He worked his way to the aft end of the rack and around the tail end of the fish to the aisle that separated the side and center racks. With the exception of the soft hum of the ventilation system, it was very quiet. But he knew someone, most likely two people, had to be working the tubes. He had to find out if they were still down here. He had to assume they would be.
They. The word stuck in his craw. He still didn’t want to believe that any member of his crew could have anything to do with this. McCann had been caught unawares. The same thing could have happened to the rest of them.
He touched the keys hanging on a chain around his neck under his shirt to make sure they were still there. His first stop had to be the weapon’s locker. This meant that he had to get out unnoticed.
Crouching low, he moved around the loading and ramming gear across the narrow aisle. That’s when he saw them. He was right. Two men were loading a torpedo into a tube that had fired before. They worked in absolute silence.
The one closest to him had narrow shoulders and long arms and was wearing coveralls. McCann saw immediately that he wasn’t a member of his crew. The hijacker wore a shoulder holster. When he turned slightly, McCann could see the butt of his firearm. The man stepped aside and the submarine commander had a clear look at the second man. Square upper body with the sleeves of the coveralls rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos down both arms and on the back of his neck into the hairline. This one didn’t have to turn around for McCann to know who he was. Juan Rivera.
He would have liked nothing better than to wrap his fingers around the man’s thick neck right at this moment. The enlisted crew of Hartford, the officers, the X.O., everyone including McCann, had looked after him and tried to be there for him when Rivera’s mother struggled with cancer a year ago. She’d died, but McCann really thought that the torpedo man had walked away from that loss with a gain of a new family, at least new friends. But he’d guessed wrong. From his hiding place McCann could tell Rivera was armed, as well.
Suddenly, he wasn’t too sure of anyone’s innocence. Rivera was here, obviously cooperating. And after hearing what Amy had said about the navigation system, McCann figured Cavallaro must have known there was nothing wrong. That spoke of his involvement. Barclay, who’d been topside on watch, could be part of this. There had been only one hatch left open, and anyone wanting to get inside the sub would have had to pass by the young sailor. Of course, Barclay could be dead, but McCann didn’t even trust his own shadow right now.
He slowly backed up. He had to get to the weapon’s locker and go from there.
By the stairs, McCann stopped and looked back over the racks just as the hijacker started up the aisle between the racks. Quickly, McCann ducked back into the auxiliary machinery room, which was just aft of the torpedo room. The huge auxiliary diesel engine was located here, as well as quarters for some of the crew. Pressing himself against a bulkhead, he could see the hijacker through the doorway, standing near the tail of the fish. He had his back to McCann, but if he turned around, the intruder would see him.
McCann edged away until he was out of the hijacker’s possible line of vision. Suddenly, his foot caught on something on the deck and he nearly pitched backward, barely catching himself before he fell. Looking down, he saw Lee Brody’s body partially stuffed under one of the massive engine mounts. His mouth was covered with duct-tape. His hands and feet were bound. The man was totally out.
McCann crouched over Brody and looked closer at the source of blood that stained the young man’s collar. There was a nasty contusion on the back of his head and a bruise on the side of his face where he must have hit the deck.
McCann checked for vital signs. Brody was alive. He didn’t know if the sonar man would be any use to him anytime soon, but he used the box cutter to cut through the duct tape on his hands and ankles. He gently pulled the tape from Brody’s mouth. He couldn’t do anything more for him now.
McCann edged his way to the door and looked in. Rivera and the hijacker were forward, by the tubes. The fish was no longer on the rack. The two men appeared to be just finishing up loading it.
He had to get to the weapons locker. Darting around the corner, he moved quickly to the stairs but stopped dead at the sound of footsteps directly above him.
Someone was going down the passageway toward the ship’s office… where he’d left Amy.
Chapter 17
If Bruce Dunn had any reservations about working with Sarah Connelly on this investigation, they were gone in the course of the first hour. On the professional side — an area in which he considered himself a good judge — she was smart, efficient, persistent, and obviously a mover and shaker. She knew how to get people do what she wanted. On the unprofessional side — an area in which he considered himself even more of an expert — she was five-ten, had blue eyes, sexy short dark hair, and an athletic build that could have been on the cover of a glossy magazine, not in the strict confines of the navy uniform.
And this wasn’t the first time he’d admired this specific facet of her personality. He’d attended at least three different navy functions where he could remember Lieutenant Connelly being there. He’d never been able to get within an arm’s length of her because of her other eager admirers. But he’d made sure to ask a few questions about who she was. It never hurt to learn a thing or two about a beautiful woman.
Bottom line, she had it all. But if the telephone call Bruce had gotten this morning had been any indication, the navy brass wasn’t giving Sarah her due. He’d been told that she’d been chosen for the job because of her personal relationship with McCann. Moreover, to learn more about the sub commander, Dunn was to use her however he needed.
“Eleven of them. They’re all here.” Sarah dropped a stack of folders in the middle of the conference table and took the seat across from him. “A personnel file for everyone that we know is on the boat, including Amy Russell.”
“Where did you get her file?”
“EB faxed what they had, and I got the rest from files the FBI keeps on defense contractor employees who have top secret clearance,” she told him. “Anything on the surveillance cameras?”
“They have clear pictures of McCann in the parking lot, by the security booth, and going in and out of the NAVSEA barge,” Bruce explained. “The cameras in the North Yard Ways were supposedly destroyed by the fire. I have one of my NCIS guys ready to go over the tape from the cameras that were trained on Hartford.”
“Are there problems with those, too?”
“We don’t know yet. The bad weather, time of night, they’re all factors. They told me on the phone from Groton that they can see some shadows. There’s a lot more digital enhancement we can do, though.”
“Have they sent them over?”
“They’re here, being analyzed.”
She had shed her jacket, and the sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up to the elbows. His gaze lingered briefly on her forearm. The muscle beneath the smooth skin was firm and toned.
Sarah reached for the folders she’d dropped on the conference table. Bruce noticed that she chose Amy Russell’s first. He couldn’t help but wonder if the navy lieutenant still carried a torch for her ex-boyfriend.
Bruce turned his attention back to the laptop screen and the list he was putting together. Submarine skippers and experts, both retired and still in the navy. He didn’t personally believe that an American sub driver had to be the only one capable of engineering this kind of hijacking. His list already included British and Russian commanders.