Читать книгу Navy Justice - Geri Krotow - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

“I STILL DON’T understand why you can’t just borrow my phone and call in to your team. Wouldn’t that make things a lot easier for you?”

He hated to crush her complete trust in the system. Joy was a rule-follower. It was her job; she was a lawyer. But he lived in a world where promises were valid only as long as it took for the people who’d made the promise to get what they wanted.

Where every communication was vulnerable to eavesdropping.

“First, all the comms in the area are under surveillance at this point, at least until the LEAs figure out what caused the explosion. They have to rule out terrorism, which in this case, they won’t be able to do. Especially when they find out the FBI has an active antiterrorist operation in place. Second, I’m not the only undercover agent working this case—I don’t know everyone from the other agencies. I can’t risk calling in and having the comms intercepted. It would put the other agents at risk.”

“You think the terrorists are intercepting communications, too, don’t you?”

“I have no doubt, not after seeing that SAM.” He couldn’t tell her the classified details of covert communications and interception, but he owed her his professional opinion.

“You see the news, Joy. Very little is safe from interception with today’s technology.”

Joy shook her head, and he liked how her hair flowed around her shoulders, how the light reflected off her copper highlights. He’d wondered how good it would look down, out of that prim French braid she’d worn while in uniform. Now he knew.

“Why the hell go undercover if you can’t communicate what you’re finding out?”

“My job is to neutralize the bad guys, Joy. I have to use my judgment to determine when to come out of my covert role. With one of the most highly decorated generals in US Military history in the sights of these bastards, calling in my status isn’t exactly a priority. My team will figure it all out. They probably already have.”

“Won’t your boss be worried that you were killed in the explosion?”

“Maybe.” Her sincerity made it too easy to spill his guts, but he’d never compromised classified information before and wasn’t about to start now.

“Sorry—I don’t need to know any of this,” she said. “Just tell me what you need from me.”

“I need you to dig up whatever you can on Grimes. There has to be a reason they’re after him. It’s not merely that he was the lead GI over there during the most successful and intense allied operations.”

“I’m not sure what I can learn that hasn’t already made it into the press, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, Joy. I can hold out for a day or two before I have to report in.” He wasn’t about to give her any more details. She needed to understand that she could trust him, but he couldn’t put her at risk by knowing too much, either.

She looked at her watch, and he smiled.

“You still wear a watch, even with your smartphone?”

“Some of us are old-school. Anyway, I’ve got a job to do and I’d better get moving or I’ll find myself fired on the first day. Lawyers don’t have the flexibility FBI agents do.”

The banter was reminiscent of the joking they’d done to break up tension during the trial. Always aboveboard, always professional, never with any sexual innuendo.

The way it had to stay.

* * *

“AFTERNOON, MA’AM.” THE base guard stood in front of the sentry post and saluted Joy as soon as he handed back her ID. Security was especially tight. They’d searched under her vehicle and had her open all her doors and back hatch. Not usual for someone with an active-duty ID.

“Have a good day.” She saluted back and drove through the gate. The Naval Air Station Whidbey Island sign seemed to mock her, as did the sign with smaller print that stated persons coming aboard the Air Station were subject to search. She’d never had reason to feel the words were directed at her until today.

She was becoming a criminal.

Not technically, not yet. She could turn her car around and go home and tell Brad to take off, give him a fair lead time before she called the police and got herself out of the entire mess.

No one would blame her for not wanting to participate in an anti-terrorist op. Most would applaud her for doing what she could to help. The press and public would never find out about Brad—undercover agents weren’t news-eligible.

She’d called the office a second time and told her boss that she had a medical appointment on base that was part of the procedure for her separation from the Navy. A bald-faced lie on her first day in the new job. It sucked lying to the person who had trusted in her enough to give her this job after her eight years as a JAG. She hoped Paul would not only understand but also support her actions.

She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she?

You know you are.

Brad was the kind of patriot who’d inspired her to serve in the military in the first place. He was willing to risk everything—including his life—to keep his country safe and free. To preserve the national defense. This morning he could’ve asked her to be his lawyer, to represent him in case his fears became reality and he was charged with killing a suspected terrorist. Instead, he was seeking information to further protect General Grimes and to figure out the source of this evil.

Her tires crunched on the gravel lot in front of the base’s legal offices. It took her a while to find a parking space. She was grateful that the placard with her name on it, designating her personal spot, had been removed when she’d left almost two months ago. Better that no one would be able to readily notice her car.

