“He hates 1140s.”
“Great, who doesn’t? What else?”
“Denke is the exact opposite of Keating. Chief K is a diver with EOD skills. Denke is an operator first; totally high-speed, low-drag. Denke’s all about fastroping, parachuting, IEDs, patrolling. Operating with Marines and SEALs is his thing.”
Jazz remembered his conversation with Captain Solarsky about wannabe-SEALs in the EOD community.
“You said he’s from Two?” Jazz asked.
“Well, he grew up there, and is officially stationed there, but recently he has been somewhere else.”
“Yeah, Denke’s with the boys who deploy to La Spezia,” added Quinn.
“Yeah? I hear everyone talk of that place in hushed tones. What do they do there?” the OIC inquired.
“Black ops,” Quinn responded. “Nobody knows until they goes. I guarantee they ain’t sightseeing. Those boys are in the real shit. Point is, Denke is a bad motherfucker.”
“So why is he coming to an MCM team if he’s a pseudo-frog?”
“He needs an MCM tour to make Master Chief,” said T-Ball. “I’ll tell ya what, things are going to get interesting with Denke and Keating on the same team.”
Jazz noted that comment with silence. Being a new OIC with Keating had been easy. He wondered how he would lead a man like Denke.
After his morning rounds, Jazz spent most of the day in Det Four’s office. As the day was winding down, he drank cold coffee and typed away on his laptop completing the paperwork required post-exercise. Jazz felt administrative work was the bane of the officer’s existence. He had to write an after — action report for the command and review the logs from all of the detachment’s dives. He also had to write several messages. There was a message reporting use of explosives, a message reporting the training accomplished, sometimes he would even send a message changing the location for receiving messages.
Jazz looked up as Chief Keating threw his black backpack over his shoulder to leave for the day.
“Hey, LT.”
“What’s up, Chief?”
“You done good, sir.”
“Huh?”
“You did well out there this week. You’re not half bad for an 1140. ‘Course I’ll never admit that outside this door.”
Jazz wondered if Keating’s comment was genuine or if he was prepping Jazz for Denke’s arrival.
“Thanks, Chief.”
“You’re still blue though.”
SIXTEEN
Jazz finished the last of his paperwork when T-Ball opened the door.
“Sir, we got a call. I think you should take it.”
The “sir” in T-Ball’s voice registered seriousness. Jazz was also surprised when the petty officer followed him into the office. Jazz sat at his desk and picked up the phone.
“Lieutenant Jascinski, can I help you?”
“Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Weaver, I’m the shift desk sergeant for San Patricio Police Department. We need your help. We have entered a residence that appears to have military explosives inside…”
“Whoa, hold on, Sergeant, let me get a pen.”
When Jazz looked up, T-Ball handed him the IED binder and a pen.
“Okay, Sergeant, shoot.”
“Well, sir, there’s this old woman who owns a house north of town. She has been renting it to some guy; we’re not sure who. Anyway he’s been missing a few days and she stopped in to look on things. She went into the basement and found what she thought originally was drugs or something. Point is, she thought it was strange. She called us, so we sent a patrolman out… who went in with her. He saw in the basement what he believes to be military explosives.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No, sir. We think he might be right, so naturally we decided to call you.”
“Okay. Wait one,” Jazz put his hand over the phone and spoke to T-Ball. “We have military explosives in a civilian home out in town. San Patricio County is asking our assistance. Who else is in house?”
“Just you and me, sir. Everyone else has left for the day.”
“Okay, get the MU Six command duty officer on the phone.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Jazz turned back to the phone. “Thanks for waiting, Sergeant. Now I need you to help me paint a more precise picture of what you got there. Can I assume you have this place secured and are watching for this guy to show up?”
“Yes, sir. We have a roadblock on both routes into this place. We have a photo of him and a description of his vehicle. The house itself is cordoned off and we have all kinds of uniforms around.”
“I recommend that you pull back away from the house as far as reasonable. You never know if this guy may have placed a booby trap in there.”
“We thought of that. Nobody has disturbed anything.”
“Good. Okay, I need some more questions answered.”
Jazz got as much information out of Sergeant Weaver as he could, including his phone number. When he hung up, T-Ball pointed to the phone on Chief Keating’s desk.
“Lieutenant Harmon on button four, sir,”
Jazz met Harmon while they were at EOD school. Harmon was in the Navy class ahead of Jazz’s.
“Thanks, Ball, start a recall — get everyone in here.”
“Roger that, sir.”
T-Ball sat back down at Keating’s desk and began dialing. Jazz punched the button flashing on his phone.
“Harmon, Jazz here.”
“Jazz, what’s up man?”
“Did Ball tell you anything?”
“Yeah, explosives in some guy’s house.”
“Right. I’ve been told never to roll without calling you guys.”
“Cool, got it. Well, I got the CO on the other line. T-Ball said they were military explosives.”
“Suspected.”
“Right, suspected military explosives. So the CO said go and advise. No RSPs, no blowing in place. No countering booby traps.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Take your cell phone and call us when you get things figured out.”
“Got it.”
“Hooya, brother.”
T-Ball again pointed to the phone on Jazz’s desk.
“Chief Keating, button two. I’m going in the back to load gear, sir.”
“Chief?”
“Wassup, sir?”
“San Patricio PD asking for assistance in a house. They found what they believe to be military explosives. I know you guys just got home…”
“I’m not coming in, sir.”
“What?”
“You and T-Ball can handle this. What did the mobile unit say?”
“We are to advise the San Pats on…”
“Advise, sir, advise. Take a radio, a cell phone, a pad of paper, and the digital camera. Call us if you need us.”
“But, Chief…”
“Sir, you are going to a secure area where they suspect there may be military explosives that are undoubtedly in a storage configuration. Could there be booby traps… maybe… okay so take your flak gear. Be careful, that is what they pay you the big bucks for. If a render safe procedure needs to be done, wait and let the Seven-Niner-Seven do it. Got it?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Be safe, sir, I’ll be by the phone.”
The detachment’s pickup truck was not obvious in South Texas. Fortunately the police on scene were briefed that some Navy bomb squad technicians would be arriving. A patrolman on the perimeter directed the Techs to the police command post. Jazz walked up to the first plainclothes officer he saw.
“Howdy, I’m Lieutenant Jascinski, Navy EOD from Ingleside.”
“Great, I’m Detective Iglesias. We’ll have someone escort you in, sir.”
“That may not be necessary. Could we get a map?”
“Uh, sure.”
By the time he got back to the dually, T-Ball had already put on a flak vest and a Kevlar helmet with a large face shield attached. Jazz noted that the sailor was affixing his IED thigh pouch, which hung from his rigger’s belt. T-Ball snapped the leg strap holding it in place, then he helped Jazz to don his vest and helmet.