by Jan Coffey
McCann strode past the old brick Pipe Shop that was located at the head of a cluster of piers, then walked down a dimly lit alley that wove between other production shops to the gray navy barge. Most of the smaller shops were dark, but the few that had lights on inside seemed devoid of personnel. He tried to remember whose idea it was to get this job started at such a godforsaken hour. Definitely not his.
McCann finally crossed a small catwalk onto the navy barge. In the NAVSEA inspection office, a clerk had a file folder ready for him, and in just a few minutes the submarine commander was working his way back through the Wet Docks.
During the handful of times he’d been involved with different production issues in the shipyard, he’d heard a few stories about these alleys. About vendettas being paid with the flash of a blade and bodies reappearing only at the turn of the next tide. It was true, he thought; anyone could commit murder in one of these alleys and get away unseen. Like every shipyard, this one had its own unwritten code of conduct, its own methods of meting out justice.
The alleys were protected from the wind, but McCann could feel the rain coming down harder. He picked up his pace.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadowy form of a rat the size of a small cat scurrying along the base of the brick wall of a shop not ten feet from him. He watched it disappear into a corner behind some rusting metal barrels. As it did, a door slammed inside the building, rattling one of the smoke-blackened windows.
Intent on watching the rodent, McCann wasn’t aware of the figure emerging from the shadows and blocking his path until he nearly collided with him. He stopped short.
In the darkness, the white hardhat was the first thing that caught his eye. He was a member of the shipyard management.
“Lieutenant Commander Parker?” the voice asked.
McCann stood corrected. She was a member of shipyard management.
“No. Commander McCann. Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry for the confusion, sir. I’m Amy Russell, the ship superintendent assigned to the Hartford for this job. I was told I could meet with the executive officer before I brought my crew on board.”
“Hartford is my ship,” he said pointedly. “There was an emergency that my X.O. needed to take care of this morning. I’m in charge.”
“An emergency?”
“That’s right.”
“Good thing for him you guys didn’t sail, after all.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“Plus, we get the top dog.” She tucked the clipboard she was carrying under one arm and held out her hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Not out loud, anyway. My mouth tends to run sometimes.”
He shook her hand. She had a firm, confident grip. Because of the hardhat and the poorly lit alley, he couldn’t make out her face. And with the layers of clothes and the steel-toed boots the yardbirds wore, men and women all looked the same. From her voice, he guessed she was young.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Russell?”
“It’s Amy,” she said. “I’m in charge of the repair on your boat’s electrostatic gyro navigator.”
“Were you also in charge of the initial installation?” he asked sharply.
“Not on the Hartford, I wasn’t,” she said, not missing a beat. “And yes, I know this specific system went through an overhaul only four months ago. And no, there’s no excuse for it to fail.”
He was glad she’d done some of her homework. “I was told you have a replacement system on hand.”
“We do. The supplier of the ESGN on your boat is the marine navigation division of SPAWAR, the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center, in San Diego. As it happens, we have three systems, refurbished with fiber optics and ready for installation. They were scheduled for other jobs, but we can switch any of them to the Hartford, so long as we’re sure what revision level your system was installed at.”
“Don’t you have drawings and specs level that tell you that?”
“We do. But the call for this job came at 6:00 p.m. last night. Our engineering department in charge of these systems closes up shop way before that. And I didn’t get in until little bit after ten, too late to even get the San Diego people on the line. And since then, I’ve been running around trying to put together crew, material, and testing equipment for your job. And that’s not the easiest thing to do these days on third shift. Especially when you are talking about a system as major as this one. I wasn’t even counting on the possibility of having three different rev levels of it on the shelf.”
The rain was pounding sideways again. McCann wanted to get out of it. “From my experience working with Electric Boat and Newport News, this all sounds routine, Ms….Ms….”
“Russell. Amy.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that nothing you’ve said is relevant, from my perspective,” he said curtly. “Your shipyard management agreed to turn this job around in less than twenty-four hours. Not even having started this installation, you appear overwhelmed. My recommendation is that you bow out, Ms. Russell, and let someone with more experience take charge here.”
She turned her head and mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like “arrogant bastard.”
“Did you say something?”
“Faster,” she said brusquely. “This job will get done much faster if I’m left to do it. Unless you want your sub tied up to our dock for a couple of extra days, my suggestion is that you cooperate a little and let me get the job done.”
McCann momentarily considered making a call to move her off of the assignment. He didn’t have anything against her age or gender. Experience, though, mattered a hell of a lot.
“How familiar are you with the system?” he asked.
“Very. I managed three installations on 688-class upgrades, and one for a SRA, Selected Restricted Availability, on the Seawolf.”
The cold rain was starting to trickle down his neck. “What do you need from me?”
“I want to see and test the system and determine the revision level before I bring the crew and material on board.”
“Sea trials are over. We’re not going for any spin around Long Island Sound so you can test the system.”
