Chapter 10

“Vern, this is Brandon,” Admiral May said over the secure phone line. “Things are heating up between the North Koreans and the United States.”

There was a silence. Then Towsley said, “It leaves Green exposed.”

“I know, I’m exposed as well. I gave both you and Bill Green my word E-Team would be available to ensure her safety while she conducted her investigation.” May sighed. “I can no longer provide it. You will have to reassign her. NCIS will bring in the Cold Case Squad to take over the investigation.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Towsley’s voice was barely audible. “How much time do I have?”

“I need Captain Rayzon and his men in Chinhae in four days.”

****

It had rained throughout the night. The rain was still coming down hard, with a gusting wind, when Fay arrived at the JAG offices. For a moment, she sat in her car, watching the windshield wipers slap at the raindrops cascading down the glass, seeking the courage to brave the torrent of rain.

With a sigh, she turned the car’s ignition key off, opened the car door, and stepped out into the cold, wet morning. She opened her umbrella and snatched her briefcase and pocketbook from the back seat. She slammed the door with more force than usual. Then she dashed to the JAG Corps’ main entrance, trying to avoid the numerous puddles of water dotting the parking lot. It proved to be an obstacle course, hopping and jumping over the larger pools of water, but more often splashing down into smaller ones in the trade-off. By the time she reached the entrance, her shoes were soaked, and rainwater splattered her legs to mid-thigh, even under her skirt. “It’s the weather like this that proves God isn’t a woman,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled open one of the two double glass doors.

Inside, Fay noted the warmth of the main lobby. It was a significant improvement. She darted into her office, flung her raincoat and hat onto the nearest chair, then sprinted for Towsley’s office.

On seeing her, he smiled and gestured toward the vacant chair. “At ease.” Walking to the coffee pot, he asked, “Need a fix?” knowing full well her answer.

“Maybe I should just throw the first cup on myself.”

Towsley poured two cups. He put one cup down and picked up the pot. Holding it in one hand and the cup in the other, he asked, “Do you want the cup, or should I just give you the pot?”

Her evaluating eyes darted back and forth between the two choices before Fay said, “I’ll take the cup this time, sir.”

Towsley smiled and returned to his desk with the two cups of coffee. Her eyes were fixed on the two cups as he approached her. Towsley gave her a fatherly smile and set one of the cups on the desk in front of her. He raised his cup in her direction before sipping.

Fay smiled and picked her cup up with both hands, huddling around its warmth as if it were a campfire on a cold night.

Rubbing the palms of his hands briskly together, Towsley said, “Now, let’s dig into this investigation. He looked warily at Fay and asked, “Are we ready?”

“We are ready, sir,” she said

“I acted on your suggestion that Admiral Wallace’s authority, as base commander, allows him to petition the civil courts, asserting military jurisdiction in cases involving persons subject to military law.”

“I did tell you, sir.”

“Wallace petitioned the Seattle District Attorney to have Sergeant Linn bound over to military jurisdiction. I advised Wallace if the authorities refused to surrender Linn, the proper procedure would be to refer the matter to the Adjutant General.”

“The A.J. would then request to obtain custody through habeas corpus proceedings. Correct, sir?” she replied.

“That’s the direction I advised Admiral Wallace to take. I think the District Attorney won’t take the time or the trouble to fight us on this one. My hunch was they have other fish to fry, and they’d see this as an opportunity to have us lighten their workload.”

“So, essentially, we set up a smokescreen.”

“Correct,” he replied as he pawed through the mound of papers scattered across the surface of his desk. “Ah, here it is.” Towsley picked up his pipe with a look of satisfaction and began to pack the bowl with tobacco. “This is a win/win/win situation for the SPD, the Marine Corps, and the Navy.”

“How so, sir?”

Towsley placed the stem of the pipe in his mouth. He again rearranged the papers on his desk as he searched for what she presumed to be a match. He patted his shirt pockets. “The last thing we need—any of the services need, for that matter—is another nasty public relations issue.”

