by David Poyer
“Close the scuttle, sir!” screamed Pensker.
“Fire the missile!”
Dan didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes. It was all up to Terry Pensker now. How much he believed in this himself, and how much Shaker had convinced or intimidated him into it. “Fire!” the captain said again, his voice cracking.
“I’m not going to, sir. You might as well save yourself.”
After a long moment came Shaker’s voice, coughing: “Okay. God damn you both. Okay.”
Dan dropped the handset and sprinted for the passageway. He pounded through the berthing compartment and up a ladder. He went through two more watertight doors and up another deck. He bypassed Combat and stabbed at a combination lock. The door to Radio Central buzzed and swung open.
The radiomen stared at him. He picked up the bogen and dialed the bridge. Wise answered. A moment later, the general quarters alarm began to bong.
Dan hung up. He wished he could think. He wasn’t at all sure this was right.
But there was no time to think. No time to ponder what he was doing to Shaker, to himself, or to both their careers. He had to go by the letter of the law.
The leading radioman came out of the transmitter room. Dan said, “Chief, get a circuit up to COMIDEASTFOR, Manama. I have an outgoing OPREP CERBERUS. Nuclear-access incident. I want it out in thirty seconds.”
The radioman flicked a switch and sat down at the teletype. “No problem. Flash precedence, XO?”
Dan said, grimly, “You bet your ass.”
The answer came back in twelve minutes flat. By then, Shaker was there, his face shining with sweat but inhumanly controlled. The chief tore it off and handed it to him.
USS VAN ZANDT BREAK OFF PATROL. USS GALLERY WILL SORTIE TO RELIEVE. RETURN BAHRAIN IMMEDIATELY FLANK SPEED. PREPARE TO RECEIVE NAVAL INVESTIGATIVE SERVICE TEAM BY HELICOPTER. HART.
28
U.S.S. Turner Van Zandt
THE NIS team arrived while they were still thirty miles out. Two men in civilian clothes and three armed Marine sergeants. The Marines double-timed directly from the flight deck to CIC and the missile magazine. They relieved the guard and snapped huge antiterrorist padlocks on the scuttle and the blast door. One of the men in civvies went to CIC, showed Proginelli his identification, and removed four printed circuit boards from the fire-control system.
Van Zandt was defenseless, her teeth drawn.
The second civilian convened an ad hoc investigation. He saw Shaker first, brushing aside his request to delay till they reached port. They were closeted in his cabin for almost an hour.
Finally, Dan was called. He waited outside the door. When Shaker came out, the flat blue eyes contemplated him for an endless moment. Then he shook his head, turned away, and pulled himself up the ladder toward the bridge.
Dan took a deep breath, tapped, and let himself in.
“Morning, Commander. I’m Bart Sturgis.”
“Dan Lenson.”
Sturgis was standing, and they shook hands. He was a little overweight, moon-faced, with slicked-back hair; he was wearing an off-the-rack polyester suit, dark blue, and a blue tie. It was held to his shirt by a Navy tie tack, the kind anyone could buy. He looked like a small-town realtor. Sturgis, he saw, was looking him over, too.
“Sit down.” He extended a pack of Navy Exchange generics. “Smoke?”
“No, thanks.”
The agent put the pack away without taking one for himself. Dan grinned inside his head. Till he noticed the recorder. Sturgis removed a cassette from it and slipped it into his jacket. He put in a fresh one and closed it. Then he shoved a form across the table.
“This signifies consent to recording, Commander, as well as a legally binding agreement not to discuss this matter with anyone else until the investigation is complete. Please read it.”
Dan took out his issue Skilcraft and signed. He licked his lips; his mouth was going dry.
“All right,” said Sturgis. He turned the recorder on and looked at a steno pad beside it. “Now, you’re the one who sent us the message, so you know why I’m here.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. I don’t have a rank as far as you’re concerned. Just call me Mr. Sturgis.” He paused, looking up. “This is a serious accusation. As I’m sure you realize.”
“Of course it is, it’s serious as hell. That’s why I called for help.”
