Colt's Crisis

by Tom Carroll

  The experienced warrant officer was professionally insulted by the Navy’s ongoing practice of having civilian technical specialists onboard during a deployment. Although the technology in his aircraft indeed required their expertise, he didn’t like being dependent upon people who weren’t under his direct control or didn’t wear the uniform he did.

  “I need to know which plane Secretary Garrett is flying in tomorrow. The company wants me to double-check all of its systems to make certain they are good to go. Nobody wants the bad press if something should go wrong.”

  Steve Wilkes put his pen down, stood, and stepped around his desk to face the tech rep.

  “If something should go wrong? Mr. Simpson, it is your job and mine to ensure that every airplane in this squadron is in perfect flying condition each and every time we let our aviators climb into the cockpit, so nothing goes wrong. I don’t care if it’s the most junior nugget pilot on his first cruise, or the goddamned United States Secretary of Defense! Do you read me, Mr. Simpson?”

  Malcolm took a step back from the thoroughly vexed warrant officer and said apologetically, “Sorry, Warrant, I’m just doing what I was told.”

  Steve Wilkes glared for a moment at the cowering Malcolm, then his face softened, and he placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Sorry, Malcolm. I take this job very seriously. Lives are always at stake.”

  Malcolm walked back along the maintenance line thinking to himself, You’ve got that right, asshole! Lives are at stake!” He started to open the hatch to leave the hangar deck when some movement caught his eye. When he looked up, he saw a Sailor up on a ladder next to Growler 505. The young man was meticulously painting a name under the aft cockpit canopy. It said, “Colton Garrett, SECDEF.” Malcolm smiled as he went through the hatch and decided he should arrange a meeting with VADIM right away.

  Ship’s Library, the Reagan

  VADIM was already sitting in the library when Malcolm arrived for their meeting. As usual, the library was vacant except for the clerk at the desk.

  “I have good news,” Malcolm announced. “I found out which plane Garrett will be flying in tomorrow, and I’ve already prepared the modified code for upload.” He then waited for what he was sure would be enthusiastic praise from VADIM.

  Instead, VADIM looked across the table at the unkempt man with intense disapproval, ignoring what he had just said. “Malcolm, when are you going to clean up your act? Lose some weight and put on a clean shirt now and then. You’re so gross! Take some pride in yourself!”

  Caught off guard, Malcolm took a deep breath and didn’t look up as he responded, “Y’know what, you just worry about yourself! I’m not in your Navy, and I don’t have to put up with your insulting bullshit! Seems to me I’m doing all the work and taking all the risks on this operation, developing the code, and uploading it to the plane’s system. Up to now, all you’ve had to do is take the classified material — that I copy for you — off this ship! You are basically a courier and nothing more. You can sit there in your starched khaki uniform and that stupid hat and act superior to me, but we both know who Moscow is counting on to get this thing done.”

  VADIM was about to respond when the library door opened, and Chaplain O’Brien came in. After the chaplain spent a few minutes talking with the clerk and then signing some forms, he left the library. VADIM leaned across the desk and spoke in a half-whisper.

  “Calm down, Malcolm! I know we couldn’t get this done without you, and I also know that Moscow has placed a great deal of trust in you. I’m really pleased and impressed that you have been able to identify Garrett’s plane, and I have every confidence in your ability to upload the software discreetly without being detected. Please — forgive my comments regarding your appearance. I was out of line. These last few days with Garrett onboard have been a huge distraction. Things will get back to normal after tomorrow.”

  Malcolm smiled tentatively at VADIM. “Okay, then. I’ll need to spend a few hours on it this evening, and I’ll let you know as soon as the upload is complete. Where will you be around 20:00 hours?”

  “I’ll be having a cup of tea in the main wardroom. If you are successful, just drop by and get a scoop of ice cream.”