Fay reached into her pocketbook. “Here, I have matches, sir.” She tossed them in the direction of the appreciative captain.

He caught them, removed a match, and lit his pipe. Drawing in that first puff of smoke seemed to relax him. “The Tailhook scandal was years ago, and it’s still haunting the Navy today.”

“Unpleasant public relations issues,” she said.

“For the Navy and the Marine Corps, getting Sergeant Linn away from the Seattle Police Department allows us to keep Charma’s death from attracting media and public scrutiny. Wallace granted the petition late yesterday afternoon; Sergeant Linn is now ours.”

“Congratulations, sir.”

Towsley smiled. “Once again, your precognition was dead center. The SPD practically tripped over themselves in their hurry to accede.”

Fay felt a sense of gratification welling within her. The game, now rescheduled, had given her the home-court advantage—a court on which she seldom lost. “Has Wallace informed us of his intention to convene a court of inquiry?”

“Not yet. Wallace is still waiting for your recommendation, based on your preliminary investigation. But he’s heading in that direction.” There was a sense of urgency in Towsley’s voice. “It’s crucial we move swiftly and keep Wallace informed.”

“I promise I will move quickly.”

“Good enough. The catch, as you know, is if Linn were to go to courts-martial, as the investigating officer, you would be prevented under military law from being appointed counsel for the defendant. Linn could request Ford Clay as his attorney, since opting for a civil lawyer is his right. Otherwise, he’ll have to opt for whoever is assigned. Probably Rollie.”

“Rollie? Rollie would be a good choice, sir, but Sergeant Linn does have the right to request the investigating officer as his counsel.”

“True. I can’t appoint you to defend Linn, but he can request for you to defend him,” Towsley replied. “Linn may request defense by either his accuser or by the investigating officer.”

“I think we have been fortunate so far.” Removing the Charma file from her briefcase, Fay handed it to him and waited while he reviewed it.

“You’ve been very thorough, as always. I’ll forward this to Admiral Wallace.”

“Pardon me, sir. Before you do, I would like to interview Mr. Lawrence,” Fay requested. “I met him last night at the Pollywog. He claims to have known Paul Charma.”

“Very well.” He handed the file back to her. “Have a good day, Faydra. By the way, Wallace has reassigned Rayzon. You’ve got him for two more days.”

“Thank you, sir. We have appreciated having his help. We will be sorry to see him go.”

Petty Officer Lawrence was waiting for her when Fay returned to her office. She smiled at him, then turned to Pearce and asked, “Any messages for me?”

“No, ma’am.”

Fay wiggled her finger at Lawrence. “Okay, Mr. Lawrence, come with me.” As they entered her office, she gestured toward the chairs facing her desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Lawrence.” She waited while he sat. “Tell me about yourself.”

Lawrence cleared his throat. “Well, I joined the Navy about seven years ago. After basic training, I requested SEAL Team training. I’ve been a SEAL ever since.”

“Where do you call home?”

“San Francisco, ma’am.”

“It’s one of my favorite cities.” Fay purposefully slowed her pace to a more relaxed tone. “I was thinking,” she said, “about our conversation last night. Of course, I am concerned for your safety. I am also concerned about Paul Charma’s death. Any information you can provide will be beneficial. Would you mind if I made a few notes while we talked?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Call me Fay.” She smiled. “Was Paul a close friend of yours?”

“I’d say so. We’ve been members of the same platoon for the past two years.”

“How many men are there in your platoon?”

“Twelve. Comprising two squads of six men each.”

“What is your present duty assignment?”

“Training.”

“Have you been issued a Ka-Bar?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have two.”

Fay paused, recalling her conversation with Andrew the previous evening. “Was Paul Charma involved with drugs?”

“Certainly not, ma’am.”

“Who killed Paul, Andrew?”

“I don’t know.”