“Right.” Sturgis rubbed his face. He had a heavy shadow on his chin and neck. That and his weight gave him an air of simplicity and harmlessness. “Now, I talked to the captain first, but I want you to know that great old saying, The first liar gets believed, does not apply with me. I listen to everybody the same. My job is not to decide who’s right and who’s wrong, who’s telling the truth and who’s not. The Board of Inquiry does that. My job is to decide if there’s something here ought to be investigated and, if so, what action has to be taken right now to prevent further damage.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, let’s hear your story.”
Dan began with Shaker’s loss of Strong, and digressed to talk about Pensker, too. He tried to make it factual and dispassionate. He didn’t want to vilify either of them. Just get it out in the open. He told the silent agent about the closeness between the two. He discussed briefly, a sentence each, their possible motivations for disgruntlement or revenge. Sturgis listened closely, making a note now and then.
Then, getting more detailed, he told of the confrontation in the magazine. He recounted the conversation, and went step by step through his reasoning, why he had concluded that Shaker meant to launch, and how he could do it.
He hesitated there. Then said, “Mr. Sturgis, who sent you here?”
The agent flicked up his gaze. “Admiral Hart. Why?”
“Because Captain Shaker implied at one point he had COMIDEASTFOR’s permission to launch.”
“No.” Sturgis shook his head. “He called me himself. He told me to find out what was going on, no pussyfooting, get hard data so he could act. I know Hart. He’s straight.”
He paused, and for just a moment Dan saw a different, much more dangerous man under the jolly, bland exterior. “And if he isn’t, Commander, the Naval Investigative Service reports directly to the Secretary of the Navy. If he’s tampering with nuclear weapons, I don’t give a fiddler’s fart how many stars he’s got. His relief will be on the next plane out of Dulles.”
Somewhat reassured, Dan resumed with his decision to trip the CO2 flood. Sturgis interrupted here with a question about what that would do, and he explained.
He finished with Pensker’s decision not to fire, and with his own action in sounding general quarters and sending out a flash OPREP.
“Why did you call away GQ?” the agent asked, fiddling with his pencil.
“It got the whole Condition One team on station. Pensker had to turn over the weapons console. There were people on deck to see what was going on. I figure that was why Shaker was doing this at night. Only the people he’d co-opted would be on station. I don’t think anyone else in the crew knew about it.”
Sturgis put the eraser end into his ear. “Who all do you think was involved?”
“Shaker, Pensker, and the guard. I think it was Thompson. And maybe not him; the captain could have just told him to get lost and he’d do it. He’s not the brightest guy aboard.”
“Okay, that narrows it down,” said Sturgis. He took the pencil out and looked at it. “Now, why did you send the CERBERUS?”
“Well … isn’t that obvious? That’s the message you send when the security of the special weapons is in danger. If someone’s trying to launch a nuke by himself, that’s a dangerous condition, isn’t it? As bad as a group of terrorists trying to get hold of it.”
“But the weapons officer had already refused to fire. You couldn’t wait till you were back in port?”
“No! I had to get the word out then. Otherwise, they could wait me out—or put me out of circulation som
ehow. Then launch at their leisure.”
“What do you think Captain Shaker would have done to you, Mr. Lenson?”
Sturgis’s eyes were suddenly evaluating. Dan thought, What did Shaker tell him about me? That I’m paranoid? Fatigued? Subject to delusions? This was a dangerous question. So he said, trying to sound calm, “I don’t know. He’s never shown any inclination to personal violence, if that’s what you mean.”
“You don’t think he’d have killed you? Or had Pensker do it?”
“That never occurred to me.”
“Why not?”
Dan said slowly, “Because he’s an honorable man. He has nothing against me or anyone else in the U.S. Navy, Mr. Sturgis. Only against the Iranians.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Well, again, that seems obvious. Because of the Strong.”
“Do you think the Navy would have selected him for another Gulf command without a psychological evaluation?”
“I don’t know. I know he was sent out here in a hurry, because of Captain Bell’s illness. But that’s beside the point. All I’m telling you is what I observed and what I concluded.”
