And almost as the words left her mouth, it appeared in its own overlay window. The document was typewritten, its first page stamped in ink with the designations CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET and EYES ONLY.
The heading read:
ISSUED BY THE OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES INTELLIGENCE REPORT INDEX GUIDE 13-43549
SUBJECT: Deep Dive
SECRET GERMAN-JAPANESE U-BOAT TRANSFERS OF ARMS, SCIENTIFIC PERSONNEL AND TECHNICAL PLANS
1943-1945
FROM: Theodore P. Holloway, Project Director,
25 May 1945, Port Hueneme, California
“Port Hueneme’s part of Naval Base Ventura County, isn’t it?” Callen asked.
“It has been since it merged with Point Mogu, the adjoining air station,” Hetty said. “But until the year two-thousand or so, it was an entirely separate facility.”
“The Naval Construction Battalion Center,” Sam said. “Admiral Sutton was its commander during World War Two.”
“Lieutenant Sutton at the time,” Hetty said with a crisp nod. “He was, in fact, assigned to the post in ’forty-three, and remained in charge until the end of the war.”
“And I’m guessing they built ships over there?” Deeks asked.
Hetty shook her head. “The name is actually a bit misleading,” she said. “Before Pearl Harbor, the United States had very few air and naval bases in Asia. But when hostilities broke out, we needed to quickly extend our reach—and the Port Hueneme facility was ideally situated on the West Coast. Contractors around the country would transport, store, assemble, and test the equipment for advance base construction there, then crate it for shipping to the Pacific theater of operations.”
“You can still see some of the old buildings,” Sam said. “That storage area was pretty big.”
Hetty nodded. “There were thirty warehouses… according to historical records.”
Deeks looked at her. “Your pregnant pause tells me we’re about to hear they were fudged.”
She lifted her eyes to his face.
“Those horrid animalic odors do seem to have sharpened your deductive abilities,” she said. “A thirty-first warehouse was built near the railhead. It headquartered a highly secret OSS program. And that was Deep Dive.”
“So we’re back to conversing in Spookese, huh?” Deeks said.
Hetty nodded, took another small sip of her tea. This time she looked satisfied.
“Yes,” she said. “We are.”
Sam looked thoughtful.
“One sec,” he said. “This program… was the Navy involved? Or just playing the polite host?”
“I don’t have a clear-cut answer. Lieutenant Sutton was the base CO. As you’ll learn in a moment, the OSS would have needed his cooperation. He may well have had full knowledge of their activities.”
Deeks looked at her.
“Were they, like, awful?” he said.
“I don’t have enough information to judge,” Hetty said. “I do know the Allies had grave concerns about German subs conveying dangerous new weapons to the Far East, and that those fears escalated toward the end of the war. The Kriegsmarine was adamantly opposed to using U-boats as transports—but Hitler had the final say.”
“And he was a serious heil-me-or-else kinda dude,” Deeks said.
Hetty appeared as if she might respond, then changed her mind and swung her attention around the room.
“I’m wondering if any of you have heard of Speermädchen?”
Callen nodded his head. “It’s German for Spear Maiden—Hitler’s plan to arm the Japanese with an atom bomb,” he said.
Now Hetty was nodding too. “We’ve come to believe Tokyo had the centrifuge required for the nuclear refinement process,” she said. “The Reich could provide rocket technology for a long range delivery system, and the most essential element of all—”
“Uranium,” Sam said.
“Exactly,” she said. “Their mines in Poland, Czechoslovakia, and elsewhere had produced large caches of ore—hundreds of tons.”
Kensi’s eyes widened. “Were they shipping it to Japan aboard submarines?”
“That’s up for debate… from our contemporary perspective.” Hetty shrugged. “Some historians insist there is evidence that Speermädchen boats carried stolen art, gold bullion, and fugitive Nazi war criminals to places of safety—besides providing the Japanese with superweapons and uranium oxide. Whatever the truth, the OSS needed to deal with the program.”