She’d remained dressed in her new suit and with her hair down around her shoulders instead of fastened in a French braid, the way she’d had to wear it in uniform. She hoped no one would recognize her as the former Commander Alexander. At least not immediately.

She inhaled the familiar smell of ammonia and stale coffee as she entered the executive area. Her new office in the law firm smelled like lavender and more expensive coffee.

“Commander Alexander. Bored already?” Shelly Jenkins, the receptionist who’d seen dozens of JAG officers come and go during her tenure, smiled and stood to greet her.

She wished she could spill it all to Shelly. More than a receptionist, she’d been another woman in service and a strong ally while Joy worked here.

You can’t tell anyone. For their sake.

“Hi, Shelly. Nope, not bored. I’m getting ready to start my new job and wanted to stop by and see Dennis. Is he in?” She knew he was; he’d just texted her. It was paramount that her presence back on base look like nothing more than a friendly drop-in.

“Sure is. Let me tell him you’re here.”

Thirty seconds later, Joy sat across from Navy Commander Dennis Leighton, the JAG who’d relieved her.

“Are you in trouble, Joy?” he asked abruptly. They’d spent too many hours working together for Dennis to believe she’d stop in for a coffee chat.

“Not exactly. But someone close to me may be. I have to tell you up front that I can’t give you any information, and that I’m taking advantage of the two days remaining before my ID has to be turned in.” Joy had resigned her commission, and since she didn’t have enough years, she wouldn’t be retiring and getting a new retiree’s ID. Once her terminal leave was over, she’d be a total civilian. No more shopping at the base commissary, no more cosmetic purchases at the Navy Exchange, no more gym workouts on base. Certainly no showing up at her former command, looking for what might be classified information that she no longer had clearance for.

“I trust you implicitly, Joy. You wouldn’t be here unless you believed in what you were doing.” Dennis leaned back in his chair, his desk filled with files and stacks of paper.

“I know you have a heavy caseload,” she said. NCIS had infiltrated a drug ring in the enlisted barracks, and the resulting arrests had given the legal department a year’s worth of defense work. Now with the offshore explosion, the JAG office could be inundated with testimony and the legalities created by a possible terrorist act.

“That’s also why I know you’re here for a very good reason. What do you need, Joy?” Dennis looked relaxed, his head tilted slightly, his hands clasped behind his head as he tipped his chair back. Joy knew his calm demeanor was deceptive. Dennis was a gifted lawyer who would go far, whether he stayed in the Navy or got out to make his mark in the civilian courts. He was observing her closely, looking for every nuance in her expression. She’d expect no less.

“I need access to the cases I worked on almost two years ago.” Three tours ago, by Navy standards. After Norfolk she’d gone on to a quick tour on the USS Abraham Lincoln based in Everett, Washington, and then did her last tour here on Whidbey.

Dennis blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected this. “You want me to go into the Navy JAG database and retrieve them?”

She shook her head. “No. I want the original paperwork. The archived hard copies.” She needed to see for herself whether she’d missed something important that had put Brad’s life, or that of General Grimes, at risk today.

Dennis lowered his arms onto the desk and leaned toward her.

“They’re in a basement in DC, Joy. If they haven’t been destroyed by now. Which, most likely, they have.”

“You know as well as I do that those files won’t be destroyed for another decade.” The backlog of paperwork in the legal field was staggering. Even more so when it involved something as high-profile as terrorism.

Once she’d agreed to defend Farid based on Brad’s testimony, she’d had to wrestle with the possibility that Brad had been brainwashed by the same Taliban group his SEAL team and General Grimes’s command had infiltrated and taken out. She’d had to make certain that his testimony, intended to free Farid from a possible death sentence, wasn’t based on a sense of guilt at having sold out Farid’s village leaders. It would’ve been so much easier to let Brad’s almost zealous drive to free his friend convince her that he was an unreliable witness and that she had no business trying to help Farid.

But she’d never been one for taking the easy road or the convenient one. She had to be able to look herself in the mirror every day, knowing she’d done her best. Brad wasn’t a war-damaged SEAL—he was a good man who refused to let an innocent man take the rap for something he hadn’t done. Brad’s intensity had sparked the most intense legal work of her career. He demanded nothing less than her utmost ability as an attorney and as a Naval officer.

“I have to see those files, Dennis.”

“I can request them, Joy, but I need to show cause.”

“Tell them one of the defendants in the barracks drug ring that NCIS is investigating is former special ops, that he’s claiming PTSD, and inhumane treatment during his time downrange made him snap and get involved in drugs here.”

