He also needed to tread carefully. The NSA, CIA and other covert intelligence agencies, foreign and domestic, had dozens of missions going on around the world at any one time. If he'd stumbled into one of those and inadvertently exposed it, all hell would break lose.
But what if it isn't a covert op? What if some sort of major attack is underway?
Jumping up from his chair, he paced back and forth in his little cubicle.
The stakes are high, inconceivably high. If I do this and things go wrong, I really will get fired. For real. It won't be just another panic attack.
Dave exited his cubicle, walking past the dozens of other workspaces in which other specialists were handling other aspects of their Big Data mission.
He walked down the stairs to the first floor and went outside. He stood there a moment breathing the clean mountain air, with the morning sun on his face.
His car was right there in the parking lot. All he had to do was get in it and drive home. By the time he ate, slept and woke, this would all be over and whatever it was he could pretend he never knew anything about it beforehand.
He told himself this but knew he couldn't do it. He thought of 9/11. How the agency had credible intelligence that something big was coming. How the agency hadn't been able to use that information to stop what happened from happening.
Chapter 13
"Belay that," Captain Howard said. "Evers, you've something else to tell us, so out with it."
Scott scratched at his forehead. The adrenaline rush was wearing off and he was suddenly feeling the day's wear and tear again. "I believe I do. A hunch. Something I saw while I was under."
"Under?" the captain asked.
Scott took a step toward the master chief and stood at the chief's side as a show of solidarity. "Edie and I were on the bridge with Captain Pendleton when it started. When I saw incoming RPGs, I pulled Edie over the rail and we went under. We dove down to avoid the shockwave and stayed under as all hell broke loose. Edie and I are both experienced divers and free divers, so we can hold our breath longer than most. Still, we couldn't have been under for more than a few minutes.
"By the time we surfaced and came around the Shepherd, it was over and there was no trace of the attackers." Scott stopped, caught himself. "Wait, I think… No, I know. I saw one of the fishing boats when I came up. Far away and trailing smoke. Then I saw something, large, black giving chase. I assumed it was one of the NSW RIBs. But from what I heard earlier, both NSW RIBs were recovered in waters near the Shepherd."
Captain Howard reached for a large mug of coffee, which must have gone cold long ago. He swallowed the cold mud and then said, "Inflatables 1 and 2 were recovered near the Sea Shepherd. Recovery ops continues and we will keep search and rescue going until all missing are found."
"But you've only found six. Isn't that right?" Scott said, only realizing the importance of his words as he said them.
"Six…" Master Chief Roberts said, pausing to look to the Operations Commander. "That's the service member recovery count. We've recovered twenty one: six servicemen, two from the Bardot, four from the Shepherd, and eight from the fishers."
"Living?" Scott asked. "In the infirmary?"
"Not all aboard this ship. Not all living," the master chief said.
Scott paused, counted in his head. "That's twenty, not twenty one."
Master Chief Roberts looked to Executive Commander Howard before he responded. "The other's a… defense contractor… who was aboard the helicopter we lost this morning."
Scott noted the delays in the response and suspected the chief said "defense contractor" but meant operative. If so, the operative was most likely from the CIA. Intrigued, he asked, "The helicopter, was it attacked before or after the Bardot sank?"
Master Chief Roberts said, "The SH-60B was on route to the Bardot when it went down and the reports of the Bardot came in at the same time."
Scott became agitated, animated. "Two coordinated attacks? One precision attack on both the Bardot and a combat patrol helicopter. A second precision attack on the Shepherd and two fully-manned inflatables."
Master Chief Roberts nodded and was about to say something when Scott said, "And four found from the Shepherd?"
Master Chief Roberts nodded again.
Scott asked, "Where are they?"
Master Chief Roberts said, "The infirmary will have that information. If not aboard, they'll know which ship they're on and the status."
"Status…" Scott said. "You mean whether they're alive or dead?"
Scott didn't wait for an answer. He turned about, and called out for Midshipman Tinsdale.
As he was leaving the situation room, the Operations Commander said, "Well, we've now wasted time that could have been better spent discussing tactical response. The strike force is assembled and ready below decks. Pilots not part of current ops are on crew rest. Planning cells are preparing and working through the most likely response scenarios, including beach assault, selective insertion, and amphibious engagement."
As much as he wanted to know the truth about Edie, Scott knew if he left now he'd never get back into the operations room, never be part of the planning or response. He turned around in the doorway, said, "Give me a satellite phone and we'll see who's wasting whose time."
The Operations Commander, a big, dumb grin on his face reached down, grabbed a satellite phone from his ready pack, and tossed it to Scott. "Knock yourself out… In the meantime, we'll continue discussing tactical response and how to kick these jihadist bastards so hard they'll go crawling back to their caves to die."
Chapter 14
Alexis reached down and picked up the dead woman's phone. A picture on the cracked screen showed a brown-eyed blond-haired girl with a missing tooth and a constellation of freckles. The little girl couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Adorable, Alexis decided as she put the phone on the sink.
The air in the tiny room was stifling and she fanned her face before she unbuttoned the dead woman's blouse and removed it, along with everything else, before stuffing the body in the stall. Locking the stall with herself inside, she climbed up and over the edge, slipping down the other side.
Afterward, she dressed in the dead woman's clothes, looking at herself in the mirror over the sink as she did so. Before she finished buttoning up the blouse, she noticed the nametag had come undone, so she fixed it back into place.
She grinned at her reflection, almost as if to say, "Hello, old friend."
She picked up a hat from the floor, dusted it off and fixed it into place. She knew enough about shipboard rules to know she generally wasn't supposed to wear a hat indoors, but sailors often did, especially if they were young and forgetful. The dead woman had been both, Alexis decided, as she turned from the mirror and reached for the door.
Before opening the door, she paused and turned back. "Midshipman Tinsdale, at your service, sir," she said to the mirror until she believed it.
The two had a passing resemblance, she decided. Same height. Same build. Same close-cropped blond hair. It's why she'd picked the midshipman.