They both hustled to cram all the diving gear inside the one cocoon, then both cocoons were lowered into the chain "locker", capable of storing 1,080 feet of anchor chain. It was unlikely that anyone would notice the cocoons. His gear would be safe for now.
He tied his sneakers and pulled the jogging suit's hood close around his face, hoping to conceal some of the impressions left by the face mask and rubber suit. "Well, Joe, you ready for another lap?" he grinned.
"Let's go, sir!"
They jogged in unison down the port side of the carrier and around the Intruders sitting in formation on the angle deck. Adler called out, "Don't know about you, sir, but I've had enough fun for one evening!"
"Let's hit the locker, Joe!"
They detoured toward the superstructure on the starboard side, through the watertight door and down to the hangar bay. Little attention was paid to them as they walked nonchalantly through the hangar bay, discussing their "improved lap times around the deck", their faces reddened from exposure to the harsh wind topside.
Finally, in the security of the EOD locker, the men shook hands, their grips firm, words sincere.
"It's really good to see you, Joe!"
"You, too, sir!"
"I guess congratulations are in order," Grant said as he pointed to the star above the chief's insignia on Adler's cap. "Can't think of anyone more deserving to be senior chief, Joe."
"Thanks, sir. Your evaluation helped get me that star!"
"Play your cards right on this one and you'll probably have another one to sport around!" Adler just smiled and nodded.
Grant stripped off his damp jogging suit and glanced around the locker as Adler tossed him a towel. All the diving gear and 'tools of the trade' of the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team were methodically arranged and stored within the compact room, ready on a moment's notice. Small bins with spare parts, assorted safeing pins for the ship's ordnance, and various tools lined the after bulkhead. A row of steel trunks, stacked high, was against the side of the locker. The communications gear was arranged on the desk: radio, headsets, earphones, satellite uplink transmitter, and walkie-talkies placed in their chargers, everything he'd need.
"Any 'poop' from Washington yet?" Grant asked as he rubbed the towel across his chest.
"Not since this morning. The NIS officer, Commander Simmons, dropped me a note when I was topside. Said he'd like to get up to speed on this thing when you're ready. You can use the phone on the bulkhead next to the bunk, extension 1084. When you're ready to contact Morelli, the satcom's in the desk drawer, sir." Grant nodded as he changed into a fresh jogging suit then picked up the earphones. Adler said, "I'll have one of my men retrieve your gear from the chain locker before dawn, sir. He can shove it into one of our equipment bags. Nobody'll be the wiser."
"Very well."
"Unless you need anything else, sir, I'll go turn in. You take my bunk here. And you don't have to worry about being bothered by the rest of the team tonight."
"You go 'head. I'll make my call then hit the sack myself. And thanks, Joe."
"For what?" Adler grinned, as he stepped outside the vault-like door.
Grant familiarized himself with the equipment and his new surroundings. It was midnight when he placed the call. He stood in front of the bunks, scrutinizing the room, until he heard a relieved voice: "Are you there, Grant?"
"Yes, sir. We're ready here, Admiral. I'll report to you every twelve hours, sir, unless there's an emergency."
"Understood. And I'll contact Kodiak and the other three sites, correct?" Morelli had been through the battles of Korea and Vietnam. Even so, he reached for a bottle of Rolaids.
"Yes, sir. We don't want anyone to be surprised. Appreciate it if you'd tell them to be on standby and to expect a call at anytime from me or the agent aboard the Bronson, sir."
"Very well, Commander. And speaking about that agent, are you going to be okay with him, considering your reaction to Agent Phillips?"
"Not a problem, sir. Did some checking… he's ex-Navy, a frogman. Can't be all bad."
"I should have known!" Morelli laughed.
"Oh, sir?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Thought you'd like to know that Captain Stafford did an excellent job in getting me here, sir."
"Never a doubt. Good luck, Grant."
"Thanks, Admiral."
Tony Mullins stepped through the bridge doorway, taking a bite from a slice of nearly burnt, buttered toast, and washed it down with a swig of strong black coffee. He would walk around the inside perimeter of the bridge one more time before he turned in, eyeing all the instruments, still amazed at the Bronson's technology. As usual, all gauges were working properly. The ship's heading was SSW. The last things to check were the cameras. It was the same routine, day after day, but for him, the assignment was perfect. Maybe it still wasn't the seclusion of the Rocky Mountains, it wasn't his dream log cabin, but after nine years with the Agency, he finally had his solitude, for all intent and purposes.
Before leaving the bridge for a final check in his steel-enclosed office below deck, he paused by the window. Somewhere in the distance were the ships from the armada, protecting the Preston. They should be hearing from Washington some time soon. Would they or would they not be proceeding to the Korean coast, and God only knows what else? Noticing his reflection in the glass, he commented, "Not exactly Agency material." He laughed as he stroked his beard. And his light brown hair was already touching his collar. "What the hell! Nearly 40 years old… I deserve to be Mountain Man Mullins! Well, back to 'intestine city'," he joked. Once the steel door was secured behind him, he sat down in front of the terminal and opened his logbook just as the phone rang.
"Mullins."
"Agent Mullins, this is Grant Stevens."
Mullins' back straightened. The call had come in on a secured line. The only communication he'd had the past months had been with his office at Langley or Kodiak, and always with the same people, the same voices.
"Stevens? Am I supposed to know you? And what the hell are you doing on this line?" he shouted.
Grant laughed. "No, you don't know me — yet. But I can assure you, you soon will. I'm a Navy Commander working for NIS. I report to Admiral Morelli. And I got your number from the NIS 'yellow pages'."
Mullins detected immediately that the call wasn't from a telephone but probably from some type of communications gear. His mouth curved into a smile. "Okay so far. Where are you, Commander?"
"The Preston. I came aboard a few hours ago. The EOD team is supporting me here. In fact, that's where I'm calling from… the EOD locker."
Mullins picked up on the "came aboard a few hours ago" statement. His instinct told him he was talking to a Navy SEAL.
"What can I do for you, Commander?"
Grant came right to the point. "We believe there's going to be an unfriendly attempt to take the Bronson."
"Are you shittin' me?" Mullins jumped from his chair, knocking the coffee cup from the table, the black liquid barely missing the keyboard. Kodiak had warned him about bringing liquids into the center.
Grant went into details about the mole and his thoughts on the Chinese troops, adding, "The EOD Senior Chief, Joe Adler, filled me in on the trawler that's been dogging the fleet. I expect this is one time its plan is to do more than just listen."
"Let me get on the horn with Kodiak," Mullins anxiously replied. "They'll probably want to make some computer changes, or whatever the hell it is they do."
"I'm sure you'll be in agreement with this, Agent Mullins, but I don't think there should be any written notes. This one's too hot."