Chương 3
“What did he say?”
“He asked what happens when maintenance logs don’t match physical equipment.”
“Those exact words?”
“Close.”
“You report it?”
Ortega stared at me.
“No.”
Nobody moved.
Even Ward stopped touching her pen.
I asked, “Why?”
His answer took time.
“Because I thought he was working himself up over nothing.”
“What nothing?”
“He had a reputation.”
Keane sat back.
Ortega continued reluctantly.
“Aaron was good in the water.”
“How good?”
“Very.”
“And?”
“He checked everything twice.”
“That’s a flaw now?”
“It can be when a team has twelve things to do and you turn each one into thirty.”
There was no contempt in Ortega’s voice.
Only fatigue.
That was worse.
He had liked Bell.
Maybe loved him in the peculiar guarded way senior enlisted men sometimes love the younger ones they spend years pretending merely to supervise.
“Aaron had filed two safety discrepancies in four months,” Ortega said.
“Neither one turned into anything serious.”
“What were they?”
“Cylinder labeling mismatch on one.”
“And the other?”
“A damaged connector on a communications unit.”
“Were they real?”
“Yes.”
“Then they turned into something.”
Ortega looked away.
Vickers tapped a pen against the binder and stopped when Ward glanced at him.
I said, “Bell comes to you worried about maintenance records.”
“Yes.”
“What do you tell him?”
“I told him to document anything specific and bring it to the maintenance chief.”
“Did he?”
“We don’t know.”
“Who’s the maintenance chief?”
Ortega looked at Keane again.
This time Keane did not move.
“Senior Chief Evan Rusk.”
“Where is Rusk?”
“On base.”
“Working?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ward answered before anyone else could.
“Because there is currently no evidence that Senior Chief Rusk committed misconduct.”
“Did I accuse him?”
“No.”
“You sound defensive.”
“I sound like an attorney.”
“Same thing on difficult mornings.”
She exhaled through her nose.
Vale looked down to hide a smile.
Keane said, “Rusk supervised the maintenance section responsible for the equipment.”
“Did he handle Bell’s unit?”
“His section did.”
“Did he have access to the software?”
“Yes.”
“Twenty-two others did too.”
“Yes.”
“Who signed the last inspection?”
Vickers turned the binder toward me.
A photocopied maintenance sheet showed several initials and timestamps.
The final certification bore a signature I could not read.
“Technician named Caleb Wynn,” Vickers said.
“Rank?”
“Second class.”
“Where is he?”
Keane’s expression changed.
Not much.
Enough.
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“He was transferred to medical observation three days ago.”
“For what?”
“A panic episode.”
“After Bell died?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after anybody questioned him?”
Ward said, “After an initial administrative interview.”
“What did he say?”
“He confirmed performing the scheduled inspection.”
“Anything else?”
“He became distressed when investigators asked about the unauthorized service access.”
“What does distressed mean?”
“He asked to stop.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Ward’s pen remained motionless.
“He began hyperventilating.”
Ortega spoke quietly.
“He threw up.”
Ward looked at him.
Ortega did not apologize.
I pushed the binder away.
“Have you interviewed him again?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He’s under medical care.”
“Good.”
Ward blinked.
She had expected me to complain.
I said, “Leave him there until somebody qualified says otherwise.”
Keane nodded once.
“You see why we’re concerned.”
“I see several reasons to be concerned.”
“And the insignia?”
I looked toward the evidence sleeve.
“That’s a separate question.”
“We thought it might be connected.”
“It probably is.”
Vale leaned forward.
“You recognize the alteration?”
“Yes.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What does it mean?”
“It means Bell knew enough history to get my attention.”
Keane said, “History of what?”
I looked at the filed edge of the old brass pin.
The room felt smaller.
Ortega’s fingers closed slowly around his pen.
I asked, “Where did Bell get this?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did you search his quarters?”
Ward answered.
“With authorization, yes.”
“Find anything related?”
“Photographs, old diving manuals, a notebook, several copied archive documents.”
“What documents?”
Vickers opened another binder.
I did not need to see them immediately.
The pin had already done its work.
I could smell diesel that was not in the room.
I could hear Danny Keane laughing on a boat that had been cut apart for scrap decades ago.
Memory is inconsiderate like that.
It does not ask whether you have prepared a chair.
Keane noticed my hand resting against the table.
“My father?”
he asked.
“Partly.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
His face hardened.
He was an admiral now.
“Mr. Mercer, a man is dead.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“And he sent your name.”
“Yes.”
“So whatever this is—”
“Your father made me promise.”
The words stopped him.
Ortega looked from Keane to me.
Keane remained completely still.
“Promise what?”
I rubbed my thumb along the tarnished pin on my lapel.
“Never to talk about what happened on the Valiant unless it started happening again.”
No one spoke.
Vale finally asked, “What was the Valiant?”
“A support vessel.”
“When?”
“1974.”
Keane’s voice was barely audible.
“My father was there.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I looked at the evidence bag again.
“The official version?”
“I already know what official versions are worth.”
That was Danny speaking through him.
Same impatience.
Same contempt for paperwork that arrived too clean.
I almost laughed.
Instead I said, “The official version was an oxygen-system accident during an experimental dive.”
Vale stopped breathing for half a second.
He understood first.
Keane understood next.
Ortega followed.
Ward did not show anything, but her pen tightened between her fingers.
Vickers whispered, “Jesus.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t bring him into maintenance failures.”
He flushed.
Nobody laughed.
I leaned back slowly.
“The equipment didn’t fail on the Valiant.”
Keane stared at me.
“What did?”
“People.”
A knock struck the conference-room door.
Everyone turned.
Vickers opened it.
A young lieutenant stood outside looking pale.
“Admiral, sorry to interrupt.”
“What is it?”
“The master-at-arms is asking for Commander Vickers.”
“Why?”
The lieutenant swallowed.
“Senior Chief Rusk can’t be located.”
Ortega stood so quickly his chair rolled backward.
May you like
Ward said, “Define can’t be located.”
“He missed duty muster and isn’t answering calls.”