“And they created one of their own to counter it,” Callen said. “Deep Dive.”
“That’s the game. Check and mate.”
“How’d they gather their information?”
“I was coming to that. We cracked the German Enigma code, and could intercept radio transmissions to and from their U-boats. The OSS and MI-6 also had spies imbedded as shipyard workers in the harbors where the subs went for refueling and resupply—and were loaded with cargo for their special tasks.”
“I bet their manifests were falsified,” Sam said with a shrug. “They could write anything they wanted on those pieces of paper—and would’ve done it to throw the Allies a curve.”
Hetty gave a nod.
“Our spies and radio eavesdroppers knew they couldn’t rely on cargo lists,” she said. “Human intelligence was essential. A German submarine base might have several boats in port at a given time…”
“And while they were serviced, their crews would go on shore leave,” Sam said. “Hang out at the beer hall, toss down a few, swap scuttlebutt. Stories would bounce around from one boat to the next like in every navy.”
“Yes,” Hetty said. “Captured submariners could tell us much more than the shipping forms, especially the officers and nonregulars.”
Kensi’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Nonregulars being…?”
“Scientists, engineers, and spies. Among other covert personnel.”
“Leave your secret cargo off the manifest,” Sam said. “Leave your secret passengers off the crew list.”
“Indeed. In the last three years of the war, America and England sunk numerous Nazi submarines,” she said. “They captured very few, though. Once Deep Dive was established at Hueneme, several of the boats and their crews were brought to the base for processing.”
“‘Processing,’ huh?” Deeks said. “Spooky word.”
“Its meaning in this case is fairly mundane,” Hetty said. “There were between fifty and seventy-five prisoners of war for each sub—too many for the base to handle. My understanding is they were sorted out according to rank, status, and other criteria and then moved to various other facilities for interrogation.”
“And Trip Holloway ran the show,” Deeks said.
“Tip,” Hetty said.
“Huh?”
“His nickname was Tip.”
“Sorry,” Deeks said. “Tip.”
“Yes.”
“Not Trip.”
“That’s correct.”
“Ran the show.”
“Yes.”
“And wasn’t gentle about it.”
She looked at him but said nothing this time.
Deeks scratched thoughtfully under his chin.
“Okay, fellow Jedis,” he said. “I figure Holloway, past tense, would have had regular contact with the grainy black-and-white version of Elias Sutton, our Santa Barbara homicide victim.” He motioned toward the lower half of the monitor. “Can we safely assume there’s also a connection between their present-tense color versions?”
Hetty’s eyes held the faintest hint of amusement. She turned, stepped over to Nell’s workstation, and gingerly set her cup and saucer down on a corner of the desktop.
“Nell,” she said, “would you please let everyone see the document Eric was able to, ah, extract from the LAPD’s database.”
The analyst swiped a finger across her tablet, and another overlay window appeared on the wall screen. The document inside the window read:
LOS ANGELES POLICE
DEPARTMENT/DETECTIV
E BUREAU
Robbery-Homicide Division
Special Investigation Section
Los Angeles, California 90012
INCIDENT REPORT #957237
Report Entered: January 7 14:23:35
STATUS: CONFIDENTIAL AND SEALED
REPORTING OFFICER:
Detective III Joshua Knowles
DATE/TIME REPORTED: January 7 12:07:28
ADDRESS: Bel Air Palms Senior Living
3462 Ocean Vista Road,
Los Angeles, California 90077
Subject: INVESTIGATOR’S PRELIMINARY ASSESSMENT AND RECOMMENDATION REGARDING MISSING PERSON/BURGLARY THEODORE PHILLIP HOLLOWAY
NARRATIVE:
On April 2, 2016, at approximately seven minutes past noon, Detective I Brad Matthews and Detective I Alberto Juarez arrived at the scene of a reported break-in at the above address, a 2-bedroom assisted-living condominium owned by Mr. Holloway, aged 93, in response to a 911 call. They were preceded by two patrol vehicles. The caller identified himself as John Murphy, aged 67, Holloway’s home caregiver. Mr. Murphy was visibly distraught when he met the officers outside the residence, which he said had been “broken into and turned upside down.” Mr. Murphy stated that he had arrived at approx. 11:30 AM for a scheduled daily visit and found the front door wide open. Upon entry, he saw no sign of Holloway and proceeded to search the interior of the MP’s home, conducting a room by room search for him. When it became clear he was not on the premises, he became worried and immediately contacted the police on his cellphone. The uniformed officers arrived within five minutes and conducted their own preliminary search of the dwelling.