“I’m not asking you to take me on any spin. I can test the system at the dock. I just need access to the control room to get everything I need.”
“Have you read the rejection report?” he asked.
“Of course I did,” she responded, obviously growing impatient. “But ‘it ain’t working’ wasn’t much of a help.”
He glowered down at her. “I was the final signature on that report, Ms. Russell. I don’t recall that phrasing in it.”
“Really?” She pushed the brim of her hardhat back. “I’m kidding.”
“At four o’clock in the morning?”
“You were being pretty condescending, Commander.”
“Ms. Russell—”
“From the first moment I stepped into your path, you’ve been treating me like a moron, sir.” She put a hand up when he tried to interrupt. “Despite being a woman, I’m a ship superintendent. People don’t walk in off the street and get this position. I have an electrical engineering degree and six years of shipyard experience. My specific training has been in sonar and navigation systems, and I was one of three people from Electric Boat who were sent to SPAWAR to get trained in testing and installation procedures for the new ESGNs. The management above me and the crew and supervisors who report to me have absolute confidence in what I do, and in what I direct them to do.”
“Ms. Russell…” He tried to interrupt again, but she shook her head and continued, her voice rising over the wind.
“I know the procedures, sir. I know the requirements. I also know only an idiot would replace such an expensive and major system without first looking at the inspection and rejection reports. Yes, they were detailed—as much as they could be—but they didn’t answer specific questions that I have. I’ve done everything that can be done at my end.”
She shrugged. “Now, as far as how quickly you’d like to have your boat out of here, it’s up to you.”
McCann was impressed. He knew he could be arrogant, brusque, and even intimidating. He knew he’d been all that over the last few minutes. In fact, he probably had been ever since he’d woken up to Parker’s phone call this morning. Still, she’d stood up to him, her voice never wavering while she’d listed her qualifications and her beefs.
“All right. I’ll ask again,” he said in what he felt was a more civilized tone. “What do you need from me?”
“Permission to come aboard, sir, and test the system ahead of the production crew’s arrival.”
“You have papers?” He extended a hand.
She quickly pulled the clipboard from under her arm but didn’t open the hinged metal cover that protected the paperwork. “Let’s duck into the Pipe Shop. I don’t want my papers dissolving in the rain before I even get started.”
Leading him around a corner, she pulled open a door and motioned him inside. The shop appeared to be empty, but the lights were on. It was dry and warm and had the distinctive smell of pipe welding. As they crossed the concrete floor, McCann saw a figure appear behind the glass window of an office door. A piping foreman, blueprint in hand, nodded to them when he recognized the ship super, before going back to work.
“I can’t believe it,” Russell said, walking toward one of a half-dozen workbenches on the shop floor.
“Can’t believe what?”
She put her clipboard down on the workbench. Clean sheets of cardboard had been taped onto the bench, and the rain that dripped off her hardhat formed dark spots on the work area. Opening the clipboard, she pulled out work orders and copies of the inspection reports. She handed him a work order before answering him.
“You aren’t as bad as I expected,” she said as he glanced at the documents.
“You were expecting Shrek?” he asked.
He could see her face clearly for the first time. He was right. She was young. Her face was pretty. Her eyes glistened in the shop light.
“I’m not talking about your looks, Commander.”
“What then?”
She shrugged. “The other sub service officers I deal with. None of them are too comfortable with women.”
“I beg to differ,” he said absently, turning his attention back to the paperwork.
There was a long pause. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
He raised an eyebrow and shot her a curious look.
She shook her head. “I’m talking about working with women. Especially women in management. As good as you might be working with other men, it seems like most of you guys lack confidence when you’re dealing with women.”
He fought back a laugh. “You think I lack confidence, Ms. Russell?”
“No, but you definitely have preconceptions. When I introduced myself, you automatically assumed that I wasn’t qualified to do the job.”
He was about to argue but she was starting to roll. “Don’t try to deny it, Commander. I don’t blame it on individuals. The system breeds it into you. The male-warrior culture you live in.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” McCann put in. “Was psychology a minor in college?”
“As a matter of fact, I do know a lot about the lifestyle but that’s not only from books. And I do think a certain mindset develops in men who are stuck with one another for so many months at a time.”
“We’re not stuck with one another,” he said, hiding a smile as he handed the paperwork back to her.
“Whatever. You know what I mean. I think I’d be healthier if they allowed women to ride these boats.”
“Women are often on submarines.”
“Yeah…as passengers.” She carefully put her papers back in her clipboard and closed it. “Researchers, scientists, observers. And only on special occasions. I’m talking about regular crew.”
“You build them, Ms. Russell, so you should know why that isn’t happening. Depending on the boat and the mission, you could have three to a bunk in the crew’s quarters. Hot racking.” He looked at his watch. “Mixed gender crews sleeping in shifts for five or six months at a clip? That’s just looking for problems.”
