“Going back tomorrow?” she inquired to confirm.
“Yes.”
“There is more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?” she asked.
“Melanie, come on… don’t be a conspiracy nut.”
“You are not a good liar, Jazz. What happened in Texas? What really happened to those men?”
“Nothing… it is just like I told you.”
Melanie frowned at him, disbelievingly. She said nothing else as she put on her one-piece bathing suit, turned the baby monitor back on, grabbed a towel, and headed downstairs. Jazz realized that protecting Melanie from the dangers of his job was driving a wedge between them.
When Jazz walked into the interview room the next day, Cruz and T-Ball were leaning over the table, studying something.
“‘Morning.”
As they turned toward him, Jazz saw one of the IEDs from their incident in San Patricio on the table.
“Holy shit, where’d you get that? Have you guys captured another one?”
“No,” replied Cruz proudly. “It’s a replica.”
“Pretty impressive, huh, LT?” said T-Ball.
“Yeah, it looks exactly like the damn thing.”
Jazz studied the device closer. The mock-up appeared as if the builder was just about to finish the last stage of assembly. The lid was off, exposing the contents inside.
“Getting at this is going to be a sonofabitch,” reported T-Ball. “Are you guys going to work on a render safe procedure?”
“Yes, we have drafted an initial memo for distribution to all municipal bomb squads. Additionally, we are constructing a second replica that is a cut-away so the initiation methods and the explosive train can be studied. We’ll send a follow-up memo with a formal procedure if we are able.”
“Shit, good luck. Let us know if you have any success.”
“So what else do you need us for?” asked Jazz. Maybe you just wanted to see me again.
“We wanted you to look at our replica in order to verify its accuracy as you have already done. More importantly, I also wanted to inquire if you had any ideas.”
“We’ve been working on it for sure,” said Jazz. “I’ve actually started dreaming about it… but it is a tough one. My inclination right now is to clear folks out and let the thing function. Hardly an EOD solution is it?”
“No,” said Cruz. “But I agree, it is going to be a bitch.”
“Well, if we come up with something, we’ll let ya know.”
“Great, let me give you my card again.”
“Fine,” replied Jazz. “Here’s another copy of mine.”
T-Ball shot Jazz a look. Cruz sensed something. T-Ball’s face changed just as she turned toward him.
“Agent Cruz, do you have a name for this thing yet?” he asked feigning innocence.
“Actually, yes. It is called the SANPAT Bomb since it was found in San Patricio County.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Airline flights were one of the few times that he was able to relax. It was as if time stopped. There was nothing he could do except wait patiently until he landed. Nasih ceased to be concerned about customs long ago. There were no more accurate photos of him in the Western World. And in this part of the world, travel for him was especially easy. His appearance and coloring allowed him to fit in easily. He was unremarkable in Italy, Greece, Turkey, the Middle East, and now the Balkans.
He smiled looking out at the beautiful Albanian countryside rising toward him. “The Balkans,” directly translated to “A chain of wooded mountains.”
How appropriate, he thought.
On his flight to Stockholm the in-flight entertainment was an American movie about the CIA manufacturing a war in Albania. As he looked out to Albania’s mountains beyond the airliner’s starboard wing he remembered laughing during the film.
Nasih’s first visit was shortly after the coup in 1995. His superiors called it the new Lebanon, Tirane, the new Beirut. They could hide and thrive among the chaos, especially since their work was done in Afghanistan. Shortly after arriving the first time he realized the region’s name was astutely named. Nasih and several of his brethren used it as a base of operations ever since.
The climate was much more comfortable than Texas this time of year. He stepped down the ladder and onto the tarmac. One of his brothers was waiting outside the main terminal.
“I have already taken care of everything… we do not have to go in.”
“Well done. I hope that you did not pay too much.”
“No, I did not have to.”
“Good. It is not really necessary here, customs is merely an inconvenience.”
“The car is this way.”
They walked in silence in a moment, though they knew that nobody nearby understood their language.
“Everything is proceeding as we expected, except for the incident in Texas.”
“That is none of your concern… and it amounted to nothing. In fact it may have been a suitable test of our friends there and they did well.”
“Friends?” the shorter man said glancing sideways at Nasih.
“Well, infidel friends anyway.”
Nasih reminded himself not to speak of the tragedy of Green Leon. It was also none of the junior man’s concern.
There was no telling what a five year old would understand. Jazz and Melanie tried to prepare their sons for the six-month deployment. Tyler, the youngest, only knew that Daddy was going to leave for a long time. And he did not even comprehend what “long” was. His parents constantly reassured him that Daddy was not leaving the family only that he was going away. At the end of these conversations he always asked one more time, “But you are coming back, right, Dad?”
“That’s right, son,” Jazz would respond with a lump in his throat.
Going onboard the ship with Tyler was difficult. The stairs were too steep for his little legs. The strange sounds often startled or scared him. But Nicholas, the eldest of Jazz’s mancubs, at five, was old enough.
Father and son walked up the brow to Inchon’s quarterdeck. Jazz followed Nicholas, watching his feet carefully find each step.
God, he’s getting so big, Jazz thought to himself. How much will he change while I’m gone?
Nicholas grabbed his daddy’s hand as they headed aft toward his stateroom.
When Inchon and her task group departed in March 1999, it was to be the first deployment of an MCM flotilla. Inchon was already fully loaded on this Sunday afternoon in preparation for deployment to the Mediterranean and Arabian Seas.
There were four EOD detachments onboard. Four, Six, and Eight from EODMU SIX and Det Eleven from EODMU THREE in San Diego, California. Mobile Unit Six also brought the FARC as Fontaine had described with a crew of Diving Medical Technicians to operate and maintain it.
The EOD force structure included support personnel from supply clerks and yeoman to boat mechanics and Seabees. The underwater portion of the MCM triad was commanded by CDR Solarsky and would be commonly referred to as EODMU SIX FORWARD.
The whole of HM-15 embarked with their minesweeping helicopters. They brought more boats than the EOD Techs did to control launch and recovery of their sleds and sonar fish. The hangar had just enough space to perform maintenance on two helos if they were folded and stuffed. The rest nested on the flight deck.
HM-15 also brought the largest complement of officers. There were at least four officers for every aircraft onboard. Jazz guessed that there were almost forty of them.
Four Mine Countermeasures ships were to follow Inchon to the Med as part of the flotilla. Avenger, Pioneer, Gladiator, and Defender were to remain within sight of Inchon during the trans-Atlantic crossing like ducklings following their mother.