Code 13 Page 18

  Why did the smirk of satisfaction on Tommy’s face and his piercing black eyes make Bobby’s stomach feel sick?

  “Tommy, do we know what really happened to this officer?”

  Mandela hesitated. A knowing grin. A look of self-satisfaction.

  “You really want to know the answer to that question, boss?”

  Something didn’t feel right about all this. “Do you think I should know?”

  “Not if you want to claim plausible deniability, boss.”

  Mandela’s words jolted him, and Bobby felt his stomach being knotted like a tightly twisted washrag with all the water being wrung out of it. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Tell you what. Leave it alone with Richardson for the time being. If he doesn’t already know, he’ll find out soon enough. And the last thing we need is for him to get another shot at razzing me about the status of the drone contract.”

  “Ya know what, Senator?” Mandela didn’t give Bobby enough time to answer. “For a rookie senator, your political instincts are pretty darn good.”

  “Thanks, Tommy. Let’s leave it at that. Meanwhile, let’s arrange a meeting with Senator Roberson Fowler. We need to call in the big guns to get this contract through. Gotta make sure we stay on DeKlerk’s good side. Joe Don Mack’s too.”

  “As I said, Senator, for a rookie senator, your political instincts are pretty darn good. I’ll get that meeting arranged ASAP. But understand, sir, we’re gonna have to go to him. He’s not coming to us.”

  “I understand. He’s been in the senate since Ulysses S. Grant’s inauguration. He’s the king of Washington. I’m the new kid on the block.”

  Mandela laughed. “With a learning curve like that, Senator, we’ll have you in the White House faster than a bullet can take out a troublemaker.”

  “Don’t know if I like the analogy, Tommy. But thanks for the compliment.”

  CHAPTER 18

  HEADQUARTERS

  NEW YORK CONCRETE & SEAFOOD COMPANY

  EAST 161ST STREET

  THE BRONX

  THURSDAY

  “Okay, look, Chuckie.” Phil sucked on his third cigarette in the last hour. “Now that the problem of that troublemaker JAG officer has been eliminated, we need some action on this contract. You know, I’ve been patient. Big Sal has been patient. But we need this contract squashed. You know, the family didn’t get you elected just to go down to Washington and drink caviar and sip champagne. So what’s going on, Chuckie? What am I gonna tell Big Sal? I mean, Big Sal ain’t gonna be patient forever!”

  “Don’t worry, Phil.” Rodino sounded nervous. “This drone project bill hasn’t even been brought to Congress yet. Tell Big Sal it will never see the light of day. And if it does see the light of day, it’ll get squashed in committee.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me it won’t get called for a hearing, or are you telling me it will get called but won’t pass? What are you telling me, Senator?”

  A pause.

  “Hey, tell Big Sal the bill hasn’t been passed, and if I have anything to do with it, it won’t be passed. Tell him I guarantee it.”

  Vivian stepped into the office.

  “Mr. D’Agostino, it’s Vinnie on the line again.”

  “Look, Senator, I’ll pass it on to Big Sal. But right now I gotta go. Just do your job. Okay? Talk to you later.”

  Phil slammed down the phone and picked up the blinking line. “Vinnie. What have you got for me?”

  “We got a problem, boss.”

  “Talk to me, Vinnie.”

  “Our computer geek just called.”

  “Which computer geek? We got several of ’em.”

  “Tony, boss. You remember Tony?”

  “Oh yeah. Tony. What about him?”

  “Well, you know we’ve been watching emails coming out of this Code 13, right?”

  “Right. What did we have to spend? Thirty thousand cash for some civilian clerk at the Pentagon to give us log-on info?”

  “More like forty grand, boss.”

  “Okay, whatever. So you’re telling me Tony’s found something?”

  “Yep. So he says.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Seems like this MacDonald, before he got taken out, finished his legal paper and emailed it to another officer who works in the same section, this Code 13, for safekeeping. Except he didn’t email it to a government computer. He emailed it to a private email address. Which means it’s probably at the officer’s residence. And it gets worse, boss.”

  Phil rocked back in his chair, fuming, and tempted to scream at his son-in-law lackey who, as much as he hated to admit it, wasn’t as stupid as Phil wanted him to be. But there was no point in killing the messenger, even though nobody ever made that point to Big Sal, who would take Vinnie’s bad news out on him. “Okay, Vinnie. How does it get worse?”

  “Well, the opinion that he wound up writing? From what Tony says, it ain’t good. He wrote it against us, saying that the drones would be legal. And then he wrote that he might send another opinion, saying the drones would be illegal, but he never sent it. He got bopped off instead.”

  “So, Vinnie. Let me see if I can get this straight. You’re saying our computer guy intercepted an email this MacDonald wrote to another naval officer, working in the same division, with a legal opinion saying the drones are legal so the Navy can go forward with the contract?”

  “Right, boss.”

  “But in the body of the email, he said he might be sending the officer a contradictory opinion, saying the drones are illegal, which is what we wanted him to say?”

  “Actually, boss, he said he would be sending another opinion after he got back from his run. In other words, if he hadn’t got bopped off down on the National Mall, it looks like he would have come back, taken a shower, put on his uniform, and sent the second opinion, saying the drones are illegal, which is what we wanted him to say. But he got hosed out on the Mall.”