  VADIM walked back to the air traffic control center to watch the last recovery of the day. Sitting in a large chair watching the jets descend the glideslope, VADIM thought back to what Malcolm had just said regarding Moscow’s respect for his skills. What would Malcolm have to say if he knew about VADIM’s assignment in the event he failed in his part of the mission?

  NCIS Offices, the Reagan

  Anna DeSantis and Kevin Orr had been working most of the day. They were still trying to determine who Geoffrey was, and Kevin felt they were getting close. He had played three online games against his mystery opponent, and the two had started to develop a casual albeit limited relationship, if such a thing was even possible via game chats.

  “So, what do we actually have at this point, Kevin?” Anna inquired.

  “Geoffrey is definitely a male, and I’m getting the feeling he might be a civilian. He likes to talk trash about the military as if he isn’t part of the organization. He says no one in the Navy has his level of technical expertise, plus he doesn’t like officers very much.”

  “You just described most of the Sailors on this ship! Anything else makes you think he’s a civilian?” asked Anna.

  “He mentioned something about taking a long vacation after this deployment. Sailors don’t go on vacations; they take leave.”

  Considering Kevin’s reasoning, Anna said, “Let’s consider that as we move forward, but I think we still need to assume Geoffrey is in the military and we haven’t made any progress developing a suspect list.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and Kevin opened it, surprised to see Chaplain Mike O’Brien standing there.

  “Father Mike, come in! What can I do for you?”

  “Good evening, Kevin. I hope I’m not interrupting any important crime-solving?”

  “Not at all,” Kevin assured him. “What’s up?”

  The Roman Catholic priest had been a cop with the San Francisco Police Department for 20 years when his wife died unexpectedly of liver cancer. He felt lost with no direction for the future until he considered the priesthood. He liked serving his community as a police officer. The priesthood became another way for him to keep serving people.

  “I hesitate to bring this to you, Kevin, but the cop in me just can’t let it go.”

  Anna looked at Kevin as he explained, “Father Mike used to be a police inspector in San Francisco before he became a priest.”

  “An inspector?”

  “Oh, that’s just what San Francisco calls detectives,” the priest said. “You know, like Inspector Callahan in the Dirty Harry movies?”

  “Okay, Father, what do you have for me?” asked Kevin.

  “You know that the Chaplain’s office is responsible for the ship’s library, so I visit there with some frequency. On several occasions recently, I’ve noticed a particular individual spending a lot of time in there, it just seems strange to me, and I’ve also seen him talking with some pretty senior officers.” The priest spent the next few minutes describing his observations to the two NCIS agents and then left the office to prepare his Sunday sermon.

  “What do you make of that?” Anna asked after he was gone. And what do you know about Malcolm Simpson?”

  “Not too much,” Kevin said. He’s a civilian avionics tech rep who’s been on board for the entire deployment. But I have no idea why he would be spending time in the library or talking with officers.”

  “Well,” replied Anna, “right now we need to focus trying to identify Geoffrey. See if you can get your new online friend to give you his age or any other biographical information that might help us narrow our search. Where is he from, where did he go to school, when did he join the service . . . anything would be helpful. If I get a chance, I’ll have another talk with Father O’Brien, but I think he’s prob
ably reliving his days as an inspector!”

  Seattle Field Office, The Federal Bureau of Investigation

  “You did what?!?” Clay Taylor shouted at Special Agent Sean Thomas, who was standing in front of his desk.

  “I said that I approached Sara Olson at the coffee shop and asked what was troubling her,” Sean responded. “She started to open up and then she asked about me. I talked about my service in the Marines, and I followed with my cover story about my divorce and being homeless. She doesn’t see me as anything other than another bum on the street, but I can tell you she’s questioning her place in the world and wishing for a different life.”

  “But you told her your real name, Sean! Why did you do that?”

  “I suppose it was because I wanted her to trust me, and I needed to keep my story as truthful as possible,” Sean answered. “We know the Russians train their operatives how to detect when someone’s lying; I just went with my gut.”

