Grant lifted his cap off the desk, then walked toward the door. Morelli couldn't see the muscles in his jaw twitching. He was oblivious to the turmoil tearing apart Grant's insides. Holding his cap by the brim, Grant stared down at the eagle emblem, lightly running his fingers over it before he said over his shoulder. "Wrong, Admiral. This is one job you're gonna have to finish yourself."
Morelli sat somberly, his arms hanging limp at his sides. It looked as if he was staring into a black hole, his world being sucked deeper into it, and he was trying desperately to see a light beyond it.
Grant turned and left the office, closing the door securely behind him. He leaned back heavily, his hands balled up into tight fists.
Adler stood, very concerned seeing Grant so visibly shaken. "Skipper? What can I—"
The loud, sharp, classic explosion of a model 1917 military .45 smashed the silence in the outer office. Yeoman Gardner spun around from the file cabinet, making a dash to the office door.
Grant stood his ground, stopping the panic-stricken young petty officer in his tracks. Grant's voice sounded hoarse as he said, "Yeoman, call the Shore Patrol's office, then the SecDef and National Security Advisor."
Gardner tugged on the knot of his Navy scarf, panic covering his ashen face. His blue eyes darted back and forth from Grant to Adler. He grabbed the brass doorknob. "But, sir—"
"That's an order, Petty Officer!"
Startled, the young sailor released his death grip on the doorknob, then took a step back, still staring at Grant who motioned toward the desk. "Yes, sir," he finally responded, then reluctantly, went to his desk with its stacks of organized folders and glass container of sharpened pencils. His hand shook as he picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Shore Patrol Officer.
Adler stood stone-still in the middle of the room. "Christ, Commander!"
Grant put on his cap, adjusted it squarely, then drew his shoulders back. "Don't let anyone in till the Shore Patrol gets here, Joe."
"Sir?"
"I'm gonna get some air, and wait for Wooster."
Adler stepped aside as Grant walked past and he responded, "Yes, sir."
Chapter Eleven
With his black, nylon gym bag slung over his shoulder, Grant slammed the car door, then unzipped his windbreaker. He looked overhead through dark, aviator sunglasses at a cobalt-colored sky. The warmth from the early morning sun felt good on his face. February was starting out better than its usual, blustery self. The dark circles under his eyes had faded and the black stitches had been removed from his head. All that remained was a thin, raised scar. It was amazing what a few days leave could do for mind and body.
The phone rang just as he walked into his room at the BOQ. "Stevens."
"Commander Stevens?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Commander, this is Emily at Secretary Canon's office. The Secretary would like you to come to his office at 10 AM. Can you make it?"
He dropped his gym bag on the floor, glancing at his watch. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."
Weaving the black Vette in and out of traffic Grant could merely speculate on why he'd been called to the Secretary of the Navy's office. Monday had been a full day spent at the inquiry and then debriefing. None of the reasons popping into his mind seemed logical.
Twenty minutes later, and wearing a new set of Navy dress blues, he was standing at attention before Secretary John Canon.
"At ease, Commander, and just drop your cap on the chair." Grant complied, then the Secretary walked around from behind the walnut desk and stood in front of him. "Commander, I'd like to present this Legion of Merit Medal to you." The medal hung from a wide, magenta-colored ribbon with a narrow white stripe down each edge.
"Thank you, sir," Grant replied, as he shook Canon's hand.
Canon stepped back as he remarked, "But Commander, I have to tell you, I believe you're out of uniform."
Grant instantaneously went through a mental check list of his uniform and was hesitant to look down. "Excuse me, sir?"
The Secretary leaned over the desk and pulled out the bottom left hand drawer, removing two shoulder boards, each with four gold stripes. He held them out in front of Grant. "I believe these are yours, Captain."
Grant's shoulders went slack. "Sir, I… I–Captain?"
Canon reached for Grant's hand, then put the shoulder boards across his palm. "I have a note here that I'd like to read to you." He picked up the white bond paper and unfolded it, the presidential seal emblazoned across the top. 'To: Commander Grant Stevens, United States Navy. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that you have been approved for selection to the rank of Captain in the United States Navy, effective immediately, pending your successful physical examination and acceptance of this rank, and in accordance with Naval Regulation', etc., etc. I'm sure you know the rest. And, of course, it's signed, President Samuel McNeely."
By now, Grant was again standing at attention, the words ringing in his ears. "Thank you, sir! And the President, too, sir. I… I really don't know what else to say."
Canon nodded. "Captain Stevens, I don't want this to sound trite, but we are the ones who thank you for your service to your country. You took great risks and followed through to the end, knowing full well the consequences."
Grant bit his bottom lip. It would be a long time before the sound would quit hammering against his brain. Because of his anger, he and he alone was responsible for Gene Morelli taking his own life. He told himself repeatedly that he did what was right, but it was difficult to unravel his feelings. The initial guilt he felt for being unable to help Morelli had quickly changed to anger. That anger would stay bottled up in him a long time, but it was the years of friendship that kept getting in the way of his understanding. His long-time friend had betrayed him.
"At ease, Captain." Grant complied. Canon folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the desk. "I believe I know what you're feeling and thinking at this moment." He studied Grant's face for a moment. "You know, it was pure chance I came across a quote by Ulysses S. Grant yesterday, and I'd like to relay it to you now. 'Let no guilty man escape, if it can be avoided. No personal considerations should stand in the way of performing a duty'."
Grant stared straight ahead. "Thank you, sir."
Just then, the intercom buzzer sounded and Canon pressed the button. "Yes?"
"Your next appointment is here, Mr. Secretary," announced Emily Shorter from the outer office.
"Ah, yes, send him in, Emily."
Joe Adler walked in, a surprised look on his and Grant's face. He saluted, then asked with a broad grin, "Sir, what are you doing here?"
Grant held out his hand with the new shoulder boards. "The Secretary said I was out of uniform until I put these on, Joe! You believe it?"
Adler rushed to his friend, his hand outstretched. "Congratulations, sir! Outstanding! I knew this was gonna be a good day!" Even though his arm was finally free of the sling, he still had some mild pain in his shoulder, but he ignored it and continued vigorously shaking Grant's hand.
Grant laughed. "I suppose you got that twitch in your neck again?"
"Like I told you before, sir — it works!"
Canon smiled, listening to the easy conversation passing between the two friends. He reached into his side jacket pocket, looking at the medal with an eagle, hanging from a green ribbon with two white stripes. "Joe, front and center," he called, as he waved Adler toward him.
"Sir," Adler said, standing at attention.
"Joe, I'd like to present you with this Navy Commendation Medal." He pinned the medal to Adler's dress blues jacket. "Thank you, Senior Chief."