“What!”
“The truck blew up on their trip north. We’re about to get a lot of questions. The base CDO called me, apparently there are a bunch of cops on their way over here to ask us questions we don’t wanna answer.”
“Fuck. Call the Mobile Unit CDO. I’ll get T-Ball.”
Twenty minutes later Jazz was in the shop. Chief Keating looked up as he entered the office.
“Here he is, Captain, I’m gonna put ya on hold a second.”
Jazz sat at his desk.
“CO. He wants to know details on what went down at the ranch house, button two.”
He hit the flashing light on his phone.
“Lieutenant Jascinski, sir.”
“Jazz, what the fuck is going on?”
“Sir, I don’t know.”
“Well I need answers damnit! I got everyone from the CNO on down calling me asking ‘What the fuck?’”
“Sir, I hate to sound like Pontius Pilate, but we did nothing to disturb the explosives. We turned everything over to CCPD and were gone before the Army guys were even there.”
“What? You did not turn it over to the Army?”
“Uh, no, sir. I made the appropriate recommendations and departed.”
“You dumb Polack, I told you to wait until the Army arrived to ensure a complete and thorough turnover!”
“Sir, that was not my understanding. Once we made our recommendations there was no value in remaining there. The material was in a stable condition.”
“There were IEDs there correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You call that ‘stable?’”
“Should I have conducted a render safe procedure, sir? My understanding of our charter here is that anything above the high water mark I merely identify and advise. I only perform render safe procedures in extremis. This was not an extremis situation. The shit was just sitting there.”
“You should have conducted a turnover with the 797th.”
“Sir, if they can’t…”
“The point, Lieutenant, is that they’re dead. They are fucking charred black remains on the highway and you are the last remaining competent authority who was on scene!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re hosed, Lieutenant. You are about to be visited by the FBI. Answer their questions then call me back. I expect your crab in the mail by sundown.”
Solarsky hung up. Jazz held onto the phone a moment then replaced it.
It was obvious that Keating knew the general tone of the discussion with the CO.
“Sir, don’t worry. I’m sure this is going to work out.”
“He has a point, Chief. Two men are dead and I’m the only supposedly competent guy left standing.”
“Sir, it is common knowledge that how we respond in town is hosed up. You are going to be fine. Those Army guys, rest their souls whoever they were, made a mistake. They smoked in the vehicle, or didn’t secure the stuff correctly. I mean, what were you gonna do, tell them how to pack their truck? They were EOD just like you and me. They knew what to do; they knew the risks.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jazz saw a San Patricio Police cruiser pull into the parking lot. Just then T-Ball arrived.
“Hey, sir. Hi, Chief. Did you see the cops behind me?”
“Yeah. We’ll do this in the conference room,” answered Jazz.
“Anything you want me to know before they step in the door?”
“Just tell it like it is, T-Ball.”
“Sir, this is some scary shit.”
“No kidding.”
Jazz surveyed the police officers approaching the conference room. He recognized Detective Iglesias from the incident. Behind the detective was a San Patricio uniformed officer and two other plain-clothes officers. One was a relatively casually dressed man. The second was a very attractive Latino woman.
“Good morning, gentlemen, ma’am. Welcome to EOD Mobile Unit Six, Detachment Four. I’m Lieutenant Jascinski.”
Iglesias extended his hand. “I’m sure you remember me, Lieutenant. I’m Detective Iglesias. You may recognize the other San Patricio officer with me, he is Sergeant Weaver. This is Agent Atkins of the ATF and Special Agent Elena Cruz of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Everyone exchanged handshakes and business cards. Jazz pointed them into the conference room and followed them.
Jazz was taken aback by the FBI agent. Special Agent Cruz looked more like a business woman than a federal agent. She was dressed in a dark pinstripe suit that complemented her figure. It was just on the edge between “attractive” and “sexy.” She clearly had a long mane of black hair, but it was tied up.
Very elegant, Jazz thought.
She turned around just before walking into the conference room and smiled at him.
Keating and T-Ball were already sitting at one end of the conference room table. They both gave him a look as Cruz sat down. Jazz introduced them to the officers, saving Special Agent Cruz of the FBI for last.
More cards and pleasantries were exchanged as Jazz walked around the table and sat next to Chief Keating. Iglesias and Weaver sat to one side. Their body language told Jazz that they were here only to represent their department and make introductions. Iglesias did not pull out a notebook or paper as his federal counterparts did.
Atkins appeared as the three EOD Techs did, as if he had just woken up. It was obvious that he had not shaved or combed his hair in the last twenty-four hours. He rubbed his eyes as if trying to stay awake. On the belt holding his worn jeans up and rumpled polo shirt in was a badge that identified him as an Agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.
Cruz was another matter. Though she clasped a coffee cup, she appeared more together in dress and demeanor. She pulled out a pair of dark-rimmed glasses from a case and put them on with a hint of drama. Cruz picked up her coffee and blew on it through pursed lips as she considered her notebook. Jazz realized every man in the room was gawking at her. They all remained dazed as Cruz began sipping her coffee and flipping through her notebook. The fact that everyone was waiting for her told Jazz that Cruz was the one in charge of this meeting in more ways than one. He decided to get the ball rolling.
“Uh, how can we help you this morning?” Jazz said.
Cruz held up a manicured finger. She adjusted her glasses and flipped again through her notebook. Atkins made a show of looking through his notepad again and uncapping a pen, but Jazz decided that he was right, Cruz was the lead in the investigation. She finally spoke, turning to the men from San Patricio.
“Detective, Sergeant, would you leave us for a moment?”
Iglesias looked puzzled.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Cruz smiled sweetly at them as they left. Jazz did not know why, but beyond the sex appeal, something about the agent made him feel nervous. She waited until Iglesias and Weaver left the conference room before turning back to Jazz.
“Lieutenant Jascinski, we have some questions regarding the accident that occurred yesterday. Are you familiar with all the items in the explosive vehicle?”
Jazz almost melted at her husky voice. His brain froze a moment as he considered the possibilities. Cruz looked slightly over her glasses at him, her face holding just a hint of amusement. She knew what synapses were firing in his head… she was used to this reaction.
Jazz finally snapped out of it. “Yes, ma’am, in the sense that I knew it was C-4 and blasting caps. We work with those items commonly. In fact they were military. I believe they were stolen.”
“You are correct. We’ll get to that in a minute. What else was there?”
Now Atkins began writing furiously. Perhaps he was merely here to take notes for Cruz.
“Well, there were some IEDs there, or at least what Petty Officer Ball and I believed to be IEDs.”