His body language suggested he knew more than he was telling. “Did Paul ever mention the name Howard Carney?” Fay continued.

“No.”

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” She purposefully picked up the tempo of her questioning.

Andrew looked at both of his hands. “It’s odd with me,” he said. “I write with my right hand, but when I use tools, I use my left. Don’t know why.”

“What mission are you training for?”

“We’re focusing on ship seizures. The training involves nighttime boarding and seizing of ships.”

“What’s your objective once you seize the ship?” Fay paused. “I want to apologize to you, Andrew. I invited you here today for a meeting. Not an interrogation. Please forgive me.”

Andrew smiled. “It’s okay, ma’am.” He continued, “To secure the ship, its cargo, and crew until the Marines arrive.”

“I’ve always admired you SEALs. My passion is scuba diving, so we have something in common.” She smiled. “I should have pursued a career as a SEAL.”

Andrew smiled.

“It must take a tremendous amount of courage and strength to do what you do, day in and day out,” Fay said.

“It’s a job.” His ego seemed to swell. “We enjoy what we do.” He hesitated for a moment. “They call me Timmy.”

“Oh? A nickname? You will have to explain it to me. Nicknames fascinate me.” With military professionals, the awarding of nicknames had been a badge of honor.

“It’s a long story, but the name evolved from another nickname given when I first joined the SEALs,” Andrew explained.

“Which was?”

“I was referred to as ‘Intimidator.’ As time went by, the nickname took on a nickname; it was shortened to ‘Timmer,’ then ‘Timmy,’” he clarified.

Fay chuckled. “Andrew, is there something wrong?” That look of anxiety she saw on his face the previous evening had returned.

“Paul’s skill is stealth—he was an accomplished assassin. He’d be on his guard, especially in the dark. To kill Paul, the killer would have to be as good at his job, or better, than Paul was.”

“You mentioned Paul was an accomplished assassin. An executive order, signed by former President Reagan, stopped assassination by government personnel. How is it he would have those skills?” Fay wanted to know.

“There are many things in an operator’s world that ‘don’t exist.’ We conduct numerous missions in the name of national security never mentioned.” Andrew took a sip of water. “No SEAL has ever been captured. No SEAL has ever surrendered. No SEAL is left behind.”

No SEAL is left behind, Fay wrote on her notepad.

“Paul’s assassin is good at what he does,” he continued. “If he can get to Paul, then he can get to any of us.”

She rocked forward in her chair. By her assessment, Andrew Lawrence was an honest man, a brave, patriotic young sailor. Yet, there was something about his demeanor that left her wanting more. “You believe another operator killed Paul.”

“Or a mechanic or a sweeper,” Andrew added.

“Sweeper,” Fay repeated. “I’ve not heard the term before.”

“The guy they would hire if they found it necessary to terminate the mechanic. A mechanic’s mechanic, if you will,” Andrew explained.

“Heavens.” Fay emitted a nervous chuckle. “He sounds like a noxious sort.” She made a note and then said, “You and Paul were friends. I assume you know where he lived?”

“Paul had a room in one of the temporary duty barracks. Building three, room two ten.”

“I appreciate your help this morning, Andrew. I have one more question. Do you know of Marine Major W. Irving?”

He thought for a moment and said, “No. He’s not a part of our team.” 

“Andrew, what about you? Is there anything I can do for you?” Fay asked.

“I can take care of myself. My concern, Fay, would be for you. Be careful.”

Fay dismissed Andrew “Timmy” Lawrence. He knew why Paul was dead, and he knew who had killed him—maybe not who precisely, but he knew the killer was an operator. He pretended to be frightened but admitting to the nickname “Intimidator,” and her intuition, said he really felt otherwise. His mission was to warn her, nothing more. She duly and gratefully noted his concern.

Fay watched as Andrew walked through the outer office. Petty Officer Rayzon made a comment to him as he passed by. Andrew nodded without looking at James. There was no other exchange between the two sailors.