Virginia Beach, Virginia
November 14, 2017
Dan had been put through the wringer. He’d spent several days giving repetitive statements to DHS, FBI, the USCG, the USN and the local law enforcement teams that were trying and failing to have any influence on how the multi-pronged investigation was proceeding. At least all this investigative churn kept his mind distracted from the constant anguish of losing his family. Known for his even, steady temper and the type of perspective that permitted an almost clinical detachment from any situation headed for a disastrous end, Dan needed to be in control and recognized that he could not get fixated on events beyond his ability to influence.
He lay in bed awake at night reliving the day his family was taken, knowing that no one should have survived. He felt a terrible guilt. When he did try to sleep, Jill was always there, her smile bright and confident. Dan started focusing on how to begin putting his life back in some kind of order. He felt like the sole survivor of a shipwreck all alone on some deserted island. He’d called Jill’s parents and promised that he’d come see them as soon as he could. It would likely be weeks before crews would be able to caisson the ruptured tunnel and recover the bodies of Jill and the boys. It seemed to make sense to wait until then or at least what was left could be recovered and put to rest properly. He’d spent a great deal of time in the ocean and knew how its inhabitants could change a body into something that barely resembled its original form in a matter of a few weeks. It was certain that there would be no open casket funerals for the victims.
He tried to keep his personal survival story out of the papers but somehow some sketchy details leaked out forcing him to barricade himself in their modest Virginia Beach house where Jill’s scent and her presence filled the empty rooms. The boys’ twin beds were empty and painfully quiet. Other than Jill’s parents and his aunt, the only other call that he’d made was to the skipper just to check in with someone who cared that he was alive. Hank Owens told him to call anytime, night or day and promised him any support he needed. He even offered to arrange a meeting with a grief counselor if Dan thought it would help.
“Thanks, skipper. I don’t need that today, but I’ll let you know when all of this sinks in.” Dan felt very alone and a little fearful. He wondered if getting drunk might take away the immobility that had him spending hours on the couch. So far, he’d successfully avoided the press that camped on the street in front of his house by hiking through the woods to a nearby development close to a twenty-four hour grocery store where one of his old shipmates had parked a pickup for him to use.
Another telephone call interrupted him. The Caller-ID showed a DC number so he answered in his customary way, “Lieutenant Steele…I mean Dan Steele.” He heard a friendly chuckle in the background.
“Good morning, Dan, this is Sandy Matthews. We don’t know each other. I’m assisting Admiral Jim Wright, the Domestic Terrorism Chief for DHS. I know you’ve answered a thousand questions asked in ten thousand ways since you surfaced, but I’d like to ask you some different questions about what happened last week.”
“OK, fire away,” Dan replied in a tired voice.
“It would be helpful if we could do this face to face. I can drive down tomorrow from DC, and we can meet anywhere you feel comfortable in Norfolk or Virginia Beach. If you’d like to meet someplace in between that’s OK too. And if you feel the need to do any checking on me, you can ask Hank Owens. He and I worked on a project together a few years ago and he can vouch for me.”
Dan was immediately taken off-guard by the calm voice and willingness to make the trip to Norfolk. Not a standard practice for anyone working inside the beltway. Leave for a day and your office might be occupied by one of your colleagues before you got back into town. Throwing in Hank’s name certainly made his answer much easier.
“Well, the truth is that I’ve been cooped up here in the house trying to duck reporters for a couple of days now. Let’s meet down at Waterside near Battleship Wisconsin. Do you know where it is?”
“Yep.”
“When can you be there?” Dan asked.
“I’ll get an early start in the morning. Should be there by 10:30 or 11:00 a.m. depending on traffic. Will you have enough warning time if I call you from Hampton?”
Dan replied, “Sure, that’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”