Hale looked at him in embarrassment. “Just a signature, sir.”
McCann signed the paperwork and shoved it back into the security director’s hands.
“I can have one of the men drive you down to the dock, sir.”
McCann looked out through the glass. He didn’t see any of the shipyard security vehicles. He could only imagine how long he’d have to wait for them to bring one of those around. The rain seemed to have eased a little for the moment.
“No,” he said as he walked out the door and started down the hill to the shipyard.
There was certainly a different face on the yard at this hour. McCann took a deep breath as he walked down the steep hill, being careful not to slip on the wet pavement. The little dispute at security station had let him release some steam, but he didn’t feel much better.
He had one stop to make at the barge that housed the NAVSEA offices before boarding Hartford. That was what he needed, familiar territory. At the bottom of the hill, he turned down an alley that led to an area called the Wet Docks, where subs sat tied to piers during the final stages of construction before finally being commissioned by the navy. Because of some repairs Electric Boat was making to a number of those piers, there had been no open berths in the Wet Docks for his ship yesterday, so he’d been directed to tie up at the dock nearest the North Yard Ways. Since there was no new construction going on up there now, it actually made sense to use one of those docks.
McCann strode past the old brick Pipe Shop that was located at the head of a cluster of piers, then walked down a dimly lit alley that wove between other production shops to the gray navy barge. Most of the smaller shops were dark, but the few that had lights on inside seemed devoid of personnel. He tried to remember whose idea it was to get this job started at such a godforsaken hour. Definitely not his.
McCann finally crossed a small catwalk onto the navy barge. In the NAVSEA inspection office, a clerk had a file folder ready for him, and in just a few minutes the submarine commander was working his way back through the Wet Docks.
During the handful of times he’d been involved with different production issues in the shipyard, he’d heard a few stories about these alleys. About vendettas being paid with the flash of a blade and bodies reappearing only at the turn of the next tide. It was true, he thought; anyone could commit murder in one of these alleys and get away unseen. Like every shipyard, this one had its own unwritten code of conduct, its own methods of meting out justice.
The alleys were protected from the wind, but McCann could feel the rain coming down harder. He picked up his pace.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadowy form of a rat the size of a small cat scurrying along the base of the brick wall of a shop not ten feet from him. He watched it disappear into a corner behind some rusting metal barrels. As it did, a door slammed inside the building, rattling one of the smoke-blackened windows.
Intent on watching the rodent, McCann wasn’t aware of the figure emerging from the shadows and blocking his path until he nearly collided with him. He stopped short.
In the darkness, the white hardhat was the first thing that caught his eye. He was a member of the shipyard management.
“Lieutenant Commander Parker?” the voice asked.
McCann stood corrected. She was a member of shipyard management.
“No. Commander McCann. Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry for the confusion, sir. I’m Amy Russell, the ship superintendent assigned to the Hartford for this job. I was told I could meet with the executive officer before I brought my crew on board.”
“Hartford is my ship,” he said pointedly. “There was an emergency that my X.O. needed to take care of this morning. I’m in charge.”
“An emergency?”
“That’s right.”
“Good thing for him you guys didn’t sail, after all.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“Plus, we get the top dog.” She tucked the clipboard she was carrying under one arm and held out her hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Not out loud, anyway. My mouth tends to run sometimes.”
He shook her hand. She had a firm, confident grip. Because of the hardhat and the poorly lit alley, he couldn’t make out her face. And with the layers of clothes and the steel-toed boots the yardbirds wore, men and women all looked the same. From her voice, he guessed she was young.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Russell?”
“It’s Amy,” she said. “I’m in charge of the repair on your boat’s electrostatic gyro navigator.”
“Were you also in charge of the initial installation?” he asked sharply.
“Not on the Hartford, I wasn’t,” she said, not missing a beat. “And yes, I know this specific system went through an overhaul only four months ago. And no, there’s no excuse for it to fail.”
He was glad she’d done some of her homework. “I was told you have a replacement system on hand.”
“We do. The supplier of the ESGN on your boat is the marine navigation division of SPAWAR, the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center, in San Diego. As it happens, we have three systems, refurbished with fiber optics and ready for installation. They were scheduled for other jobs, but we can switch any of them to the Hartford, so long as we’re sure what revision level your system was installed at.”
“Don’t you have drawings and specs level that tell you that?”
“We do. But the call for this job came at 6:00 p.m. last night. Our engineering department in charge of these systems closes up shop way before that. And I didn’t get in until little bit after ten, too late to even get the San Diego people on the line. And since then, I’ve been running around trying to put together crew, material, and testing equipment for your job. And that’s not the easiest thing to do these days on third shift. Especially when you are talking about a system as major as this one. I wasn’t even counting on the possibility of having three different rev levels of it on the shelf.”
The rain was pounding sideways again. McCann wanted to get out of it. “From my experience working with Electric Boat and Newport News, this all sounds routine, Ms….Ms….”
“Russell. Amy.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that nothing you’ve said is relevant, from my perspective,” he said curtly. “Your shipyard management agreed to turn this job around in less than twenty-four hours. Not even having started this installation, you appear overwhelmed. My recommendation is that you bow out, Ms. Russell, and let someone with more experience take charge here.”
She turned her head and mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like “arrogant bastard.”
“Did you say something?”
“Faster,” she said brusquely. “This job will get done much faster if I’m left to do it. Unless you want your sub tied up to our dock for a couple of extra days, my suggestion is that you cooperate a little and let me get the job done.”
McCann momentarily considered making a call to move her off of the assignment. He didn’t have anything against her age or gender. Experience, though, mattered a hell of a lot.
“How familiar are you with the system?” he asked.
“Very. I managed three installations on 688-class upgrades, and one for a SRA, Selected Restricted Availability, on the Seawolf.”
The cold rain was starting to trickle down his neck. “What do you need from me?”
“I want to see and test the system and determine the revision level before I bring the crew and material on board.”
“Sea trials are over. We’re not going for any spin around Long Island Sound so you can test the system.”