Zeichner nodded. “Kevin going up that ladder has already blown any semblance of cover we may have had. It’s over with. You think that sailor is going to come down after General Quarters is secured and keep quiet about why an NCIS agent was climbing up to the highest point on Sea Base and asking about the good doctor?” His lower lip pushed his upper lip up as he shook his head. “No way. It’s going to be all over Sea Base within hours after GQ is secured.”
Montague seemed to turn white, Zeichner thought with a bit of enjoyment over bursting her bubble. Only aboard a few hours, and already you’ve blown any chance of catching the good doctor through subterfuge.
“Number one: Whatever he is doing, eventually he is going to end up at his stateroom. Two, he’s belowdecks somewhere nosing into the laser or rail gun weapons.” He nodded at Montague. “You indicate Headquarters believes his primary interest will be the UUVs and the F-22As. He could be nosing around the Air Force offices on Antares or over at Bellatrix trying to force his way into the UUV compartment. Of the two, I don’t think he is in Bellatrix.” He shook his head again. “No, he wouldn’t be at Bellatrix, since we have a Marine guard down there.”
“That leaves the Air Force offices. We should go check.” “Wait a minute, Angie, and let me finish. Three, he could be down in the Algol to see how our ASW operations center works; four, he could be inside Combat.” Zeichner nodded toward the tower beside them. “Observing how we fight the weapons systems on Sea Base. Or five, he could be below the decks near one of the weapons systems collecting information on their individual operations.”
Montague swept her right hand down her left arm. “Where should we look first?”
“Well, we’re only going to do one. We’re going to step inside the tower and search the Combat Information Center because it’s here and we’re here. I don’t think he’ll be here, but we’ll do it.” He started toward the door leading to the ladder, wondering again why the Navy doesn’t call them stairs. That’s all they were. Thank God, he thought, Combat is only on the second deck.
“And the second?”
Zeichner paused on the second step and looked back at them. “Second what?”
“Second place we’re going to look,” Montague said, her eyebrows crunched into a deep V.
Zeichner grinned. “I’ll tell you if he isn’t here.”
“You think he’s here, Boss?”
Zeichner shook his head. “Nope, Kevin, I don’t. If he was here, they would have already thrown him out.” He turned and started up the stairs to the second deck. Dr. Zheng could be anywhere on this huge thing. Zeichner’s grin grew into a broad smile even as his breathing increased in tempo. Leadership had shifted back to him. It amused him that the game was just that to him. Ten, twenty years ago, it would have been a web of anguish as he tried to figure out the next move. Now, it was just a game. He’d fought to keep NCIS headquarters from sending anyone, but they had. He wished her well, but had no intention of helping her career.
“How many floors?” Montague asked.
“There are four in the tower, but we are only going to the second deck,” Zeichner answered.
“Ok, Showdernitzel, is everyone present and accounted for?” Jacobs asked. His eyes roamed over the two rows of eight boatswain mates standing in loose formation, hopping from one foot to the other, turning right and left to whisper to their buddies. Damn! He was proud of these sailors.
“Everyone, including Petty Officer Jolson.”
Jacobs glanced at the tall newcomer standing in the back row near the far end. He was surprised to find the sailor staring at him. One thing about this guy; he didn’t seem to be afraid of him like a lot of first-timers. Maybe Jacobs was reaching the point where he reminded sailors more of their granddaddy than their father.
“They should be back soon with the weapons.”
Jacobs shook his head. “Who is going to be back soon with what weapons?”
“Leary and Dickens.”
“Dickens isn’t one of my boatswain mates; he’s a master-at-arms.”
Showdernitzel shrugged. “After last time, Master Chief, they decided we needed an MAA when we were armed.”
“What!”
“Safety and all that bullshit.”
“Write yourself a note to remind me to rip someone’s throat out when GQ is over,” he growled, making a mental note to talk to the new senior chief master-at-arms who had reported on board last month. No one in the goat locker had much affinity with the new man. Too impressed over his new senior chief star. Now, he had gone too far. Don’t screw with Jacobs’s First Division without discussing it with him. He’d rip his lips off.
He looked down at Showdernitzel, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“What the hell are you laughing about?”
“I’m not laughing, Master Chief; I’m just wondering what torture you’re dreaming up for whoever put an MAA to watch over your boatswain mates when they’re armed.”
“That’s none of your f’ing business, Showdernitzel. So, wipe that smile off and tell me the disposition of the security details.”
Mad Mary Showdernitzel faced the formation and started reading off the security detail assignments. As she spoke, the third-class boatswain mate Leary and the second-class master-at-arms Dickens arrived with the weapons. Fifteen shotguns, one .45-caliber pistol, and an M-16. Dickens grabbed the M-16 and handed the pistol to Jacobs.
“Good thing it isn’t loaded.” Showdernitzel spoke.
The roar of another pair of F-22A aircraft thundering down the deck drowned out any conversation. Showdernitzel motioned the sailors into a line, and watched as Dickens handed out the shotguns along with shells from an ammo bag.
Jacobs took his eyes off the distribution of the weapons. Showdernitzel had it in hand. He had mixed feelings about the weight she had started shouldering during his convalescence and his reduced involvement in the day-to-day supervision of the sailors. He watched the two aircraft lift off near the end of the runway, their wheels disappearing into the fuselages before the pilots hit afterburners and zoomed for altitude.
Behind him, Andrew drew a bead with his eyes on the small of Jacobs’s back, marking the spot where he would put the bullet. He had wondered how he was ever going to find a place to reassemble the torn-apart pistol he had brought on board. He glanced forward. Four sailors ahead of him, and they would give him a weapon more than capable of accomplishing his assignment. God would be pleased he was able to finish everything on the first day. The second part of the assignment, doing it without being caught, was something he would work out later.
Jacobs turned just as Andrew’s eyes moved forward. Jacobs caught the movement. The sailor had been staring at him. Something about this young sailor looked familiar. His face scrunched as he thought about it. Could he be a son of a former shipmate? He had run into others. He had even run into a first-class petty officer whose diapers he had changed the day after the man was born.
At this moment, Jacobs realized it was time to retire. He had heard others say that you’d know when it was time. It would leap out at you one day like a cougar off a rock. He’d never expected what they told him to be true. It was as if a greater weight had just lifted from him. Helen would be pleased. As soon as GQ was secured, he was going to march down to Personnel and put in his papers. When he stepped off the gangway in Pearl Harbor from whichever Sealift Ship he was riding, it was going to be with his seabag over his shoulder, the Navy to his back, and a song in his heart. The song might be a dirge, but in these few minutes as his boatswain mates were grabbing their pieces, he found himself looking forward to civilian life. “What’s wrong, Master Chief?”