  NCIS Special Agent in Charge Greg Cassidy had been sitting quietly during Clay’s questioning of the FBI agent, but now he asked, “Sean, are you saying we might have an opportunity to get Sara to talk and potentially turn her to work against the Russians?”

  Sean considered what the NCIS agent had asked. “I definitely think she wants out of the business, but I don’t think we could double her. I think we should offer her a choice between facing a trial for espionage or full cooperation with us and a whole new life.”

  Clay got up from his desk and started pacing the floor. “I’ll need to think about this, and then I’ll find out what Washington has to say about it. For now, Sean, go back to simply being the poor homeless guy and don’t initiate any further direct contact with Sara without my specific approval. Got it?”

  Defense Secretary Cabin, the Reagan

  “So, Lieutenant Pierce, do those speed pants come in a larger size?” asked Lenny Wilson as he watched his boss struggle to zip up the anti-G garment around his waist and legs. When airborne, the garment was connected to the airplane’s pneumatic system and became inflated during high-speed maneuvers to keep the blood in a pilot’s body from draining from his brain.

  Colt glared at Lenny. “I’d like to see you try to fit into this thing! And don’t you have anything more important to do than to watch me while I dress for the flight?”

  Lenny moved towards the cabin door and apologized. “Sorry boss, I guess I could review those appropriation recommendations again. See you later and have a great flight!”

  After Lenny left the cabin, Katrina continued to assist the secretary with his flight gear, including his torso harness, inflatable life preserver, survival vest, and leg restraint straps. Colt looked at his impressive reflection in the mirror and asked, “Did you ever think you’d get me into all this flight gear in time for the brief?”

  Katrina Pierce didn’t know what to say and just smiled. “Sir, the airshow flight briefing is scheduled for Ready Room 4 at 0900 sharp, but I‘m pretty sure they won’t start until you get there!

  “I suppose that’s true! And thanks for helping me get dressed. I’m really looking forward to this, especially flying with Dan!”

  Katrina was about to say something and then changed her mind. Colt saw the look on her face and asked, “Was there something else, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir, there is. I know you are aware that Dan very much wants to go to test pilot school after his squadron tour, but I also know you feel strongly about not using your influence to help him get into the program. I understand that for you, this is an integrity issue, and I totally admire you for standing by your principles. On the other hand, Dan is your son, and he really deserves your help. I’d hate him to lose this opportunity. He works so hard and is so good at what he does! I was thinking there must be a way to help Dan get into that school and still keep your integrity intact.”

  Colt was moved by the impassioned young officer standing before him with tears in her eyes. “You really care about him, don’t you? Enough to scold the secretary of defense?”

  Katrina wiped the tears from her face. “I love Dan like a brother,” she said, “and I trust him almost every day with my life. I’d do anything for him.”

  “Dan’s very lucky to have you as a friend, and I promise you I’ll think about what you’ve said. Now I’ll ask you to excuse me; I need to take care of a few quick things before the flight briefing.”

  Katrina left the cabin and started back to Ready Room 4. She was glad she had said her piece with Secretary Garrett, but she wouldn’t bet five cents it would make a difference.

  Rear Admiral Joe Carlisle’s Stateroom, the Reagan

  “Admiral, do you still think it’s a good idea to give this interview so soon after the weapons recovery mission?” asked Chief of Staff Captain Gary Winters as the admiral stood in front of the mirror and carefully combed his hair. “We did a good job using the cover story of a training flight, but still a lot of people onboard and elsewhere know what really happened. Doing an interview with a major network’s reporter could lead to questions you’d rather not be faced with.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Captain, but I cannot pass up this opportunity to speak directly with the American people about my views and achievements. I want them to consider me for elected office someday. I’m more than capable of avoiding any reference to the special mission and using this time to instead talk about my qualifications for the House or Senate. I assure you I won’t talk about the mission.”

