Grant sat up straighter. "Joe, I'd bet a buck the explosives are in the RAM room or after-steering."
"Good place to start, sir."
"Can you round up your team, John?" Britley nodded. "Joe will hit the RAM; you go to after-steering."
"On my way." He grabbed his cap off the desk, then two walkie-talkies from the cabinet. He stopped by the door. "I'll report back every fifteen minutes."
Adler slid off the desk and walked to the metal cabinet, asking over his shoulder, "Weren't you gonna call Morelli?"
"I'll wait till this is over. Joe, hand me one of those headsets, then you take off. Brad, go with the Joe. Check back in with me to make sure these units work, Joe," he said holding up the headset.
Five minutes later, Grant responded to Adler, "You on low band?"
"Yes, sir. No one is on this frequency. I've checked it out."
Grant fingered the mouth wire and single ear receiver. The tiny device was used by the Teams to talk during CQB situations and other forced entry and clandestine operations. "Joe, where are you?"
"On the third deck, sir, midships." His stride was long, as he wove in and out of sailors and equipment on his way down to the fifth deck, the location of the RAM room.
"Copy that. Talk to me again when you get to the RAM."
Adler started cantering down the passageway with Simmons staying close. "Wait, sir! How about the boiler rooms?"
Grant shook his head. "Don't think so. Since the CO did this, it would have been hard for him to get around down there without being recognized."
"Right. How about the weapons area?" Adler immediately answered himself, "Hell, no. Not while he was on board."
"Check the RAM, Joe. Right now that seems to be the most logical."
"Back to ya later, sir."
Grant slouched down in the chair, resting his throbbing head against the padded backrest while he waited for Mullins to answer. "Tony, can only talk briefly."
Mullins swallowed a mouthful of Coke. "What's goin' down? Get your orders?"
"Captain Mike Donovan, a.k.a. Alexei Pratopapov. It's over for him."
"Jesus! This is unbelievable. I bet they're ready to fry his ass without even a court martial."
"No can do, buddy. His ass is already fried."
Mullins sat down in what looked like slow motion. "What… ? I'm listening, Grant."
"The order came back to terminate with prejudice. I forced his hand, tried to draw him out, and we had a run-in down in the hangar bay. The bastard nailed me first, unfortunately."
"Hold it! You mean you're not in one piece?"
"Still got all my body parts, except for missing a piece of scalp. Anyway, he took off and ran onto the flight deck right during flight ops, and—"
"Oh, man, don't tell me. He didn't get caught up in an intake, did he?"
Grant nodded and let out an extended exhale. "Yeah. You guessed it."
"Jesus," Mullins said quietly.
"XO Masters has assumed command." Grant pushed himself upright, feeling dizzy and nauseous, but mostly feeling pissed for getting himself into the situation to begin with. "There's more." He explained about the remote control and the places the EOD team was searching. "Tony, once the units are removed, Joe and I are going to pay you a visit. You're still number one in the Russkies' playbook, whatever the hell that plan is. I'm positive no one else here in the fleet is involved and with Donovan out of the way, I think we'll be more effective from there."
"Think you're right. But are you up for this?"
"Have to be."
Mullins tried to lighten the moment and immediately added, "Tell ya what… I'll milk ol' Bessie out back then bake some chocolate cookies."
That got an immediate laugh from Grant, unfortunately, it also made his head throb even more; he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers against the lids. "Sounds good. In the meantime, call Kodiak and request they bring you closer, say within one click. Joe and I should be able to hold our breath that long!" he joked. "Position her off our starboard side. We'll be departing from port, hoping to keep Ivan from seeing the helo lowering us. Will call before we lift off. And, listen, Tony, I think we may have a link higher up, too." Grant closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Still thinking it out right now, but what I know is that Donovan or Vernichenko had to have an uplink in higher places. You copy?"
"Uh, yeah. I copy. Between you and me, right?"
"Right, 'Mountain Man'."
"Christ, Grant! You're some party crasher! Be seeing ya!"
Grant switched off. Now, he just had to wait for Adler. It was all too quiet in the locker, and with the steady drone of the carrier's engines sounding in his ears, falling asleep would be all too easy. "Get up, Stevens, you've gotta keep moving."
He lost count of the number of times he'd went from one end of the room to the other, but his thoughts were in constant motion. Something just didn't jive. Why did he have the feeling this was deeper than what he already knew? He went back to thinking about Donovan. He must have planned a way to get off the ship. How? And what was supposed to happen if and when the steering lines were cut? Was it just to be a way to slow the fleet down? Donovan had run to the flight deck, probably to commandeer a helo, but that couldn't have been the planned escape. Somewhere from the back of Grant's mind he drew out the night he and Adler used the MSV. He stopped dead in his tracks. "Shit! He was gonna go over the side through the outcroppings, lifeboat and all!" Just then his headset sounded. "Talk to me, Joe."
"Sir! We found the damn things! RAM Room and after-steering, sir!"
"Good work. Can you handle them?"
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Britley will take care of after-steering. It shouldn't take long."
Grant continued his pacing, waiting for Adler's return. Finally, the locker door opened. "Done, sir," Adler grinned broadly. He dropped his gear next to the bunks and then his headset on the desk.
"Good work, Joe, but give me a blow-by-blow later. I'm gonna shower then call Morelli." He looked at the door again as he started stripping off his Navy shorts. "Where are Brad and John?"
"On the way back here the XO sent someone after Commander Simmons. He reported to the bridge. Lieutenant Britley and his men were gonna finish with cleanup then make a sweep with the sniffer, just in case."
Ten minutes later, after showering and changing into his sweatpants, Grant was on the phone with Morelli. "Yes, sir. I'm okay, Admiral, at least nothing that a few bottles of pain killers won't cure." Adler put two aspirins and a glass of water on the desk, smiling to himself, knowing how much 'Panther' despised taking pills.
In the silence of his office, Morelli sat rigidly in his swivel chair, staring out the window with Grant's voice in the background explaining about the RAM and after-steering devices.
Adler opened the door for the Executive Officer. Masters dropped the passport and ID on the desk. Grant opened the passport, staring at a man who had led two lives. He told Morelli about the two items, finally saying, "I guess these put the final period on the chapter of Mike Donovan, Admiral."
"Except for the hearing and paperwork, Grant… and we still have the Rachinski to worry about."
"Has a decision been reached on that issue, sir?"
"I expect an answer any time." Morelli reached for a cigar from the hand-crafted walnut humidor. He rolled the cigar between his fingers, staring at the paper band before biting off the tip of the cigar. Concerned about Grant's physical condition, he asked, "Are you going to be capable of carrying out whatever orders come back?"
"No problem, sir." He could only hope that wasn't a lie. "Admiral, I don't think we should wait for the Russians to make a move. Senior Chief Adler and I are going aboard the Bronson. I've already notified Agent Mullins."