Garcia turned and walked toward his chair, nearly tripping on one of the sound-powered wires that trailed across the deck. Regardless of how well your eyesight adjusted to the blue-lighted darkness of Combat, you were still working in the dark. The cords pursuing the sound-powered phone talkers shifted and curled across the deck as the young sailors moved within their assigned watch stations. Then again, Garcia thought, until this deployment, his own career had been one as a desk jockey except for those short excursions off the coast to test new systems for the Navy. Maybe every war-fighter has shortfalls, which others around them compensate for.
Garcia motioned Stapler over to the chair. “Commander, I’ve changed my mind,” he said, looking at the analog Navy clock on the bulkhead. “We’ll stay at General Quarters for the time being.”
Stapler nodded with a grimace. When Garcia started to climb back into his chair, Stapler spoke up. “Sir, they’ve been at it for over six hours. This hot sun and closed spaces are starting to take their toll on the troops. Sick bay already has twelve people down there with some degree of heat exhaustion.”
Garcia sat down. “I understand, Stan, but until I say differently, we will stay at General Quarters.”
“May I ask why, sir? And for how long you envision us staying at GQ?”
Garcia gripped the arms of the chair and shook his head slightly. “Are you questioning me, Commander?” He touched his chest a couple of times. “I am the Captain, so we’ll stay at General Quarters until I decide it’s safe to stand down.” Stapler colored. “My apologies, Skipper. I’m not questioning your right about making the decision on General Quarters or anything else having to do with commanding Sea Base. Sir, I was thinking of the crew. They have been at GQ most of the day. This heat — and body functions — will take their toll on the crew. Additionally, if we are going to be at GQ for the next few hours, we have to start thinking of feeding the crew. It’s after dinnertime and most missed lunch.”
“You’re right,” Garcia answered, his temper abating when he realized Stapler was thinking ahead. Maybe they do complement each other. Maybe every level-headed officer needed a hot-tempered firebrand alongside to fight wars.
“Sir?” Stapler asked.
“I was just thinking, Commander Stapler — maybe you and I working together really did a great thing with this contraption called Sea Base.”
Stapler smiled. “If that is a compliment, Skipper, my thanks. But sir, about the crew.”
Garcia nodded. “You can secure the mess crew from General Quarters, but tell them to stay belowdecks while they’re moving to their stations.” Garcia frowned, dark eyebrows furrowing into a deep V. He didn’t think this slight modification to GQ would violate what the admiral told him.
Stapler turned to execute Garcia’s order.
“Commander, wait a moment,” Garcia said, reaching out as if to touch Stapler. Stapler turned. “I want everyone, including the security force, to clear the port side forward of midships. Everyone topside who doesn’t need to be, I want belowdecks.”
Stapler looked questioningly at Garcia. “Sir, what is going on?” He nodded at the red handset. “What is it that Admiral Holman told you that is causing us to stay at General Quarters?”
When Garcia failed to answer immediately, Stapler continued. “Sir, I am your TAO, I should know.”
Stapler was right. If whatever the admiral was asking could endanger Sea Base, then it was his — Garcia’s — responsibility to take actions to protect it. He motioned Stapler closer. For a couple of minutes, he gave Stapler as much information as he knew. Clear the topside of Sea Base on the forward port side. Move everyone away. There was a helicopter coming; it would touch down, and once it lifted off, Garcia could secure from General Quarters.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Montague said, pacing the stateroom deck of Dr. Kiang Zheng.
Zeichner folded his hands on top of his stomach, raising his head so the air from the fan blew beneath his chin. The evaporation of sweat felt cool. “He’ll be here,” he said. “He might be waiting for General Quarters to be secured. Once the captain sounds All Clear, we’ll be able to move freely about Sea Base; so will Zheng.” He pulled his already soaked handkerchief from his back pocket and ran it around the folds of his neck. He was too comfortable in the air-conditioning to want to move anywhere.
The sound of water flushing came through the closed door to the small head. A moment later, Gainer emerged, checking his zipper with one hand as he closed the door behind him. Both Zeichner and Montague looked at him. Montague shook her head and looked back at the door.
“What?” Gainer asked, glancing down to make sure his zipper was up.
Montague continued with her pacing. “I am concerned that while we sit here”—she looked at her watch—“for over an hour now, our suspect is running about Sea Base gathering intelligence.”
Zeichner laughed. “I don’t think he’s running amok anywhere, Angie. Too many watertight doors and too many barriers to give him free rein. He has to come back here.”
“How much longer are we going to wait?”
“As long as it takes. Patience, my young agent. He has to come back here.” Without knowing why, Zeichner pointed at the radio. “He has to come back because the radio is here.”
Gainer picked it up, turned it every which way, looking at it. “It’s just a radio, Boss.” He turned it on. The music from the internal radio station came from the channel. He turned the knob, moving the channel selector through the spectrum, getting other local stations.
“I could be wrong, I have been before,” Zeichner said. “If he is any kind of spy, he is going to have to have something to transmit his intelligence to his masters.” He pointed at the radio Gainer was holding. “That’s the only thing in here that could be the device. It was sitting in the center of the table the last time Kevin and I were here. And it was sitting at the same angle and position this time,” he guessed. He failed to recall how it was sitting last time, but the angle and profile of the radio seemed familiar. His lower lip pushed into his upper. Yes, he thought, trying to convince himself he was correct, Definitely the same place on the table and the same angle.
Gainer bent over the table. He kept the radio in his right hand as he softly moved his left hand along the table. Suddenly, he set the radio down on the edge of the table and laid his head on the table. He shifted his head slightly as he sighted along the table. “Damn, Boss. There’s a faint ninety-degree mark on the table.”
Montague stopped her pacing and moved to the table. “Mark?”
“Yes,” Gainer said, straightening. He ran his finger along the faint pencil tracing. “See? A straight line running here a few inches, then one at a ninety-degree angle to it about an inch long.”
“I don’t see it,” she said.
Damn, I was right, Zeichner thought. He smiled. “Set the radio along those marks.” He stayed seated, the comfort of the recliner drawing him more than the curiosity of Gainer’s discovery. Gainer set the radio within the ninety-degree trace. “It fits.” “Of course it would,” Zeichner said, amazed with himself. “How else would he know if someone had been searching his stateroom?” He reached over and pushed the lever of the re-cliner, lowering the leg rest. Placing both hands on the arms, Zeichner grunted as he pushed himself out of the chair. “You know what this means, don’t you, Kevin?”