On the bridge the phone rang, and Arthur Gaines picked up.
“Gaines,” he said.
“Listen. Don’t talk,” said the voice on the other end.
Arthur froze.
In that instant, Arthur knew his life was about to change forever. Whatever he did in the next few minutes—in the next few seconds—would determine whether that change would prove propitious, or catastrophic.
His commanding officer, the commanding officer of this entire warship, had just gone full Ahab on him, charging below with a sidearm to hunt the SEAL.
And the SEAL he was hunting was now on the horn with Arthur.
“Chief—”
“Don’t talk.”
He hesitated.
“I need you to get a team of two hospital corpsmen over to Jackson’s office, stat.”
Arthur turned his back to the others on the bridge and spoke as softly as he could. “Is that where you’re calling from?”
“And have security break into Stevens’s office.”
“You should stay—wait, what?”
“Your psychologist. His office. Break in. Full caution. And Jackson’s office—two corpsmen. Now. He’s in danger.”
“Where—are—you?”
The voice paused, then said, “Arthur. Please.”
Gaines was silent for a few seconds.
Propitious? Or catastrophic?
“Hang on—stay on the line. Tommy!” he called out to the nearest officer. “Ring medical. And Mac.” Then he spoke quietly into the phone again. “Chief?”
The line was dead.