“This is bullshit, XO,” Doc Reed muttered.
“Shh!” Graves warned.
However Hamilton, who had overheard, agreed with Reed. “You got that right, Doc. This is bullshit.”
Kristen glanced at the commando as he sat cockily, calmly chewing on a piece of gum. His left arm was in a sling, but this impediment in no way diminished his intimidating appearance. Most of the crew gave him a wide berth, but Kristen no longer saw him as some mindless killing machine. After being ashore with him and getting a brief glimpse of the world Hamilton lived in, she felt she understood him better. Hamilton thrived where most people could never survive. So it wasn’t so much what Hamilton did that caused people to fear him, it was what those people who couldn’t imagine being in his shoes knew about themselves that caused their apprehension. “And don’t tell me to keep it down, sir,” Hamilton said bluntly to Graves. “Because they can all line up and kiss my ass.”
“Cool it, Trip,” Hoover advised.
Kristen waited, wishing they would get on with it. Soft murmurs and whispered conversation continued for the next hour before the door finally opened and Beagler’s aide appeared. The young officer summoned Graves, who stepped forward and then, a few steps later, disappeared into the wardroom.
“This could take hours,” Kristen whispered as she removed her glasses and wiped them off. Brodie’s interrogation had lasted over an hour, and if everyone spent as much time being grilled as the captain, they’d be there all day.
A few minutes later, Gibbs approached with a cup of tea. “Here you go, Miss,” he offered. “Earl Grey. I just made a fresh pot.”
She was about to accept when the wardroom door opened and Graves appeared after only fifteen minutes of questioning. He looked solemn and walked aft toward where the witnesses were waiting anxiously. “Lieutenant,” Graves called to her, “you’re up.”
Kristen thanked Gibbs for the tea and then unconsciously ran her hands over her uniform, not noticing her right hand shaking again. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Miss,” Hoover offered as she stepped past the SEALs.
“Yes, Mr. Hoover?”
“If it gets ugly in there, just give a shout,” he offered with a playful grin, but was only half joking. “We’ll be right here.”
“Fuckin-A,” Hamilton grinned with some enthusiasm at the possibility.
“Thanks, guys,” Kristen replied and stepped into the passageway leading to the wardroom and the marine sentry standing at the door.
Rear Admiral Beagler was seated next to a slender, bookish looking man she didn’t recognize wearing the rank of a Vice Admiral. A small group of civilians was seated along the far side of the wardroom table. She assumed the other admiral was the head of Naval Intelligence. She didn’t recognize any of the civilians, but as she looked down the long row of stern faces staring at her, she saw Brodie seated at the end of the table, unflappable as ever.
“Lieutenant J.G. Whitaker reporting as ordered, Admiral,” she said formally as she came to attention.
“Please be seated, Lieutenant,” the vice admiral ordered with equal formality.
Kristen took a seat across from the two admirals and the civilians. She shot a nervous glance at Brodie.
“It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant,” Beagler began with a pleasant smile.
“Thank you, Admiral. It is good to see you, too,” she replied automatically. Beagler was a no-nonsense commander and an uncompromising taskmaster. When she’d first arrived at his command over a year earlier, she’d assumed he would treat her as poorly as her previous commanders had. He’d surprised her with his kindness and fairness. “Although I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” Beagler agreed and then introduced the vice admiral seated next to him.
As she suspected, he was Vice Admiral Marcus Malone, the head of Naval Intelligence. He’d flown out to Sasebo with the small squad of civilians from various government agencies. Two of the civilians were introduced. One was from the Defense Intelligence Agency, and another was from the National Security Council. The others were not introduced, but they watched her as they calmly made notes on legal pads in front of them.
Admiral Malone, who was in charge, began by explaining the inquiry was simply trying to determine the circumstances surrounding the death of Dr. Dar-Hyun Choi. He then handed her the original copy of the report she’d written regarding the incident. “Is this your report, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Admiral, it is,” Kristen answered, noticing that her report was now stamped “Top Secret” on the top and bottom of each page.
Malone took it back and slipped the report into a thick classified briefing folder. “Okay, Lieutenant. Let’s get right to it,” he began as he looked down at his paperwork. “You were present the night Doctor Dar-Hyun Choi died from a heart attack while on board the USS Seawolf. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Admiral. I was in the sickbay when he died.” She looked sideways at Brodie, fearful she was hurting him. He gave her an ever-so-slight reassuring nod, which helped to settle her frazzled nerves.
“What were you doing in there, Lieutenant?” One of the civilians who hadn’t been introduced asked abruptly.
Kristen felt a sudden hint of annoyance. “Might I know your name, sir?”
The vice admiral answered, “This is Mister Jones, he’s with an,” he paused for a moment and said, “other government agency.”
Kristen heard the term “Other Government Agency” and took this to mean he was some kind of spook or intelligence analyst. Of course she doubted his name was Jones but let it pass and answered the question, “At first, I was translating for the corpsmen who were attending Dr. Dar-Hyun.”
“And then?” Jones asked.
“Then I translated for the captain when he asked Dr. Dar-Hyun some questions.” Kristen assumed this was all about finding someone to punish for Dar-Hyun’s death. But she changed her mind when, from the other side of the room, another man who hadn’t been introduced began speaking to her in Mandarin Chinese.
“Where did you learn Mandarin?” he asked abruptly in flawless Chinese.
“At Annapolis,” she replied, now speaking in Mandarin as well. “And who are you, sir?”
“None of your business,” he replied bluntly, still speaking in Mandarin. “What makes you qualified to act as an interpreter?”
“I never said I was qualified to be an interpreter,” Kristen replied instantly, still in Mandarin. “I said I interpreted for the captain.” She then added, “There weren’t exactly a lot of others on board who could understand the doctor.”
The man leaned back slightly and nodded approvingly toward her. He then looked down at the admiral and spoke in English, “Her Mandarin is excellent, gentlemen.”
Kristen was a bit annoyed at being tested in such a way as the questioning went from determining her fluency in Mandarin to the interrogation itself. They pummeled her with question after question about Dar-Hyun’s responses to what Brodie had asked. It seemed they wanted to know every discernible eye movement, every bit of inflection in the doctor’s voice for every question. When they were not satisfied with an answer she gave, they pressed her for ever more details. The bombardment of questions went on without end, and she soon felt the shirt under her dress coat soaked in sweat.
Finally, after what she was certain had to be three hours of nonstop questions, they got to the crux of it. They specifically wanted her to explain what Dar-Hyun’s words were just before he died. Apparently the doctor’s last words were too weak to be picked up on the microphone Horner had been holding.
Kristen thought for a moment. But for the first time in her life, her flawless memory failed her. She’d been such a mental, emotional, and physical wreck during the interrogation, the last words Dar-Hyun spoke didn’t come to her. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.