Sturgis sighed. He tossed the pencil on the table. “Mr. Lenson, Captain Shaker’s record shows absolutely no indication of instability or poor judgment. Nor does he seem unbalanced to me. Do you think it’s possible you may have been mistaken about his intentions?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the conversation. He told me specifically that he was launching a nuclear weapon on Bushehr.”
“On the sound-powered phone.”
“Yes.”
“But we have no record of that, do we?”
Dan shifted in his chair. “No,” he said.
“Or any witnesses?”
“Only Terry Pensker.”
“Mr. Lenson, do you sleep properly?”
“As well as anyone sleeps under way in a war zone. Not very well, I guess. Why?”
“Because I think you hallucinated this,” said Sturgis, his voice suddenly harsh. “Or made it up, to smear a captain you hated, a man whose only crime was to get the command you thought you deserved. I think you’re despicable, Lenson, a disgrace to the service.”
Dan glanced at the recorder. His hands tightened on the chair arms. Through his anger he said, “I understand what you’re doing, Mr. Sturgis. But I didn’t hallucinate it and I’m not out to get the captain. I heard every word I told you I heard. I saw everything I told you I saw. Ben Shaker’s a good man. I’d be happy to serve with him again. But not in this part of the world.”
“Tell me why I should believe you, and not him.”
“Because I’m telling the truth!”
“Give me another reason.”
“There should be evidence. Circumstantial, I guess it would be.”
“What evidence? Tell me what to look for.”
He thought rapidly, conscious that every word he said was being weighed—as well as preserved on tape. “Down in the ready room. His fingerprints will be all over.”
“He has a perfect right to be there, Mr. Lenson. In fact, he’s supposed to carry out periodic inspections. Isn’t he?”
“Yes, but of the booster suppression system? Is he supposed to lock it out? And if Pensker did any fiddling with the launching circuitry, or with the missile, an expert—the other guy you brought along—he ought to be able to tell.”
“Maybe that’s true.” Sturgis spun his pencil, frowning. “And maybe it isn’t. Item one, I strongly doubt if the fact that his fingerprints are on the system—and even if they are, they may not be readable, if the part’s been oiled recently—are sufficient to prove intent to tamper. And second, if I understand the Mark 92 FCS, most of the modifications, if any, would be in software. This weapons officer, Pensker, would probably find it pretty simple to erase them and substitute the original programming.”
Dan stared at Sturgis. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d assumed any tampering would be evident. Rerouted wiring, shorted boards, jumper cables. But the agent was right. His mind had been back in the hardware age. “In that case,” he said slowly, “there’s no proof anything happened at all.”
The pudgy man cocked his head. He put the pencil to his lips and sucked it.
“Do you think I acted properly?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say at this point, Commander. If you heard what you say you heard, yes. If you made it all up, no, and you’re facing either an insanity discharge or a good many years in prison.”
Sturgis made a slow check mark on the pad, letting that sink in. “I know I already confronted you, but I’d like you to think about that for a minute or two. It’s not too late to modify your testimony. If you’re at all uncertain about it, say so now. You’ll be off the ship tomorrow, on your way back to the States, and I’ll even promise you this: I’ll do all I can to let you resign quietly.”
“I’m sticking by what I said.”
“Okay … but that makes this kind of…” The pencil point broke with a tiny snap. “See, Mr. Lenson, Captain Shaker’s explanation of these events is rather different.”
“What does he say?”
“He simply says he was on a tour of the ship, as his duty calls for, and that you began acting erratically in his absence. Roaming around half-dressed, passing the word for him, and so forth. Then you tracked him down, came on him in the magazine, got the wrong idea, locked the hatch on him, and tried to kill him.”
Dan closed his eyes. Through this whole interview, he’d hoped that Shaker had, if not confessed, at least refused to lie. That would have been consistent with the man he knew, or had thought he knew; a man of integrity. “He said I tried to kill him?” he muttered.
