“The United States is a perfect environment for this. Slip between rural areas and the forest. If you are clean-shaven, grow a beard. If you have long hair, shave your scalp. It is easy to move in and out of society.”
The last sip of coffee was cold and filled with grounds. He poured it in the soil at his feet, and stuffed the mug into the top of his pack. Gabriel hefted it onto his back and started on the trail. He predicted to himself that he would not see anyone on the trail today.
All he needed now was a room with cable television, a place to hide out for a few days. If he were really lucky he would find one near a truck stop with an internet café.
Men at sea develop rituals. Some evolve from tradition like the zaniness of the Shellback initiation that occurs when crossing the line of the equator. Some men even develop rituals or a routine so that they can remember what time of day it is.
Jazz developed a ritual while onboard Anzio. Before each watch he would head aft in the passageway in officer’s country. He would emerge onto the aft missile deck and take in the seas, the horizon, and the sky.
The habit developed after two weeks of standing watch as an Anti-Air Warfare Coordinator in Anzio’s Combat Information Center. After he was relieved from watch, Jazz went to the wardroom. He was looking forward to a good breakfast. When he joined the mess, he realized that it was dinner. Lack of sleep, sunshine, and living watch to watch destroyed his sense of time. From that day forth he took a look outside on his way to CIC.
Denke and Jazz developed a Sunday evening ritual. They met on Inchon’s flight deck after dinner to discuss their plans for the rest of the week.
Every evening, several members of the crew jogged about the deck. Tonight, sailors from HM-15 were busy washing the last of the helos removing salt and grime from the sea and the dirt of Albania. Jazz watched rainbows of fuel oil in the pools of water on deck slosh back and forth as Inchon gently rocked to and fro in the swells of the Adriatic.
Denke emerged from the island superstructure on the starboard side of MCS-12.
“Evening, LT. What do we have planned for this week?”
“I’ve got some news, Senior Chief… news that I suspect will overjoy you.”
“What’s that?”
“T-Ball and I are leaving.”
Denke looked at Jazz quizzically.
“Apparently Cruz wants us back at TECHDIV. They want us to give them info on the magazines in Albania.”
“So why you? Why not Ironhorse and his boys?”
“Benny or one of the others may be coming too, but the Feds seem to think that the guys in Albania are related to the guys in Italy also.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No, if you think about it, this all makes sense. Now we got a group in Texas, a group in Italy, and one here in Albania that all are in cahoots. Frankly, it scares the shit outta me.”
“Damn it.”
“What?”
“I should have stayed in La Spezia.”
Now it was Jazz’s turn to look silently at Denke.
“Don’t ask, LT. So this means that I have the det short two guys. No problem, we are almost on the backside of the float anyway. You’re gonna miss Palma.”
“No kidding. I hope I am back by then.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. Will you send T-Ball up to see me? I’d like to tell him.”
“Sure, I’ll have him in your stateroom by nineteen thirty. And you know you’re right, LT.”
“About what?”
“I am overjoyed.”
Jazz couldn’t discern if Denke’s grin was portraying sarcasm or true happiness.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Jazz and T-Ball flew on a CH-46 from Inchon to Sigonella. From there they flew commercial to Rome, Atlanta, and Baltimore. They both rented compact cars and headed south on Route 3/301 to Waldorf, Maryland.
As soon as he got to his hotel room, Jazz called Melanie.
“Hello.”
“Hey, hon. I made it in to Waldorf okay.”
“Oh, thank God,” Melanie said with a quivering voice. “I feel better knowing that you are back on U.S. soil.”
The kids were in bed, so the couple talked for twenty minutes, planning their time off when Jazz returned. They decided that the best thing to do would be to take a road trip to see family and friends.
Finally Melanie said, “Jazz, I need to talk about something serious.”
“What, hon?”
He could hear trepidation in her voice.
“I’m thinking we need to get out.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yes.”
“Hon, are you alright?”
“I am alright, we are okay… but we have three kids now, Jazz. I don’t know if I can do this again.”
“Uh, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything and don’t worry. I will be here when you finally get back. I just want you to think about it and be prepared to talk about it when you get back for good.”
“Uh, okay, hon.”
“I love you, Jazz.”
“I love you too.”
Jazz lay back on the bed after he hung up the phone and looked at the ceiling. He thought for a moment and realized that he was not surprised.
Four days after leaving Inchon Jazz sat at the same EODTECHDIV conference table from months before.
“Well, Lieutenant, this time your visit is tacitly different,” said Elena Cruz.
The veil in her words was not lost on her. She sat down on the corner of the table, crossed her legs and looked at Jazz and T-Ball. Each of them had a folder set in front of them. She realized that she had to proceed very cautiously. Elena purposely left her glasses on.
“Last time we needed information on the IEDs only. We still want that, and it will be part of our discussion. The focus this time is different. As you suggested, we now believe that there is a real possibility that the group in San Patricio, the terrorists in Rome, and the magazine in Albania are related.”
The pair was holding on to her every word. Elena reminded herself to keep Jascinski off balance, but not to flirt too much.
“Naturally, you two gentlemen are our best source of information because you are linked to all three incidents.”
Elena tried not to wince at her faux pas.
Be careful damnit! she thought to herself.
“I need you to review the evidence compiled here, be ready to answer more questions, and hopefully provide more information for this investigation. The difference is that now we are well beyond trying to learn anything about the SANPAT bomb. Now we hope that you may actually help us to crack this terrorist ring.”
Elena paused to gather her thoughts. She looked at the faces of the two EOD Techs before her and decided that she was still doing well.
“Take the morning to review the reports. Write notes down on any thoughts that you have regarding their content, however insignificant it may seem to you. I’ll be back this afternoon to discuss with Special Agent Pucharelli from the office in Rome. Okay?”
“We got it, ma’am,” replied Jazz.
“Lieutenant, please, call me ‘Elena.’” There, now flash the smile.
“Okay, Elena. Please call me ‘Jazz,’ all of my friends do. We look forward to helping in any way we can.”
Despite the fact that rush hour should have passed, there was traffic across the Woodrow Wilson Bridge.
Thank God I don’t have to drive in this everyday, Elena thought. She could see stress in the shoulders of the man in the driver’s seat and was glad that she was not the one driving in it now. She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate and rest at the same time.