Mission accomplished;-)
— 21 —
Seaman Dwight Hagan, along with a dozen sailors from the EMALS team, had been sitting in the Air Department lobby for nearly two hours. Hagan was part of the technical group testing the brand-new Electromagnetic Aircraft Launch System in the Ford-class carrier that had replaced traditional steam catapults.
A man wearing faded jeans and a tight blue T-shirt stepped through the bulkhead leading to the office area.
The twenty-one-year-old navy technician noticed two things about him. First, the large white letters spelling NCIS stenciled across his blue T-shirt. And second, the black firearm holstered on his right hip. Word around the ship was that an army of NCIS agents had arrived earlier in the day aboard two Sea King helicopters. No one quite knew what they were doing there, but nearly everyone on the ship had been given a time to be interviewed.
“Seaman Hagan… Dwight Hagan?” he said, reading from a clipboard.
“That’ll be me,” he replied, standing.
“Good afternoon,” the man said in a pleasant voice. “I’m Senior Field Agent Bob Vanmeter, NCIS. Please come this way.”
They walked to one of the small staterooms in officers’ country.
“Have a seat and relax,” Vanmeter advised as he shut the joiner door. “This is an informal interview in regard to security measures aboard the Ford.”
Hagan folded his hands in his lap as he sat across a small table from the agent, who began with a few pleasantries, asking about Hagan’s family and where he had been born and raised. Then, after a few minutes, Vanmeter paused, looked at his folder, and then found Hagan’s gaze. “So, how you like the navy so far?”
Hagan felt more comfortable with the agent. “I like it fine, sir. I’ve always been mechanically inclined, so working in EMALS is awesome. Plus, I like to travel. Looking forward to our first deployment after we wrap up the trials.”
“How are we looking so far?”
He gave him a thumbs-up. “Great ship, sir. First-class.”
“It sounds like you know where you’re going,” Vanmeter said in a friendly voice. “And I see you have a security clearance. Secret, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does anyone ever try to get you to divulge information you shouldn’t?” Vanmeter asked, the tone of his voice almost conspiratorial, before he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You know, we’ve all been there. Mom wants to know if we’ll be home for Thanksgiving. High-school buddy wants to know if we’re going to the reunion. Or a guy at a bar asks about something he saw on TV and wants the inside scoop. That sort of thing.”
Drawing a blank, Hagan slowly shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
The agent paused a moment, glancing at Hagan’s enlisted service record. “I see from your files that you’re single.”
“Yes, sir,” Hagan said flatly, his eyes shifting to his service folder.
“Has anyone ever asked you about the ship’s movement?” Vanmeter suddenly asked in a different, emotionless tone of voice.
“Sir?” Hagan replied, blinking.
“Has anyone asked questions about the carrier’s schedule, when it’s departing or returning to port? Where it’s going?”
Hagan shook his head… and then he thought of his girlfriend.
“Carol,” he finally said. “She’s asked me a number of times, but just because she wants to make plans.”
Vanmeter paused, leafing through a few sheets of paper, then back at Hagan. “Who’s Carol?”
“My girlfriend. She just wanted to know if I was going to be home for the weekend. Again, so she could make plans.”
“What did you say?”
Hagan shrugged. “Everyone aboard knows we’re wrapping the trials today and will be back at port tomorrow night, sir.”
“So, you told her yes? You would be back in time for the weekend?”
Suddenly feeling a touch of guilt, he said, “Yes, sir. Three days ago. She’s picking me up at the pier.”
Vanmeter’s gaze narrowed. “I see. What’s her last name?”
“Carol, ah Carol Cline,” Hagan answered.
The agent’s friendly smile vanished. “Does she have email?”
“Um,” Hagan started, then realized they only communicated via text, so he told Vanmeter that.
“Okay. Got your phone?”
Hagan handed over his phone, which Vanmeter set aside.
“Where does Carol live?” Vanmeter asked with casual curiosity. “Does she have an apartment, or a home?”
“Home.”
The agent stared at Hagan for a long moment. “Do you spend a lot of time there?”
“Actually… no,” he replied, suddenly feeling concerned. “I’ve never been to her home.”
“How long have you known her?”
“About five months.”
Vanmeter raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve never seen her place?”
Hagan shrugged, embarrassed. He then explained, in torturous fashion, about the husband, the separation, and the ban on Carol having men in their home.
“You live in navy housing, yes? Barracks?”
Hagan nodded.
“And you’ve never seen her place? So, what did you do when you wanted some alone time?” Vanmeter smiled. “I mean, I’m assuming a red-blooded American guy like you closed the deal, right? You haven’t been saving yourself for marriage, have you?”
Hagan laughed also. “No, sir. Not saving myself. We just got a motel room for date nights.”
“Dwight, did you use different motels or hotels?”
“No, sir. We always used the Newport News Inn on Jefferson Avenue. They have free HBO and Starz.”
The agent nodded, wrote down the name of the motel, and asked a number of follow-up questions. In short order, Hagan gave him the description of Carol’s yellow Mustang convertible and the number for her cell phone.
“Do you have any recent photographs of her?” Vanmeter asked without looking up. “Any selfies of the two of you?”
“Well, I know this sounds weird, but she’s hated having her picture taken since she was a child.”
“Okay,” Vanmeter continued, as though he heard that sort of thing every day. “So, what does she look like? Pretty?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Hagan replied enthusiastically. “Very pretty. She’s on the shorter side, maybe five-four, with long, dark hair, brown eyes. In great shape. She likes to run.”
“Nice ass?” Vanmeter asked, grinning.
“Hell, yes. Bounce a quarter off that, I tell you,” Hagan answered enthusiastically. Suddenly they were buddies, talking about women.
“So, where’s she from? Do you know how old she is?”
“Um, I think she’s from Saint Louis. She said her family moved a lot when she was a kid. She’s twenty-eight,” Hagan said, relieved he knew some of the answers.
“So, seven years older than you,” the agent pointed out. “What about family? Does she have any children?”
“The only thing I know is that she was born in Louisiana. She never mentioned anything about her family, other than her husband. She didn’t want to talk about him.”
Vanmeter rose from his chair, placed a reassuring hand on Hagan’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “Dwight, you stay here. Be back in a few.”
“Yes, sir,” Hagan said with growing concern.
Vanmeter picked up Hagan’s cell phone and stopped himself as he was headed out. “Dwight, what’s the access code?”
Hagan could feel his heart beating. The minutes passed slowly as he waited. His hands trembled before he clamped his left hand over his right.