On the stretcher, Grant felt as if his head was an erupting volcano. Fighting to ebb the flow of vomit slowly creeping up into his throat, he struggled to remain conscious. "Brad, contact… Admiral Morelli… right away, with confirmation."
"Will do, sir."
A half hour later, the XO and Admiral Hewlett made a search of Donovan's cabin. "Admiral! Look at this!" Masters called as he opened the black leather box. He lifted out a strip of black velvet. Hewlett reached for the material, staring at the awards presented to Mike Donovan. Among them were Vietnam Campaign, Vietnam Service, Meritorious Service, Presidential Citation, Naval Commendation, and his Naval Aviator Wings. On the bottom of the box, hidden beneath the Navy ribbons was a Russian passport and official photo ID belonging to Alexei Pratopapov.
Admiral Hewlett handed the two items to Masters, total distress clearly showing on their faces. He turned slowly and went to the safe, reaching toward the back. He brought his 5'9" frame to its full height, running his hand across his receding hairline. "I think we'd better go to sickbay, XO, and check on Commander Stevens. But first I want Lieutenant Britley to report here on the double."
"Sir?"
Hewlett held out his hand, a small, black object resting in his palm. "We need EOD… now!"
Masters' blue eyes widened, "Oh, my God.
The antiseptic smell of a ship's sickbay was no different than that of a hospital operating room. Brightly lit, the room's sterile atmosphere was distinctly noticeable with the abundance of glistening stainless steel equipment and white sheets that covered beds and examining tables. Medical supplies, drugs, operating equipment were methodically organized behind locked, glass-fronted cabinets.
"How ya feel, sir?" asked a concerned Joe Adler as he rolled the stool closer, noticing Grant's face was as colorless as the fluorescent lights shining above him.
Grant sat up, his legs dangling over the edge of the examining table. "Have one bitchin' headache, Joe," he said with a forced grin, as he gingerly touched the bandage just above his temple. "Feel like a real ass for letting it happen," he commented mostly to himself. He squinted, still unable to bring Adler into complete focus. "Was Morelli contacted?"
Adler nodded. "Admiral Hewlett spoke with him. He wants to hear from you as soon as you're able."
Grant started sliding off the table when Doc Matthews mustered alongside, placing a hand on Grant's shoulder. "Hold it, Commander, you shouldn't be up!"
"No offense, Doc, but I… don't have much use for hospitals." For an instant, there was an unmistakable change in his expression and eyes. Only Adler recognized it. "Excuse me for a minute," Grant muttered. On his way to the head, it took total concentration to keep himself walking in a straight line.
Adler watched him till the door closed, then he turned back to Matthews. "He was serious as a heart attack about that, Doc."
"What? You mean about hospitals?"
"Yeah." He stood up, anchoring his thumbs in his pockets, glancing at the closed door, then back at Matthews. "It was during his last trip to Nam. He'd been there five months when his wife, Jenny, came down with some kind of viral infection and was rushed to the base hospital. She was there for three days." Adler stared into the doctor's face. "She died before he could get home."
Grant opened the door and slowly walked back toward the two men. "I'd like to go back to the EOD locker with Senior Chief Adler, Doc. Okay?"
The doctor scanned the chart, then clicked the top of his ballpoint pen and began making notations. "Well, Commander, you've got a bruised shoulder, a mild concussion and several stitches. Will it do me any good to tell you you've got to take it easy?"
"I hear ya, Doc." Grant put on the blood-stained T-shirt, pressing his leg against the bed to try and keep himself steady, hoping Doc Matthews didn't notice.
Matthews continued writing while he said, "No sleeping for eight hours and no sun for twelve hours." He looked up at Grant, pointing the pen at him. "Agreed?"
"Roger that, Doc."
"Commander Stevens, how the hell are you?" Admiral Hewlett interrupted as he walked through the doorway. Following close behind Hewlett were XO Masters and Lieutenant Britley. Adler jumped up, standing at attention. "At ease, Joseph," said Hewlett, motioning with his hand.
Adler's jaw tightened. Joseph? He smiled and nodded at Hewlett. "Admiral."
Grant's head was spinning like a whirlpool and he swore to himself. He leaned back against the examining table for support. "I've been better, Admiral."
Hewlett showed something of a smile. He removed his cap and brushed his hand briskly over his crew cut, salt and pepper hair. "I'll want a full report as soon as you can muster one, Commander."
"Very well, sir. I was just on my way back to the EOD locker to call Admiral Morelli on the sat uplink."
With a questioning look, Hewlett shifted his eyes to Doc Matthews. "You're releasing this man from sickbay?"
Matthews shrugged his shoulders and nodded, "Yes, sir. But if the commander wasn't in such good shape, I can guarantee he wouldn't be experiencing such a remarkable recovery."
Hewlett took a step closer to Grant. His astute observation told him Commander Stevens was in no physical condition to be released. More importantly, he was in no condition for what he was about to ask of him. "Commander, we found this in Captain Donovan's stateroom." He motioned to Britley.
Grant reached for the small remote control, shaking his head, knowing immediately what he was holding. The size of a pack of cigarettes, the remote ran off a preset frequency. There were two buttons, green for safety, and red for armed. On the side was a toggle switch that transmitted the deadly signal. "I should have seen something like this coming, Admiral. I should have known." He held it out towards Adler. "I can assure you, sir, we'll get on it immediately." He glanced at Britley. "John and his team will be assisting."
Hewlett stroked his chin, and with concern in his voice he asked, "Do we have to worry that there may be timers on whatever devices are out there, Commander?"
Grant looked at Adler for final confirmation, then back at the Admiral. "No, sir. That's a remote control detonator switch. It's the only way." He swallowed hard, suppressing the wave of nausea sweeping over him again. "Except… we don't know where or how many there are, sir."
Hewlett stared for a moment at Grant, then briefly at the small device. "I'll leave it in your hands, Commander."
Grant came to reasonable attention with somewhat of a slight list to port. "Yes, sir."
With Simmons and Britley leading the way, the four men made their way back to the EOD locker, with Adler hanging close off Grant's starboard quarter.
Once sealed behind the vault door, Grant cautiously pulled his blood-stained T-shirt over his head and threw it in the trash can. He slumped down on the bunk, scrunching a pillow behind him, then rested his head against it, resisting an unknown force that was attempting to slam his eyelids shut. Adler sat on the desk across from him, Simmons and Britley to his right. "John, you bring the sniffer box?" Grant finally asked.
The sniffer enabled the team to test for the presence of explosives. By holding a tube inside a compartment, a sample of the air would be taken, the needle on the unit recording anywhere from 0 % to 1 % parts per million.
"Never leave home without it," Britley grinned, while he hauled his stocky body over to the footlocker.
"Good. We need to get it warmed up." Grant held his hand out with the remote in his palm.
Adler studied the unit, when his eyebrows shot up, his balled up fist hitting against nothing but air. "Ya know, sir, that looks similar to what we use with our cable line cutter."
The cable cutter was a small box with a minute amount of explosives inside. An open hook was on one end that was used to hang the box from a line or cable. Once the remote control set off the explosive charge, it would eject a blade that would cut through the line.