“Well, I’m paraphrasing … I guess what he actually said was just that you pulled the flood on him and advised him to vacate toot sweet or else.” Sturgis paused. “Not quite what you expected?”
Now his apprehension was growing moment by moment. He still didn’t see what else he could have done. But it looked like it wasn’t enough. Oh, he’d done what he set out to do. There was no way now Shaker could wipe out a city. Whatever happened to him personally, he was glad he’d accomplished that. If only he had some evidence!
But he didn’t.
When he opened his eyes, Sturgis was operating on the pencil with a folding knife. He muttered, “Okay, I guess we’ve got what all there is for now. Commander, I’m inclined to believe that you heard, or saw, something that made you suspicious. Thing is, unless this Pensker lets something slip, or decides to come clean, we have no reason to disbelieve the captain. First off, there’s kind of a presumption of sagacity on his part, just ’cause he’s the CO. He’s also pointed out that you have a history of acting, uh, independently of the command framework.
“We’ll check out the firing logic and the PAL, and we’ll certainly go through the ready room and magazine very carefully. But if there’s nothing out of whack down there, it’ll be hard to leave you aboard here with Shaker. Since there seems to be some personal conflict involved, that would be leaving the blasting cap with the dynamite, so to speak.
“On the other hand, we can’t just dismiss what you say. The idea of a loose cannon in command of a nuclear-armed ship is pretty horrifying. Yeah”—Sturgis frowned at the recorder—“this has all the earmarks of a real dilemma for the pore ole investigator.”
“Good luck,” said Dan.
The agent grinned unwillingly. He made another check mark, harder and blacker this time.
“One more thing. I know you signed the paper. But I want to make sure you understand there could be serious consequences if rumors start before we can establish the truth. We’ll have the ship isolated and guarded when we get alongside. You won’t go ashore. And you won’t talk to anyone not involved in the investigation.”
“I understand.”
Sturgis sighed and stood up. Dan didn’t see quite how he did it, but he looked simple, fat, and harmless agai
n. “Thank you for your cooperation. Please send Lieutenant Pensker in.”
Outside the door, he found Pensker leaning against the bulkhead. Dan studied him. Finally he said softly, “Terry?”
“Yeah, XO?”
“You made the right decision this morning. Now finish it up. Tell the truth.”
There was agony in the dark eyes. But he didn’t nod, or say anything. Only slid past him, not quite touching, knocked, and went in.
* * *
Dan stood by the chart table as land grew into view ahead. The mercury shimmer gradually solidified into low reefs, fish traps, Bahrain. Had it only been two days ago they’d partied together here?
The bridge was dead quiet. There was no talk, not even the usual furtive grab-assing between the lookouts and the signalmen. Between the terse formalisms of maneuvering, the fathometer clicked in a strained silence. He caught Charaler’s wary glance, Ekdahl’s averted eyes. McQueen had nothing to say beyond ranges, bearings, set, and drift. Beyond it all, Shaker brooded in his padded chair, smoking and staring out to starboard as the pilot boat approached.
At the “all stop” order, he stepped back from the charts, rubbing his eyes—and bumped into Chief Nolan, who was standing behind him. The master-at-arms looked disturbed. “Sir, we got a problem. Caught one of the corpsmen giving himself a shot.”
“A shot. Who?”
“The new man.”
He’d have to see him. The world might end, but discipline had to be maintained. “Hold on to him for now; I’ll talk to him later.”
“When, sir?”
“After we dock. I’ll see him in my cabin.”
Nolan left. Dan looked out to starboard; the pilot was clambering aboard. He went back to the chart table and looked down at it.
He wondered again, as he had not stopped wondering since the night before, whether he’d acted properly. His heart said he had, but his mind wasn’t sure. If he hadn’t interfered, might Shaker have thought better of it? Had second thoughts? Decided his private revenge could be deferred?
But it was beyond them both now. As if his pulling the toggle had set a train of events in motion that could end only with his ruin or Shaker’s. Neither he nor the captain could back down now. Now the decision as to whom to believe, and what to do about it, was out of their hands.