“Hot racking. Wonderful term. I always thought that it sounded awfully painful.” She pulled up the collar of her jacket. “Sorry. No more questions unrelated to electrostatic gyro navigator testing and installation. Can you take me on board now?”
“Do you need to bring any of your people with you?”
“No. I’m only doing some testing.” She cocked her head. “And I can handle it on my own, Commander.”
The way she drawled her words told McCann that he must have sounded doubtful again.
“Glad to hear it. You have what you need?”
“I need to pick up a testing device at one of the shops. But it’s practically on our way.”
He looked up at the sky as they left the shop. The rain wasn’t stopping. She kept his pace with ease.
“What’s your work schedule?” he asked her.
“I have a crew of ten, with supervisor, ready to come aboard at 6 a.m.” She touched his arm, pointing to the door to a large building. “Let’s take a shortcut out of the rain.”
McCann followed her up a short flight of stairs past a door. The building was a maze of corridors and offices, but she led him through it without hesitation. He knew that the shipyard superintendent had offices a few floors above.
“What’s your plan for physically bringing the new system on board?”
“Bringing that crew on at six will give us time to break down the unit, move the malfunctioning components, and prep everything for the new installation. That takes a little bit of time. No one will be standing around twiddling his thumbs. When first shift gets rolling after seven, we’ll bring the new unit on.”
They walked out of the building onto a paved street. The light green corrugated steel walls of the Ways loomed ahead of them, gleaming from the rain and the floodlights that illuminated the company’s name high above.
The huge, cavernous building actually housed two work facilities. The near side consisted of a wide floor with steel rails embedded in the concrete to move the cylindrical sections of the subs under construction. The sloping Ways took up the far side of the building. Years ago, McCann had attended the launching of one of the last 688-class subs, standing atop the ship as it slid backwards into the river. Since that day, the far side of the building had pretty much sat empty. Hartford was tied to the pier on this side of the Ways.
“Right here.” She motioned to an ancient shop nestled against the high green walls. “You can come inside if you like, or wait here. It’ll take me thirty seconds.”
He welcomed any reprieve to get out of this weather, no matter how short the duration. Inside, there were three men working on an electronic panel. All of them looked up and nodded. McCann acknowledged them.
He waited right inside the door as Russell went toward the back of the shop to get what she needed. The place was crammed with more equipment than the inside of a sub. Boxes, wires, benches, panels, all kinds of components crowded every aisle.
The men turned their attention back to their work, and McCann looked out through the dirty glass of a small window. As he watched the rain fall, a door opened and a man dressed in a security raincoat came out of the Ways, looked briefly down the road, and then turned up an alley next to the shop. A couple of moments later, a second security guard came out.
McCann immediately spotted the drawn pistol the guard was holding inside his partially snapped raincoat. Before McCann could think of the possible reasons for it, the guard tucked the weapon into the holster under his raincoat and followed his partner into the alley.
~~~~
Chapter 3
USS Hartford
4:10 a.m.
Lee Brody filled his coffee mug and sat back down at the mess table. Taking a sip, he put the mug down on the padded plastic table cover a
nd gazed with satisfaction into the black steaming liquid. Submarine coffee was the best in the navy. No question.
He looked around the mess deck. Everything shone. Shipshape and ready for sea. As it should be. After all, if everything had gone according to schedule, Hartford would be a hundred miles off Long Island by now. Even so, Brody felt good. Two crew members were sitting and talking at the far table. He took another sip. He could feel the soft thrum of the engines; it was a sensation that always gave him that warm feeling of anticipation, of a journey—no, an adventure—about to start.
Growing up near the shipyards in Newport News, Virginia, Brody had always been fascinated by submarines. He’d been aware of them for as long as he could remember. He’d seen them being built, their cylindrical hulls peeking out of the corrugated steel buildings that hung out over the water. He’d seen them tied to the docks, and he’d seen their sleek black forms gliding through the choppy green waters of the outer bay. He’d known men who’d worked on them, sailed them.
Sailing on subs was what he’d dreamed of as a kid as he sat on the pier watching them. He knew from an early age that he would have a life at sea.
Being a sailor matched his personality. The summer he graduated from high school, he’d enlisted. Now, at twenty-three years old, he had no family that he was in touch with anymore. He didn’t care much about the news. He might read the NASCAR results occasionally, but he didn’t really care if Dale Jr. won or if Jeff Gordon won. He never argued politics because he had a notion that government had too much power over people, but not everyone understood that and he couldn’t really explain it. Actually, he had little interest in what happened on the outside. The navy was his world. His family.
It didn’t bother him in the slightest that, every time the hatches slammed shut, he was cut off from the rest of the world for months at a time. Not like some of the other bubbleheads on his crew. He never got close to marrying, never even had a steady girlfriend. No kids that he knew of. No mortgage payments to make. His home was right here. It was the sub he was riding, and the one hundred thirty guys he shared it with were his brothers.
