"Black, sir. Thanks."
Stu started opening the door. "How 'bout you, Grant?"
Grant sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his chin leaning against his fists. He shook his head, not even looking up.
For several moments, Grant and Adler sat quietly in the office, Grant finally dialing the secure number he knew by heart, the number of the Secretary of Defense.
Allington's staff had not yet arrived, except for his secretary, Francine. He answered the intercom. "Yes, Francine."
"There's a Commander Stevens on line one."
"Thanks, Francine." He pressed the blinking yellow button. "Commander Stevens! Where are you?" he responded with surprise.
"I'm calling from the Op Center at Andrews, sir."
Allington shuffled through the scattered papers on his cluttered desk. "Morelli and I spoke, but I don't recall him saying when you were coming back, Commander, or did I just miss something?"
"No, sir, I didn't give a specific time. And you're the only one in the chain of command that I've spoken with since I've been back." Grant cleared his throat. "A situation has developed that I feel requires your personal attention, sir," he said running a hand over the top of his head. "I need to speak to you and the National Security Advisor. It's a matter of deep concern and one of national security, sir."
Allington coughed and sat forward, resting his arms on his desk, while eyeing the empty pot of coffee on the credenza. "Do you want me to put you on scramble?"
"No, sir. I'd rather not discuss this any further over any phone. We need to meet face-to-face, as soon as possible, sir."
Allington took a deep breath. He knew Grant wasn't given to dramatics. This had to be something heavy. "Hmm. I see." The SecDef ran his pencil along the page of the leather covered appointment book, nearly every line filled for that day. He adjusted his glasses, looking through the bifocals. "There's a 9 o'clock meeting at the Japanese embassy. Those things never start on time, anyway, if you needed extra time. How does 'as soon as you can get here' sound?"
Grant glanced up at the overhead wall clock showing 0715 hours. "That'll be fine, sir, but it shouldn't take long. I just need your guidance, and that of the President's."
"Hold on a minute, Commander." He pressed the intercom button. "Francine, try and find Allan Wooster. Let me know immediately when you do." On the line again with Grant, he said, "My secretary will try and locate Alan Wooster, but we may have no choice other than to put him on the scrambler. Will that do, Commander?"
"Yes, sir." Grant looked over at Adler, who was massaging his sore shoulder. "Senior Chief Adler is with me, sir. He'll be able to corroborate what I'm going to discuss with you. He played a major part in a successful mission, sir."
"Yes, that's what I understand. I'd like an overview today on that situation, Commander, before the official inquiry. Will that be possible?"
"Yes, sir."
Francine cracked open the office door and Allington looked up. "Hang on, Commander." He covered the phone as his secretary relayed a message. "Commander? Wooster's on the other line. Hold on." After a brief moment, Allington got back to Grant. "Commander, Wooster will be here."
"Thank you, sir. The Senior Chief and I will leave immediately."
Allington swiveled his chair around, staring out his office window from the fourth floor of the Pentagon. On the southwest side, beyond the George Washington Parkway, the street and house lights of Crystal City began to lose their glitter in the cold morning's early light.
He loosened his blue paisley tie, then unbuttoned the top button of his white Oxford shirt. "Alright, Commander. You're very serious, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir, I am. As I said, it's a matter of national security."
After hanging up the phone, Allington stood by the window, then turned when he heard the door open.
Francine stood in the doorway, curling one side of her chin length, auburn hair behind her ear. "Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee?"
"You can read my mind, Francine. Oh, by the way, I know you were planning on doing some research in the library this morning, but would you mind staying in the office for awhile?"
"Not at all,” she responded as she walked to the credenza and picked up the percolator. “I'll just give Pete a call. This will be a good excuse for him to take me to an early lunch." She smiled and left.
Within a short while Francine announced that Grant and Adler had arrived. "Send them in," Allington said. He glanced over at the National Security Advisor.
Wooster sat in the leather chair with one leg crossed over the other. He nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest.
Thirty minutes later, Grant was wrapping up a full explanation on the events leading up to Donovan's death and the sinking of the trawler. The SecDef and National Security Advisor drilled both Grant and Adler, not leaving a stone unturned.
When all questions were asked and answered, Wooster finally said, "Commander Stevens, the Secretary said you mentioned you had a security issue to discuss."
Everyone focused on Grant as he began, "Mr. Secretary, Mr. Wooster, this is going to be very difficult for me." He got up and slipped one hand into a pocket of his dress blues trousers. "Very difficult," he said quietly under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adler straighten in the chair.
Grant started talking, his voice deep and controlled. "I'd like you to cast aside the areas of coincidence and look at everything through a non-jaundiced eye." The men nodded. "As you know, Admiral Morelli and I were stationed briefly at the American Embassy in Moscow during the NATO Strategy meetings back in '70. The Admiral had requested that I take the security chief position when I expressed an interest in staying in intelligence.
"There were official receptions following the meetings. Sergei Vernichenko was in attendance at the meetings and receptions." Grant glanced momentarily out the window, then lowered his head, before looking again at Allington. "Sir, I personally observed Vernichenko and Admiral Morelli leave the receptions together and not return until approximately one hour later."
"Commander," Wooster growled quietly as he stared at Grant through squinted eyes.
"Please, sir, please. I just ask that you hear me out." Wooster sat back again.
Allington's voice was just louder than a whisper. "I assume you spoke to the admiral immediately about your concern, Commander."
"Actually, sir, the admiral approached me with an explanation."
Wooster uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "And what was that, Commander?"
"Vernichenko had been with the KGB only a short time, sir. The CIA said they received intel from the inside, making them believe that Vernichenko was willing to become a double agent. The admiral said he had instructions to make contact with him."
Wooster stood by his chair, sliding his foot back and forth along an invisible line on the deep, blue carpet. "And didn't that sit right with you, Commander?" his tone slapping with cynicism.
Grant brought himself to his full height, at least seven inches above Wooster's. "At the time, sir, it was a very reasonable explanation. As I said, I was new to the position, still learning, and the admiral was my boss. But I did file away the incident," he said pointing to his head. "It's a habit I learned early on, sir."
He took a few steps toward Adler, then turned. "Plans for the Bronson were well past the drawing board stage when the first meeting was held in Moscow, sirs. You're already aware that the Admiral was part of the initial design team for the ship."
"He was one of many, Commander," commented a clearly agitated Allan Wooster.
"Of course, sir, but it's also fact that Admiral Morelli and Vernichenko have crossed paths numerous times since 1970. We also know that very few… very few men had the codes for the Bronson." He smacked his fist into his palm with each statement. "The commandos knew the codes. They knew their way around that ship like they had a diagram."