  I’ll grant you that. I want to make a deal with those people.”

  “Oh, they love deals. What’s yours?”

  “They want us out of their sweeper problem, presumably so they’ll have a clear field of fire. I’m ready to accommodate them. But, in return, I want two things. The first is a complication with which I need some technical help.”

  “What kind of help, exactly?”

  “I need the services of a hacker, a really good hacker.”

  It was Mallory’s turn to be silent. “Do I want to know the details of this, um, complication, Thomas?”

  “You do not.”

  “Didn’t think so. And the second thing?”

  “I want their guarantee that nothing bad will happen to my two people, because if something bad does happen, I’ll be forced to tell the whole world. But you can also tell them that, as a measure of my good intentions, I’ve sent the two of them home for a long weekend, with orders to stay there. “

  “All right. Back to this complication. It bears on your flag officer’s problem?”

  “He’s got new problems. No, this is much more important.

  “Very well. I’ll transmit the message.” There was. a pause on the line.

  “If I may ask, Thomas, are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

  It was a question made just possible by that minute difference in seniority. Carpenter was not permitted to take offense.

  “I sure hope so, Kyle,” he said. “But a lot of it depends on how quickly they solve their problem. And after what this guy did last night, sooner would be a whole lot better than later. You can tell them that if you want to. Don’t forget my conditions.” He hung up the phone and dabbed the sheen of perspiration off his forehead. This could not come out-not now, not ever. It would mean the end of his career, not to mention the field day the press would have with it. Why in the hell hadn’t’those people moved against this Galantz? What were they waiting for? The simplest and therefore the most likely answer that suggested itself didn’t help his disposition: They didn’t know where he was.