“What?” said Evans almost choking on the words. “How the fuck do you know that!”
“I can just tell. You’re polished but I can smell ‘TED’ all over you.”
“‘TED?’”
“‘Typical Enlisted Dude,’ no offense,” Jazz said trying to mimic Evans’ voice.
“Fuck you, Lieutenant.”
“No, fuck you, Evans. Who are you and what is going on? Do you work for the FBI?”
“How did you guess that?”
“First, how did you know that I was nervous about being questioned? Special Agent Cruz had to tell you. Second, you know too much about EOD and too many people to be acting the part, so you are a crab-wearer, but I think you were enlisted. Eleven-forties do not suggest to one another that their experience is lacking so flippantly. I think your Master crab is real… but I think that you were enlisted.”
Evans looked to one of the photos, frowning. Jazz watched him. Then he saw it, a camera lens was hidden in the corner. A microphone was probably behind the frame. This was an interrogation.
“Fine,” he said turning back to Jazz. “I’m with the FBI. Damn… you want a job?”
Evans slumped with defeat. He sighed heavily before beginning again. “I’m surprised you got me this quick. Before you get your panties all in a bunch, hold on and hear me out. I was in EOD and I am an officer, though not an 1140 as you so astutely pointed out, in the reserves.”
“What? Explain.”
“The bio I gave you is mostly true. I served twelve years in the Navy in EOD when I decided to get out. We don’t have the time or the beer required for me to tell you that story right now. I joined the FBI and became a Special Agent, but I stayed in the Naval Reserves. I was stationed at Mobile Unit Ten down there where you just were.”
“Fort Story?”
“Yep. Anyway, after two years in the reserves I was offered a commission as a Reserve Intelligence Officer.”
Suddenly the door opened and Special Agent Elena Cruz stepped in. Despite the circumstances, Jazz was still surprised.
“Lieutenant Jascinski, it is good to see you again,” she said extending her hand.
Cruz did not have a jacket on, which showed off her figure more than the first time they met. As Jazz shook her hand he noticed that her cream colored blouse was open at the neck.
One more button and I’d see cleavage.
Jazz reminded himself not to stare. He forced his eyes downward to Cruz’s waist. On her belt, she was wearing a sidearm, a badge, and handcuffs.
Jazz engaged her green eyes again through her dark rimmed glasses.
Sophisticated yet sexy.
Cruz smiled at him almost devilishly and said, “Why don’t we all sit down?”
Jazz and Evans sat at the conference table across from each other. Cruz topped off her coffee cup at the sidebar. While she took her time adding sugar and cream, Jazz could not help watching her. He tried to calm down, then he remembered she performed this same maneuver in Ingleside. She took her time with the notebook, ensuring everyone in the EOD conference room was made to feel that they were waiting for her.
This woman uses her feminine wares to keep men off balance.
Finally Cruz stood at the head of the table. She took off her glasses and looked at the two men. Evans seemed just as captivated as Jazz.
“Lieutenant Jascinski, I am to blame for this,” Cruz said in a conciliatory voice. “I thought this was the best way to retrieve accurate information from you and Petty Officer Ball. We were trying to create a low key, no pressure, ‘Please, help us.’ kind of environment. I have a murder investigation to run, one that certainly involves domestic terrorism. For understandable reasons, our first encounter was just not that helpful. You were clearly nervous, as we have said, and Chief Keating told me that your CO was pressuring you. I know how that is. My goal today was to remove that pressure and gain more insight to the deaths of your EOD brethren. Forgive me, but I am sure you can understand our motivation.”
Jazz calibrated his brain before speaking.
“I understand your motivation,” Jazz sat back in his chair, “but this isn’t about Martin and West is it? What I mean is… they are not really your main concern anymore. This is not about the murder investigation, it is about the IEDs.”
Cruz dropped her notebook to the table and looked at Jazz for a long moment.
“You are very perceptive, Lieutenant,” she said through a sly smirk.
“That’s what I said,” Evans interjected with a guffaw.
“How did you reach this conclusion?” inquired Cruz as she sat at the head of the table.
Her voice and demeanor changed. Jazz felt like suddenly there was real respect, as if he had genuinely broken a barrier with her.
“Because you are certain that Martin and West were murdered, not killed by an explosive accident. Which therefore means that my knowledge of the IEDs has next to nothing to do with their deaths. So, you think or you know that the bad guys, these terrorists, are going to or have already built more of the IEDs that T-Ball and I encountered.”
Cruz and Evans exchanged a knowing glance.
“You’re right,” she responded.
“Well, then let’s get down to business. Turn on your tape or your camera, or whatever. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”
Cruz had Jazz and T-Ball sit for two to four hour sessions, reviewing what happened and what they remembered again. They each reviewed the incident four times separately on the first day. Cruz then decided she obtained as much uninfluenced information as possible. The second day she had them review the incident together on the chance that they would stir more information from each other’s memory.
Emphasis was placed on the IEDs. The two EOD Techs described the devices and even drew what they remembered.
After two days, Cruz decided to take a break. Jazz and T-Ball were not, however, released to return to Ingleside.
“We may need you for a few more days. You must remain in the greater Washington DC area. We will contact you at your hotel when we need you again.”
Jazz left immediately to visit his family in Annapolis.
Melanie turned off the baby monitor next to the infant sleeping in the portable crib. The sound of their sons playing in the pool twenty feet below came through the open window. The Admiral sounded uncomfortable being in charge. The man who once commanded a squadron of destroyers was still figuring out how to be a grandfather.
Jazz closed the window silently. When he turned, Melanie was waiting for him on the bed. He lay beside her and put his arm around her. She rolled toward him and kissed him softly, throwing her leg over him.
His mother’s voice erupted from the kitchen.
“James!”
“Yes, Ma!” he yelled.
“Phone! A Mister Teebah for you!”
“Jazz! The baby!” Melanie hissed.
Jazz looked in the crib. Abigail stirred, but did not wake up. Melanie sighed heavily and sat up on the edge of the bed as he picked up the phone on the end table.
“T-Ball?” he said quietly.
He heard his mother hang up.
“Hey, sir. They want us back tomorrow morning.”
“Damnit, Melanie just got here.”
“Yeah, I was enjoying a mini-vacation myself. Oh well. At least we get to visit with Ms. Cruz again.”
“Shut-up.”
“I think she’s into you, LT.”
“I think you’ve been on the road too long,” Jazz lied. So maybe she is interested in me.
“Whatever, LT. You want me to pick you up somewhere?”
“Nah, I’ll see you there.”
“Roger.”
When he hung up the phone Melanie looked sick.