“And they blamed you?”
“Well, there was an inquiry, of course. I had been up there solo. My radio operator was in the rear with the gear, down with Tito’s revenge. The Brit radio operator said I called danger, not danger close. The Italians were furious, in their inimitable style. They went up the UN chain of command, looking for blood. My bosses were terribly embarrassed-Marines are supposed to be experts at this spotting business. It got public.”
“Could you prove your story?”
“Not initially. He said/they said, deal. But then, after I’d been relieved of all duties and sent out of theater, a British signals intelligence outfit came out of the weeds and said they’d had a multitrack tape recorder monitoring the local tactical circuits. They had me on tape. They took it to the Brit artillery people, who fessed up. Like I said, the Brits did the right thing, but by then, my bosses had publicly hung me out to dry, and they weren’t willing to admit they’d screwed up twice. The Marine Corps had been getting ready to court-martial me. Instead, they gave me the choice between the court or taking the ceremonial detail posting to the Academy. Naturally, I took it.”
“How many people died?”
“All nine of them. Direct hit. The Marine Corps kindly made me go face the families. Not fun.”
“God. And afterward? After it came out that it wasn’t you?”
“Came out? Nothing came out. And no one was going to convince the signoras. That damage was well and truly done. Bosnia, Kosovo, that whole peacekeeping scene was a major cluster fuck. I still feel guilty, even though I didn’t cause it to happen. I was part of it.”
“So your career in the Marines went permanently south.”
“Yup. The Corps never forgets.”
“Did the people here at the Academy know the story?”
“The Marines did. I assume somebody briefed the supe. Oh, and did I tell you the Italians had some kids up there? Some local kids-they ran wild over there-had climbed down into the Italian position, begging for food, hanging out. Ground them up, too.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, shit. So that’s why I’m in this ‘nothing’ job.”
She was quiet for a minute. “You associate a career with the chance to get into another mess like that?”
Jim thought about it. “I guess I do. Sometimes, when I get to brooding, I refocus on what’s right in front of me. A pretty day in the harbor. The pleasure of polishing my boat. A nice wine. A pretty lady. Keeping it simple, here, boss.”
She nodded. “I appreciate your telling me this. It explains a lot. Now I just want to cry.”
“When I think about all that, so do I, Special Agent. You better get back to bed.”
She gave him a long look, then nodded and quietly left the cabin. Jim didn’t know what to think, so he went back to sleep, hoping not to dream about that ravaged red hillside far away.
Went bowling last night. Not duck pins-more like fuck pins. It was really kind of funny, watching those cops doing the funky chicken trying to get away from my little surprise. Running around down there like scared rabbits. And then I talked to them on their own radio circuit-that was perfect. They still don’t get it. Those are my tunnels, not their tunnels. They think they can catch me with motion detectors, and then they come up on a clear tactical radio frequency and let me listen. Keystone Kops. They ought to be making movies. And when it was all over? They just leave. I think they don’t like it down there. I saw a couple of the Yard cops, and they were spending more time looking around at all that concrete than they were looking for me. I could have reached out and touched two of them once I put the lights out. Too bad I didn’t have my vampire rags. Tap one of those fat bastards on the shoulder and give him a quick look and a big old friendly hiss? Would have had two moving sewage leaks.
The security guy is the one behind all this. Messing with my tag. Bringing that redhead agent down there with him. You know who I mean. The one that goes around here showing off her legs while shining that untouchable attitude. She’s not even pretty, not like some of my classmates, right? No, she’s a hard case. Talks tough. Hell on wheels when it comes to hassling mids, but not so good when she comes down into my part of our dear old Academy. I’m going to have to deal with her, too, I think. Word is, she’s hassling the hell out of a bunch of firsties. Over that Dell thing. Well, shit. I guess they have to go through the motions, don’t they? I mean, plebe does a Peter Pan, God, I love that line, and at least they have to seem like they’re doing something about a mess like that. Have you seen the newspapers? Banging on about the hazing, how it’s getting out of hand. Hell, that wasn’t hazing. I think it was like the ultimate come-around. You know, like the TV show? Come around, plebe. Or maybe, Come on down! Damned if he didn’t. And dressed for the occasion, too.
I can read the Executive Department E-mails. Did you know that? Can’t read the ones from NCIS-they’re encrypted, so that’s that. Too hard. But I can read everything the little dant’s efficient assistant is sending out, and isn’t he a regular motormouth. I think my little deal here is going to work. I think someone’s going down-ahem, that was a poor choice of words, I guess. I think someone’s going to be blamed for what happened to Baby Brian Dell. Not the precious system, either. I think someone’s going to be “responsible” in part-yes, that’s the term they’re using. Responsible in part, so they can point and say, There he is. Or is it, There she is? Yes, I think this is going to work. But first, I need to attend to a loose end. Someone who knows a little more than he should. Probably because someone else talked too much. People shouldn’t talk so much. Either way, I’m going to up the ante somewhat. Try my hand at some electrical work, right here in Mother Bancroft. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you hear about it. Yes, you will.
Meantime, I think I’ll go sharpen my dress sword. Now there’s a thing of beauty. It doesn’t talk, doesn’t make phone calls, doesn’t send E-mails. It just hangs there in my closet along with my Marine dress blues. I put my gloves on before I handle it. Keeps it nice and shiny. I’ve got one right-hand glove that’s got a dozen cuts across the thumb where I test the blade. It’s not really supposed to be sharp, you know, or maybe you don’t. It’s just for ceremonies. But then, I know some ceremonies that aren’t in the drill manual, if you catch my drift. I can shave with that thing; that’s how sharp it is. Actually, I can’t shave myself-a little awkward. But I can shave somebody else, and I did, just once.
Some little guy. Into occasional high-risk gymnastics. Said he wanted to fly. And so he did.
12
On Thursday morning, Jim went upstairs to the supe’s office to see the commandant’s schedule for the day. He wanted to back-brief him on the previous day’s events. The commandant, however, had gone to Washington for the day with the superintendent. Admiral McDonald’s executive assistant declined to share with Jim the purpose of the trip. Jim took the horse-holder’s rebuff in stride and went to find some coffee at the mess table. Two junior officers were talking there, so he poured a cup of coffee and then joined them.
“So where are the elephants off to this morning?” he asked no one in particular. One of the JO’s said he’d heard that the supe was briefing SecNav on some personnel issues. “You know, this Dell mess. And something about an NCIS agent getting beat up? Like out in town?”
Jim pretended this was all news to him and headed for his office, where he put a call in to Branner. “You hear from Midshipman Hays yet?” he asked when she picked up.
“There’s a message from him,” she said. “Wants a meet at twelve hundred.”
“Want me there?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “What’s the word from the head shed?”
“Big and not so big are in D.C., briefing the SecNav on ‘personnel issues’ scuttlebutt here is that it’s the Dell case and what happened to Bagger.”