Cross slapped Briscoe’s hand with a high-five. “Let’s go down to Mess. I’m buying lunch.”
“You’re on,” he said, heading toward the stairs.
Entering the Mess, they saw Broward sitting with the XO. “Come over here guys, I want to shake your hands. I’ve already notified Poole; she went crazy happy. She says to thank you, too.”
They obliged, accepted his congratulations, and turned toward the line. “Not so fast, fellows,” he said. “Before we return to San Diego, rewarding the completed mission, we’re giving the crew a week’s shore leave in Los Angeles, doing all the visitor things, eating at fine restaurants, seeing star’s homes, visiting Disneyland, all that stuff. We’ll stay anchored out here, sending them ashore in tenders. Are you interested?”
Cross, glancing at Briscoe, shook his head. “Think I’ll stay aboard, Captain, if that’s all right. I sleep really well with the waves. It’ll be nice to rest a while out here, away from the chaos onshore.”
“As I, Captain. I’ll be back there, patrolling the same roads soon enough. This is a vacation for me. I’d like to stay.”
“Well, if you don’t mind rattling around on an empty ship, then it’s yours. The XO and I, with a few other crucial crew members, will remain behind, tending the ship. No dives, nothing. We’re used to the solitude. It’s our break from the constant chaos aboard the ship. The tenders will leave tomorrow morning at 0700 hours. Be there if you change your minds.”
“Not much chance of that, but thank you anyway, Captain,” said Cross.
“Go have some chow. You both deserved it.”
Over steaming coffee, plates overflowing with eggs, bacon and pancakes, they relived the dive. Two hours later, still analyzing the dive and the new Exosuit’s performance, they sipped their third cup.
Shortly, Lieutenant Harper entered the room, poured a coffee and looked around, “Mind if I sit with you heroes?”
“Speaking of yourself, Lieutenant. How did it go?”
“Uneventful as a pallet drop. The ocean was beautifully blue, so clear we could see the first twenty meters of his dive. We cheered him onward, downward until he vanished into the depths. He should be sitting two miles down by now. After that we rotated and headed home.” Looking at his watch, he added, “Just touched down five minutes ago. Dusting his hands, he said, “Done with him. Now we wait for the fireworks. Should be a pretty show.”
“You going ashore with the crew?”
“What? Why?”
Cross answered, “The Captain just told us--.”
The 1MC interrupted, “Attention all hands. A week’s shore leave has been granted by the Captain for your service. Tenders load at 0700 in the morning, heading to Long Beach Harbor. Thank you for your diligence and persistence during our search mission. It has now ended, successfully. Congratulations.”
Cheers and whistles erupted throughout the ship. The crew had been waiting for the moment, but, until the announcement, was not aware of its arrival. Crewmen ran wildly through the hallways and quarters, visiting friends, making plans and packing their duffel bags.
Taps came early, preparing the crew for the early morning departures.
SHORE LEAVE
Excitement gripped the crew as they waited in the long line, an hour before the first scheduled tender arrival. There were five coming for them but the first ones were always the newest, nicest ships with the best amenities for the one-hour cruise. With their duffels and backpacks slung over their shoulders, the crew stood talking about their plans, nicest places to eat, and, of course, the best clubs to visit. As always, there were those crewmen who had to be the first to step off the ship and onto land. They were there, in line, before reveille.
Cross was up, folding his bunk, by eight. Briscoe heard him, rolled over, one eye open, and mumbled, “It’s gonna be a late morning for me, Marker. Every muscle in my body aches today. Go on to Mess without me. I’ll drag my ass in when I can move again. That may not be until tomorrow.” He grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the overhead shelf, poured three out into his hand, chewed them, rolled over and went back to sleep.
Ready for a week of quiet relaxation, Cross stopped by the library after Mess, picked a book and took it topside; sitting on the deck, leaning against a large vent pipe, he was lost in the words of Tom Clancy again. He had picked The Hunt for Red October: his fourth time to read it. The morning sun warming his face against the cool sea breeze, the ship’s rocking took him aboard the HMS Invincible with Admiral White at the helm.
Hitting the Long Beach dock, the crew spread through the streets of Los Angeles like ants over sugar. They worked hard and played hard, enjoying every minute of their leave. Unknown to them it was to be a short week.
THE CLEANING CREW
Lt. Poole arrived at the crime lab office at 8 a.m. A normal Friday morning, the SID Lab was buzzing with the week’s remnants, trying to tie up loose ends before the weekend. Although most law enforcement officers worked all through the week, the investigation lab operated on a skeleton crew through the weekends. This was her weekend off. Realizing pi day was only three days out and Adam had been moved a safe distance from land, she had planned a long weekend with Pupski, watching movies and eating popcorn with her telephone forwarded to the switchboard.
Entering the lab, she noticed things were neater, cleaner than when she left yesterday. The floors were glassy; a sure tip-off. Thursday, deep-cleaning day, she thought. Unlocking her office, she stepped in and noticed a small note on her desk. Taped to the lower part of the note was a small yellow post-it note. First things, first, she grabbed her mug and headed to the coffee pot, filling it to the rim. Two sugar packs, stirred lightly, and she headed back to her office. “Morning Lieutenant,” Garcia said, poking her head in. “Ready for the weekend?”
“Of course, Delores. It’s been a hell of a month, getting rid of Adam. Now I can breathe again. Do you realize that Monday is pi day? We almost caught the bullet on that one. Yes, It’s going to be a beautiful weekend.”
“Well, thank you for everything you’ve done, Lieutenant, I thought things were going to critical mass anytime now. I’ll sleep better knowing he’s hundreds of miles offshore.”
Smiling at the compliment, she leaned back in her chair, propped her feet on the desk and picked up the note. It said:
March 10, 2016
Lt. Poole,
Found this slip of paper on the floor under a cabinet. May be important. Thought you would want to see it.
Deep Cleaning Crew
Before reading further, she examined the small attachment: a three by four inch yellow post-it note, slightly brown on the edges as if it had been heated in an oven, black thick ink from a marker pen, a thin smearing of a brown substance over the words. Oh, it’s just someone’s lost shopping list. Then she read on.
THINGS TO DO
#1 Introduce Adam
#2 Wax Poetic
#3 Publish
#4 Reunite Eve with Adam
#5 3.1415926
She read it again, trying to make sense of it. It slowly drifted back, slamming her in the face. A note written by Fogner. It must have been stuck to the newspaper clippings. She scanned it once more, understanding items one through three, then focused on #4 Reunite Eve with Adam. What the hell does that mean? Her stomach churned as it began to dawn on her. She darted her eyes to the big calendar by the door. Only four boxes remained unchecked. One was today. Nervously she rose to X the square, leaving only three and the third was pi day. Nauseous, she ran to the bathroom to throw up. Hovering over the toilet, her mind was whirling, spinning out of control. Could it be? How could we have been so stupid as to not anticipate another bomb?