A shadow detached from the bulkhead near the entryway. “Lucas couldn’t say it, but I can. A slickly executed double-shuffle, Amanda. I bet that poor bastard of a Parchim skipper is still wondering what hit him.”
“Hmm, that will just make him that harder to fool next time, Admiral.” Amanda replied. “Remember, sooner or later we’re going have to sneak Steamer and his gang back aboard again.”
“Sufficient is the evil unto the day, Captain. We’ll worry about that later. In the meantime, would you care to join me for midrats in the ward room before you turn in?”
“I’d love to, sir. Being sneaky gives me an appetite.”
“Midrats,” or midnight rations, is the fourth meal of the day for the United States Navy, either a final settling bite before turning in, or a starting jolt to the blood sugar, depending upon which end of the watch bill one is posted at.
With the Carlson standing down from action stations, a dozen other task force officers were present in the wardroom, making their selections from the trays of sandwiches, fruit, and fresh baked goods set out along the serving board.
A small napkin-covered plate had been placed behind the larger sandwich tray with a neatly lettered RESERVED FOR THE TACBOSS card set atop it. Amanda flipped the napkin back with appreciative anticipation. Welch’s grape jelly and Jif extra crunchy peanut butter on French bread. With the telepathy required of a truly first-class member of his rating, the Carlson’s senior mess steward had one of her favorites waiting.
“Coffee, milk, or bug juice?” MacIntyre inquired from the beverage dispenser.
“Milk, please. A tall cold one,” Amanda replied. “Anything else would be like serving red wine with fish. Hasn’t your daughter ever taught you the proper aesthetics of peanut butter and jelly?”
“She’s never had the chance, I suppose,” MacIntyre replied, filling a glass for Amanda. “You know how it is with the trade.”
“Very much so,” she replied, accepting the beverage. “How are things going with Judy?”
“Fine.” A hint of enthusiasm crept into Maclntyre’s voice. Amanda had learned he enjoyed speaking about his “Daddy’s girl.”
“She’s getting on well at school, her grades are good, and she’s growing into quite the young lady. She’s going to be as beautiful as her mother.”
MacIntyre tossed a roast beef on whole wheat onto his own plate and hesitated. “That’s the one regret I’ve ever had with the Navy. I’ve missed so much with my kids, with Judy and with her brothers. Sometimes I worry about their forgiving me for being gone so often.”
He glanced at her. “You were a Navy brat, Amanda. How did you take it with Wils?”
Amanda tilted her head in consideration. “Not too bad, really,” she said after a moment. “But then, one of the first lessons my parents taught me was that you have to be willing to share. I also learned early on that I had just about the bravest, most loving, most wonderful dad in the whole world. When you’re that lucky, you should be willing to be generous with it.”
They moved to the nearest of the tables and took seats across from each other.
Amanda smiled at MacIntyre. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Judy is a sensible young woman and she didn’t seem to be the stingy type to me.”
“No, she isn’t. Not a bit of it. But still…” MacIntyre hesitated for a second. “Amanda, could I ask you a big favor?”
“Of course. What is it, sir?”
She was intrigued to find her solid and craggy CO looking faintly embarrassed. “Maybe when we get back from this cruise, you could take Judy somewhere and talk to her about me being gone so much. And maybe some other things, too, the kind of topics a sixteen-year-old girl might want to talk about to another woman instead of her father. I’d appreciate it,” the admiral finished gruffly, “and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather ask to do it.”
“I’ll be happy to talk with Judy anytime, Admiral. I’m flattered you’d ask me.” And Amanda genuinely was. “I will admit I haven’t had much hands-on experience with that kind of thing, but I’ll do my best. Tell me more about her.”
Their conversation progressed little further that night, however. Christine Rendino literally staggered into the compartment, her appearance bringing Amanda and MacIntyre both to their feet.
“Chris, my God, are you all right?”
“Oh, sure, Boss Ma’am. I’m fine.” Her face wan and her voice hoarse, Christine collapsed in the chair across from them. “I just need to toke a few tanna leaves and I’ll be good to go again.”
Reaching over, Chris procured and drained Amanda’s glass of milk, then let her head thump down on her crossed arms. “It took us eleven straight hours, but Tran and I finally did it. We busted the prizemaster,” she murmured.
Midrats were forgotten. Amanda, MacIntyre, and Christine withdrew at once to the security of Amanda’s flag quarters.
“You’ve got him talking?” Amanda demanded as the soundproof door closed behind them.
“At the moment, we can’t get him to shut up.” Christine dropped onto the couch, rubbing her eyes. “The poor schmo didn’t have a clue about effective anti-interrogation techniques. He tried to play the strong and silent type, and those guys are a cinch to break down. You just have to stay on ’em long enough.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Commander,” MacIntyre said, leaning back against Amanda’s desk edge, “but if this interrogation’s put you in this kind of shape, what’s left of him? We are dealing with a foreign national here. One that we’re going to have to give back sooner or later.”
Christine grinned feebly. “We never laid a glove on him, sir. The last thing you want in a situation like this is to reenforce an anger-defiance scenario or to give your subject a solid pain point to focus on.
“While we had him on the Duke, we hit this guy with an isolation and temporal disorientation program to soften him up. Then, when we got him here aboard the Carlson, we hammered him with a repetitive, sequential-point interrogation with positive feedback anytime we gained ground.”
“Hmm,” MacIntyre grunted. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Amanda looked at her friend with concern. “Are you going to have to go through this with all of the prisoners?”
“Oh, no, not even close, Boss Ma’am. We can pick keywords like place and personal names out of the prizemaster’s interrogation — his is Hayam Mangkurat by the way — and use them against the other prisoners. Once we can show that somebody else has already blabbed, the others should follow along pretty easily. Getting the first one to talk is the toughie.”
“Will he recover?” Amanda asked.
“Oh, sure,” Christine stretched. “We’ll give him his day-and-night cycle back and he’ll sleep it all off in a couple of days. He’ll be fine.”
“At least until his boss and the rest of his clan figure out that he spilled,” MacIntyre commented grimly.
Christine waved the thought away. “No problem. I’m keeping the other prisoners isolated and under temporal disorientation until after the first round of interrogations. The way I’m going to double-shuffle the questioning, nobody’s ever going to know who talked first. Not even old Mangkurat himself. Piece of cake.”
“This time I’ll take your word for it.” Amanda crossed to the couch and tilted her friend’s head back, studying the shadows under her eyes. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just hit him with a dose of scopolamine?”
“Babble juice does just that, makes ’em babble. When you break ’em down the old-fashioned way, you get to the straight skinny faster.” Christine collapsed back on the couch, a faint smile on her face. “One thing’s for sure: That Inspector Tran really knows his stuff. It’s a real frickin’ joy interrogating someone with him.”