Dennis shot her a rueful grin. “You always managed to get what we needed, Joy.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I can try, but no promises. Even if they’ve got them, you could be talking boxes and boxes of paper. How will you know which one has what you need?”

“I’ll know. Can you have them FedEx the boxes to my house?”

“Hell, no. I can get them sent here if I’m lucky.”

“My ID runs out—”

“In two days. I remember.” His comment stoked her guilt. She’d been unable to make things work with Dennis except at work. He’d often hinted that he’d like their relationship to become more after she got out, but there’d never been any chemistry between them. Not for her, at least. She hadn’t offered him the slightest encouragement. Yet he still knew her last day of active duty.

He was handsome, excellent at his job and would never think of asking her to break the law.

Dennis glanced at his watch. “I’ll send a system request and follow it up with a phone call to a buddy of mine who’s working at headquarters. If we’re lucky we’ll get the boxes by tomorrow. That’ll give you a day to look at them. You’ll have to come in to base to do it. I can’t let you have access to anything after your terminal leave expires, Joy. You’ve already been read out.”

Unspoken was the fact that Dennis was breaking the law by allowing her access to classified material after she’d been read out of her clearance.

“I’ll sign a temporary clearance waiver.”

Dennis nodded. “Yes, you will. I trust you, Joy, but the system could end my career over this.”

“I understand. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me when the boxes get here and you figure out who the bad guy is.”

* * *

FRUSTRATION SEETHED THROUGH BRAD. As powerful as Joy’s binoculars were and as advantageous as the view from her sunroom was, he couldn’t make out the US platforms—boats and aircraft—at the explosion site. Had anyone realized it was a SAM that had exploded? Did the Navy think it’d been a less hostile explosion, meant as a warning to the aircraft training from the base?

Won’t your boss be worried that you were killed in the explosion?

Unlikely, as Mike didn’t know he was anywhere near the boat that had blown up. Plus, they’d been through the same SEAL indoctrination in San Diego years ago. Mike knew his capabilities as well as he did himself.

He thanked his handy-dandy SEAL training for having a car trunk full of survival gear that had ultimately saved his life.

The scent of Joy’s laundry detergent wafted up with each step he took toward the kitchen. At least his clothes were clean, and he’d had a long, hot shower.

His stomach grumbled, and he checked the time. He’d told Joy not to call him on her house phone, not to have any communication unless they were face-to-face. She’d pick up a burner phone at Walmart sometime today, and then he could start making calls of his own.

But to whom? He didn’t want to call the Bureau until he had more answers. They’d warned General Grimes and arranged for a security detail. The general was in the loop, which was a load off Brad’s conscience.

Not that he’d ever been a big fan of General Grimes, USMC. The man had been such a hard-ass to work for in the warzone he’d been given the nickname “General Blue Balls” among the troops. Not for Grimes’s ears or his staffers’, of course. He’d really been a jerk with Brad during the Norfolk case, too. He’d refused to speak to him alone and ignored him when they were in the same room together. Grimes gave the impression of being a big fat egoist who’d managed to complete a successful career in the Marines but not through being open-minded. He’d especially resented it when a SEAL team who worked under him wasn’t required to report directly to him.

Brad was certain that Grimes would’ve been content to see Farid sentenced for the crimes he’d been accused of. Crimes he didn’t commit.

He picked up the remote and turned on the television, finding the news channel with ease. Military intelligence was tight with security, but some parts of the truth were bound to leak out.

As an anchor talked about the need for parents to vaccinate their children, Brad walked into Joy’s kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Fancy little yogurt containers, almond milk, a bin full of green leafy veggies. Skinny girly stuff. He looked in the freezer, hoping for some protein.

Score! The package of chicken breasts was thawing in the microwave before any sense of shame at scarfing her food could stop him. Opening cabinet doors and drawers, he found a frying pan, utensils and a plate.

“The apparent explosion happened...”

He ran into the front room and stared at the television. A live video stream of the search and rescue efforts filled the big screen, showing additional SAR units launching from NAS Whidbey.

“The cause of the explosion is unknown, but the possibility of a homemade bomb hasn’t been ruled out. NCIS at NAS Whidbey reports that they are receiving many anonymous tips and that they will follow up on all of them. No body has been recovered at the scene, but officials have received indications that there was at least one victim.” The reporter droned on with no further details as to why a “bomb” had gone off in the middle of the water off Whidbey Island.

With one of their colleagues missing and Brad gone, as well, what would the domestic terrorists do now? None of the cell members he’d met had struck him as overflowing with initiative.

They’re just the puppets.