It was then that they radioed for assistance. A short while afterward, Det. Matthews and Det. Juarez arrived and assumed control of the possible crime scene as investigators-in-charge.
Although there was no indication of forced entry or conclusive evidence of a struggle (pending forensics), the detectives found that the MP’s drawers and closets had been emptied, and that clothing and other items were scattered throughout the apartment. Mr. Murphy pointed out that a laptop computer Mr. Holloway typically keeps on his desk was gone, along with a storage unit for data CDs and a backup drive. According to the caretaker, he is a very active computer user and often spends hours working on it.
It is critical to note that remote Internet monitoring of Mr. Holloway’s premises by WEST COAST HEALTHAID, a provider of state-of-the-art health monitoring technology, underwent a system-wide network failure one hour prior to Mr. Murphy’s arrival. Web-based surveillance cameras, motion sensors, and other devices either dropped offline or provided erroneous information about the victim’s whereabouts. While the cause of the failure remains undetermined, it is my opinion that it is highly suspicious and warrants thorough follow-up investigation.
At this time, Mr. Holloway’s whereabouts are unknown. His status has been listed as MISSING. The case remains ACTIVE and coordination and communication within the Department is essential.
Pg. 1 of 12 (w/attachments)
“Whoa, whoa. Hold up.”
This was from Deeks, who had turned from the screen to face the others.
“Yes?” Hetty asked.
“What I don’t understand is how a remote monitoring system goes into complete shutdown without anybody noticing it,” Deeks said. “There must be alerts at the operator’s end.”
“You’d think,” Kensi said. “I also wonder about devices providing ‘erroneous information.’”
“Like what devices, exactly?” he said. “Wristband monitors? Video cameras? How does all the hardware go wonky at the same time?”
“A system crash is one thing,” Kensi said. “But this almost makes me think someone manipulated the network.”
“Which means a hack,” Deeks said. “That’s pretty sophisticated for stealing a senior’s laptop and disks.”
“There may have been something of value to give the burglars incentive,” Hetty said. “Mr. Holloway comes from a very prominent family, and one that’s amassed a sizeable fortune.”
Deeks looked at her. “The railroad Holloways?”
“The same,” she said. “They were giants in the shipping industry. Back in the nineteen-twenties, Caleb Holloway built more new lines than anyone connecting the West Coast to the middle part of the country. Not even the Vanderbilts had his success.”
There was a thoughtful silence. Callen’s eyes went to the wartime report. “Track fifty-seven,” he said, reading the words from the top of the page. “Do you know what that means?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m looking into it.”
Callen nodded. “We can’t blow off the idea that somebody wanted Holloway’s computer,” he put in after a moment. “Or information on the computer.”
“Bearing in mind that whoever killed Admiral Sutton and his housekeeper took the hard drive right out of his PC,” Sam said.
“Let’s back up a sec,” Callen said. “We have Elias Sutton and Tip Holloway. A couple of men in their nineties who knew each other during World War Two.”
“And were stationed at the same base,” Sam said. “Both in positions of command.”
Deeks was back to rubbing his chin. “About two months ago, Holloway’s condo gets burglarized—”
“And somebody makes off with his computer,” Callen said.
“And he disappears,” Kensi said. “Then, today, Sutton’s home is tumbled—”
“And somebody makes off with his hard drive,” Sam said.
“And he’s killed,” Deeks said.