  Captain Winters still knew the interview was a bad move, but he had now done everwhat he could to warn his boss of the potential pitfalls. Soon, he heard a knock on the door of the stateroom, and the admiral say, “Enter.” Carissa Curtis, her cameraman Randy Hansen, and all their packed-up equipment came inside the stateroom.

  “I figured we could sit at this table for the interview,” the admiral suggested as Carissa and Randy got all their gear in order and cables connected. “Would that work, Ms. Curtis?”

  Carissa looked up and scanned the small room. “Yes, Admiral,” she replied. “That would be fine. Randy, will the angles work for you?”

  “Yep, I can make it work. Admiral Carlisle, would you mind clipping this microphone to your shirt? I’ll get a soundcheck and soon we can get started.”

  Randy helped the admiral with the microphone and then had him say a few phrases to make certain the sound system was working well.

  “Admiral, I thought I’d start by asking you a few questions about your background, your education, and your Navy career,” said Carissa. “Then, we’ll move to your plans for the future and wrap it up with a few comments regarding the carrier groups’ current operations. How does that sound?”

  The admiral quickly glanced at his chief of staff. “Carissa, I think we’d best stay away from any discussion of current ops, as some are highly classified and well beyond the scope and purpose of this interview.”

  Carissa nodded in agreement. “I understand, Admiral. May I ask about your views regarding the DOD and any thoughts you might have regarding the need for improvement?”

  Captain Winters tried to catch the attention of the admiral, but Carlisle went ahead and answered, “Sure, no problem there,” as he checked his reflection in the mirror one last time.

  “Just one thing before we start, Admiral. I need you to sign this release form, indicating your permission for our network to use the interview’s audio and video for our broadcast. Without your release, we can’t use the interview. It’s just routine.”

  Once again, Captain Winters attempted to intervene, but Carlisle eagerly signed the release form with no further discussion. Carissa placed the form into her portfolio and said, “Okay, Randy. Let’s start!”

  Carissa began the interview by leading the admiral through a summary of his childhood years and his experience as the son of an influential senator. Although careful not to claim the birthright to succeed Senator Carlisle, he did imply that he possessed some of the same characteristics as his famous father. “The Sen
ator and I have long held similar views regarding a wide range of domestic and world issues. I feel as though I have been his apprentice for decades.”

  “Do you think you will run for office after you retire from the Navy? I realize that may be some years away, but there has been speculation by some in Washington that you may pursue a second career in politics. Any plans in the works you can share with us?”

  The admiral shifted in his chair. “No, I’m not making any plans right now. I have a job to do running this carrier group, and if I ever do give serious thought to my future in politics, it will be after I retire.”

  Captain Winters thought the interview was going surprisingly well. The admiral was staying clear of any discussion of the special mission and other current military operations. Winters poured himself a cup of coffee began thinking about his next task of the day when he heard Carissa pose her next question. “Admiral, you must be very honored that the acting secretary of defense is onboard your flagship. What is your impression of Colton Garrett?”

  Captain Winters thought through the numerous ways Admiral Carlisle could gracefully answer the question, but when he saw the look on the admiral’s face, he sensed the interview was about to take a turn for the worse.

  “I think he’s a fine person. A pleasant enough guy and he has a background in the Navy. He does like to get involved with matters on the operational side, which we find are always better left to the military.”

  Carissa looked down at her notes to avoid letting the admiral see the shock on her face. “What do you mean when you say he likes to get involved? I mean, isn’t he automatically involved? He is after all the secretary of defense. Isn’t that his job?”

  “Not necessarily,” said the admiral. “The DOD is a large organization, and we all have roles to play. The civilians determine policy, and those of us in uniform carry out that policy. Mr. Garrett is a smart man and a good man, but he doesn’t really have the training or experience to be directing operations. He should be in Washington getting Congress to fund our programs rather than out here interfering in military operations.”