He knew it was always a possibility—that bigger forces were manipulating events, to make them look like simple homegrown terrorists. That was why he’d been sent in. To figure it out.

Technically, he’d failed on a basic mission. Infiltrate the enemy. Observe, collect information and report back. Instead, he’d been backed into taking one of them out and bringing the entire undercover op to a halt. He’d reviewed the timeline over and over during the past two hours, and he kept coming up with the same result. If he hadn’t acted, the SAR efforts could be for Navy pilots. His hunger dissolved, and the chicken breasts suddenly seemed as appealing as cardboard. Only years of training carried him through the task of preparing a substantial protein-rich meal.

As the meat sizzled in Joy’s unmarred pan in her too-clean kitchen, he forced himself to regroup.

Brad thought he’d experienced it all when he served as a SEAL for fifteen years. The fear, excitement, pride in a job well-done—all those emotions were as familiar to him as his uniform.

It was a sad day for him when he left the active-duty Navy, although he’d known it was time for him to transfer to the reserves. His body had had enough of the sleepless nights while on mission, enough of the wear and tear of hauling a hundred pounds of gear through places so remote he was sure another human being wouldn’t leave a footprint there for at least a century afterward.

By the time he’d left for good, a full year after he’d finished all his spec ops, he’d been disillusioned, betrayed by his blind faith in his career and the illusion that he had a personal life.

When his ex-fiancée was brutally murdered in the suburbs of Virginia Beach while he was only twenty minutes away in Norfolk, he’d been afraid that somehow the bad guys from downrange had found him. That they’d sought out a soft spot, a way of retaliating for defending Farid. He’d been working alongside Joy Alexander at the time of Marci’s death, and Joy had provided a failsafe alibi.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done it differently. Farid had helped convict the man who’d betrayed not only Brad’s SEAL team but also an entire village. Within hours of Farid’s being freed, Marci had been murdered. Despite his paranoia, the two weren’t connected, except in Brad’s heart. And his suspicious, overworked, war-weary mind.

Guilt sliced into his gut whenever he thought about Marci. None of the counselors or his superiors had been able to convince him that he couldn’t have prevented her death.

He’d become involved with her initially because he was still in rescue mode; it was how he’d operated as a younger man. He’d wanted to save Marci from the shitty family she’d grown up in, but when her prescription drug habit had gone beyond the recreational phase, he lost any sense of control over her addiction. He’d found her passed out countless times from her favorite cocktail—Xanax and Pinot Grigio—and after a wrenching soul search, he’d had to end the relationship.

As painful as it’d been to tell her he was leaving and why, she’d shown no remorse.

In fact, within weeks Marci connected with someone else—a man who could be there every night for her and love her without the drama and strain Brad’s lifestyle inevitably brought to their relationship. Turned out her new boyfriend was also an addict and got her hooked on what led to her murder.

Heroin.

The death had been ruled a homicide by stabbing. In fact, Marci’s throat had been slit with one of Brad’s deadliest knives. He hadn’t realized she’d stolen the weapon until it was too late. She’d probably taken it to trade for more drugs.

The killer had almost certainly been her drug dealer. Because of the knife, Brad could easily have been implicated in the murder, but since he was with Joy at the time, he was cleared. He’d had a solid alibi—Joy Alexander and her entire staff. They’d shared dinner with the JAG team the night after they’d closed both cases successfully.

If he’d ended it earlier with Marci, and if Marci had lived, would he have sought out Joy sooner?

He’d never know.

He flipped the chicken and watched it sizzle as he told himself he needed to eat, but his hunger had disappeared. He told himself that he wouldn’t lead Joy into any deadly traps if he could help it.

Joy’s home phone rang and he stilled, listening to see if he could tell where it was coming from. He noticed the caller ID the minute he found the phone on the far kitchen counter. It was a local number, the name unfamiliar to him. He waited for it to go to voice mail.

“It’s me. Don’t pick up, and don’t stress. I’m using a friend’s cell phone. Just make sure you delete this right away. I got onto the base, and I should have the files we need by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. We’re putting other people at risk here, and we’ll have to work fast once we have the data. I’ll be home by six if my new job goes as I expect it to.”

Joy hung up and the machine immediately blinked that she had a new message. Brad played it once more before he deleted it.

He wished it was that easy to wipe out his feelings for her. He couldn’t go through another relationship that went nowhere. Joy was in nesting mode; she’d gotten out, bought a place and made it hers. The furniture, the plants, all the art on the walls...

His work would never allow him to settle down, much less include a partner in his life. It was too risky.

Joy deserved better.