Across a desk, a woman who’d always made him nervous was giving orders over her cell. They’d shaken hands when he came in, her small palm slightly sweaty; then her phone had chimed. Intense, skeptical Jennifer Roald, a small-boned, sharp-faced brunette was only a little older than he. She’d directed the White House Situation Room when Dan had worked in the West Wing. They’d stayed in touch, and now and then she’d been able to extend a helping hand, or pulse the Old Girl Network on his behalf. She’d obviously hit wickets and punched tickets since; now she was ComDesRon 26, Savo Island’s squadron commander — and thus, his putative direct boss, at least for manning, equipment, and administrative matters.
Studying her, he wondered if she could have been the one who’d gotten the promotion board to throw out its initial recommendations. Probably not. They hadn’t been that close. Coworkers, no more. Only Niles had the clout to swing a board his way. And the cunning to make sure no one would ever be able to prove it.
Snapping the cell closed, Roald focused a dark gaze on him. “Dan, good to see you again. That was the NCIS. They’re helping the Italians with the case. The police are working their way through the demonstrators. They want to know if you got a look at who threw the bomb.”
“It wasn’t a bomb. Just a bottle of gasoline. Green, maybe a wine bottle. I only got a glimpse. And I didn’t see who threw it. It flew up out of the crowd, then hit our windshield. I smelled gas, and whoosh — it ignited.”
She pushed across a paper slip. “Call this number. The agent’s name’s Erculiano. Italian name, but he’s American.”
He said he would and Roald glanced at a notebook screen. “Okay. Where we stand on the grounding … Sixth Fleet convened a JAG manual investigation, came down with a six-man team. They’ll wrap at noon and present their conclusions to Admiral Ogawa. You know him?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
She frowned. “He seems to know you. Or of you. Anyway, he’ll hold mast at 1400. I can’t anticipate the results officially, but between us, I think he’ll fire several people on the spot. Captain Imerson will be one. The base master-at-arms is over on Savo packing their seabags. They’ll go from mast to the barracks and we’ll fly them back to CONUS tomorrow.”
“They’re not going back to the ship?”
“There’s some concern there might be, um, physical violence.” She nodded at his raised eyebrows. “Yeah, that bad … Some things here for you to read. The last Insurv report. The Command Climate Survey. But right now we have to talk about where Savo Island’s going from here.”
He nodded and took out his BlackBerry, but she gestured to put it away. “Let’s make this off the record. To tell the truth, I was surprised to see your name on the message. I asked for a forceful backup, but I thought you were … off the board, somehow.” She smiled. “That doesn’t mean I’m not glad to have you.”
“Uh … thanks.”
“What have they told you? Well, first. You’ve XO’d an Aegis, haven’t you?”
The XO was the executive officer, the second in command. “Actually, no. Horn wasn’t Aegis capable. My XO tour was on a Knox.”
“But you have missile experience? Computer background?”
“With the Tomahawk program. Computers, yes. And as far as conning goes, I’m pretty confident on the bridge.”
“If you mean you wouldn’t have put her aground, I certainly hope not. From what I’ve heard, it was a real monkeyfuck, the last few minutes before they hit. But we’ll read all about that in the investigator’s report.”
“You don’t want me at the admiral’s mast.”
“Absolutely not. Stay out of sight.” Her cell chimed again and she flipped it open, listened, said, “Make it so,” and oystered it. “Okay, what’d they tell you before you got on the plane … never mind. I’ll start from square one. You know Savo just went from a baseline 7 Aegis to something new.”
“Theater ballistic missile defense.”
“TBMD’s a new mission for us. Up to now it’s been an Army responsibility, from the old Sprint to the Patriot. But if the Navy can do it without boots on the ground, shore installations, and host-country complications, this could be a Surface Force breadbasket for the next fifty years. We’ve grown the Standard missile with a higher-energy booster and a lighter proximity-kill warhead. So you get the range and altitude for a midphase intercept. Dahlgren rewrote the operating system with addendum units and took out the software stops they built in back in the seventies. With me so far?”
“I think so, but I’d want to get down in the weeds with some people I’m bringing over from TAG.”
“I’m glad you have additional personnel resources. You’ve got a tech rider aboard from Johns Hopkins. I can break you out a couple bodies from my staff, too. Gap fillers only; I’ll want them back.”
“Thanks. So — this mission?”
She glanced at the door, and dropped her voice. “You’ll be loosely associated with the Med strike group that’s hitting Baghdad with Tomahawks and manned strikes. But you, yourself, will be defense of Israel. That’s why Sixth Fleet’s hair is on fire over this grounding. It was supposed to be an overnight in-and-out, to fuel, pick up the last shot for the anthrax inoculations, and head straight for station off Tel Aviv. Instead, she’s high and dry in full view of every TV network in the Med. The Israelis are screaming, and I can’t blame them a bit. We promised them a missile shield, and we’re not delivering.”
She glanced at her watch and he took the cue. “Okay. What are the personnel redlines? Any you’re aware of?”
“Yes, I am aware of some,” Roald said, in a voice that said Do not accuse me of not knowing the status of my own units.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to—”
“Forget it. You’re billeted for 299 enlisted and thirty officers. That’s not counting the air det. They’re lily-padding up from the Gulf of Aden. If this mast goes like I expect, you’ll be down eight to ten bodies. A big hit. The command master chief. Even worse, your combat systems officer.”
“Holy smoke.” He’d already discussed candidates back at the Tactical Analysis Group, his last duty station; guys he’d worked with before. But they’d need time to get up to speed. The personnel Roald had just promised from her own staff could be hot-runners, or they could be bottom-blows. All too often, what you got from another source, even a well-disposed one, were no-loads who weren’t pulling their weight in a current billet. “Do you think — will the XO go too? Or stay?”
“Admiral Ogawa’ll decide that based on the report of the investigating board. Right now I can’t say. I won’t tell you what I think of him. The exec, I mean. Let you form your own opinion.” She looked back at her screen. “The other issue I wanted to surface is material condition. Form your own opinion on that too, but keep an eye on your engine controls. All the consoles, the back plane wiring, where they run Chip A to Chip B, it’s grounded. Not a good design, in my book.”
“That can shut the engines down when you don’t expect it.”
She nodded. “And cascade — take the next engine down too. Actually, that might have been a contributing factor to the accident. That Main Control reset without notifying the bridge, or the bridge didn’t quite register the reset, with all that shouting going on, so the throttles were full ahead when the engines came back online. Then suddenly they get this huge surge of power and don’t react in time.”