“Anybody here who thinks this is all coincidental, raise your hand,” Callen said, glancing around the room.
They were all quiet again.
“Two questions,” Sam said. He’d turned toward Hetty. “Did Sutton and Holloway have any sorta connection after the war? Go into business together, socialize… whatever?”
She shook her head. “Not that I’m yet aware,” she said.
“Then how’d you know to pull up that Deep Dive file linking them together? Before G and I even got back from Santa Barbara? I’ve read everything that’s been written about Admiral Sutton and never heard about the OSS at Hueneme. Plus, the file’s still classified. If it was declassified, it would be stamped right on the first page. And I’m wondering how come it isn’t after seventy years.”
Hetty looked at him.
“There’s a story,” she said.
Sam raised an eyebrow in a way that said they both knew she wouldn’t divulge it until she was good and ready; everyone in the room knew there was nothing to do but wait when she was being deliberately elusive.
“Next question,” he said with her reply, or non-reply, hanging in the air between them. “The police always ask the media for help in missing persons cases. They want the public on the lookout for the MP. And being that Tip Holloway is one of the Holloways, you’d especially think his disappearance would’ve been all over the news. But the LAPD’s report on Holloway is marked confidential… making both files you threw onscreen secret.”
Hetty looked at him.
“I believe you’ve well exceeded your two questions,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said, thinking that, if so, she hadn’t yet given him a single answer.
Hetty kept looking at him.
“There’s another story,” she said.
Sam sighed. There she went again…
“Holloway was found two days after he was reported missing,” Hetty said, catching him by surprise. “He was evidently in rough shape… though his hospital files were sealed, and we don’t yet know his exact injuries. But he pulled strings within the department and arranged for the investigation to be closed.”
Everyone in the room stared at her.
“Why on earth would anybody do that?” Callen asked.
She shook her head.
“That’s part of the story I don’t know,” she said. “And that we need to find out.”
3
“My God, is that stink coming f
rom outside?” said a queasy-looking Detective Alberto Juarez, turning his gaze out the window at Spring Street.
Deeks and Kensi exchanged glances. It was now nine o’clock in the morning, and they had shown up unannounced at the LAPD’s Robbery-Homicide Division headquarters, asking to speak with Juarez, one of the two detectives who responded to the break-in at Theodore Holloway’s senior living condominium.
“Umm… I don’t really notice it,” Deeks said. “What kinda stink do you mean?”
“Like a sewer backup or something,” Juarez said. A short, neat man of about forty in a navy business suit, white shirt, and blue-and-gray striped necktie, he stood sniffing the air where he’d met them in the reception area. “You sure you didn’t see anything on the street?”
“No, nothing,” Deeks said.
Juarez looked at Kensi. “How about you?”
She shrugged. “Well,” she said, “we might’ve passed a garbage truck out front.”
Deeks gave her a wounded look. “I don’t think so,” he said. “In fact, I’m sure we didn’t.”
Juarez was shaking his head. “This is worse than any garbage I ever smelled in my life,” he said. “Seriously, it makes me want to lose my breakfast. And I didn’t eat breakfast yet.”
Neither of them commented.
Juarez turned to the receptionist at the desk behind him. “Barbara,” he said. “Is it my imagination? Or are you being stunk out too?”
The receptionist screwed up her face.
“Stunk out,” she said. “Big time.”
The detective looked at the two agents. “There you go,” he said. “Case closed.”
Deeks cleared his throat, suddenly feeling defensive about the undiluted Siberian deer musk he’d dabbed on after his morning shower.
“You know,” he said after a moment. “I read something recently about certain unusual aromas being good for you.”
Juarez looked at him. “Oh?” he said. “How’s that?”
Deeks shrugged. “They call it animalics,” he said. “The idea that humans in the wild had animal and plant scents around them all the time, making it a natural part of our environment that we’ve lost in our civilized world.”
Juarez looked at him. “First, ‘animalic’ isn’t a real word,” he said.
NCIS Los Angeles Page 6