  “So let me get this straight again. There’s one opinion floating around out there that cuts against the family, and it might be in some other officer’s hands by now. And there’s another opinion out there, but it’s still sitting in the Pentagon, because MacDonald got hosed before he could come back from his run and send it.”

  Phil cursed. “Why’d you have to work so fast, Vinnie?”

  “I was just doing what I thought you wanted me to do, boss.”

  Phil shook his head, drummed his fingers on his desk, and thought.

  “Who did MacDonald send this email to?”

  “Hang on. Let me check the name.” A pause. “To another officer. A Lieutenant Ross Simmons, who is also a JAG officer at Code 13. In the same division. Apparently this Simmons worked with or worked under MacDonald.”

  “Did MacDonald say anything in that email about why he sent his legal opinion to Simmons?”

  “Hang on. Let me look.” Another pause. “He said, ‘In case something happens to me, they’ll probably reassign this to you. Wanted to make it easy for you to pick whichever opinion you would want to go with.’ ”

  “Son of a—!” Phil drew on his cigarette. “The sucker knew somebody might take him out.”

  “Right, boss. And my guess is it ain’t just us who wanted to see him get iced.”

  “You’re smarter than I like to give you credit for, Vinnie.”

  “You gonna tell Big Sal?”

  The backhanded compliment about being smarter than given credit for seemed to have blown over Vinnie’s head.

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t want to bother Big Sal if we can handle it in-house.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We gotta find this Lieutenant Simmons and get that opinion back. We can’t have that thing floating around out there. And talk to Tony and see if there’s any way we can get that email erased.”

  “You got it, boss. I’m on it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

  SECTION 60

  ARLINGTON, V
IRGINIA

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  The late-afternoon sun, blazing through the cloudless, deep blue sky, lit the wind-ruffled cherry tree blossoms standing guard above the still-empty grave. All across the massive acreage of the sprawling tree-dotted cemetery, the sun seemed to lend a deeper lushness to the green grass carpeting on the hallowed plains and hills.

  Perhaps the perfect weather and picturesque beauty was God’s way of telling them that P.J. was now in a better place. Because if it weren’t for the sight of thousands of simple grave markers rising from the grass, this place might be a future glimpse of heaven.

  At least that’s what Caroline told herself. For the beauty gave her comfort in the midst of sorrow and a surrealistic reprieve from the surrealistic shock.

  Though she had been ordered to report to work yesterday, all that changed with P.J.’s death. Captain Guy had told her to take off a couple more days and meet them at the service.

  Now here she was in full uniform, standing at parade rest with the other members of her new command, the prestigious Code 13.

  In the distance, they heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the asphalt cartway just behind them. Then from around the bend, about a hundred yards away, down by the old oak tree, two white horses appeared. They approached at a slow gait, walking side by side.

  On the left horse was a rider, a United States Army sergeant in service dress blue uniform. The right horse bore only an empty saddle.

  A second pair of horses followed the first pair, and then a third, all tethered together in pairs of two, clipping and clopping against the grief-laden silence awaiting their arrival.

  There were six white horses altogether, commanded by three Army sergeants in service dress blues.

  As the third pair of horses rounded the bend, the red, white, and blue of the flag covering P.J.’s casket appeared atop a caisson pulled behind the third pair of horses.

  Walking just in front and to the right of the caisson was a United States Navy admiral in full choker white uniform. Caroline recognized him as Rear Admiral Jeffrey Lettow, the Chief of Navy Chaplains who had prayed with her at the medical center. He would officiate.

  Six U.S. Navy petty officers, in service dress white jumper uniforms and white Dixie cup caps, marched two by two in exact precision behind the caisson.

  The sight brought tears to her eyes and chills to her body. Fighting the compulsion of her emotions, she cast her eyes away from the caisson, although she could not erase the haunting sound of the clip-clop of the horses as the procession drew near.

  By the open grave a few yards away, three rows of empty seats awaited the family, who were still sitting in black limousines along the cartway, waiting for the casket-bearing caisson to arrive.

  Other friends and family members, mostly civilians, were gathered in a semicircle behind the row of empty seats. To the right of the empty seats, a Navy commander who would serve as funeral director stood at parade rest.

  Behind and to the right of the civilians, about thirty yards from the grave, a U.S. Navy bugler stood at parade rest. Another ten yards or so behind the bugler, six U.S. Navy riflemen—the firing party—also stood at parade rest.

  The clip-clopping drew nearer, now so close that Caroline could hear the squeaky sound of the caisson’s wheels turning and a snort from one of the horses.

  A moment later, the horses stopped. The caisson had reached its debarkation point only a few yards from the gravesite.

  The sound of car doors opening. Car doors closing. More opening and closing.

  Navy-enlisted men led family members in single-file columns toward the reserved seating, where they began filling the back row. A moment later, all but the front row had been seated.

  The Navy commander, who had been standing just a few feet from the front corner of the grave, and who wore a ceremonial sheath and sword holstered to his uniform, turned and walked toward the cartway. With sunshine reflecting off the stainless steel sword, he changed direction slightly, walking to the front of the team of horses pulling the caisson, which had stopped just behind three black limousines, their engines still running. The commander gave a hand signal, and the front and back doors of the first two cars opened. Men, women, boys, and girls, all looking solemn, some wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs, emerged from the lead cars.

  A lieutenant, also bearing a sword at his side and who had been standing guard by the parked cars, led them in a solemn, single-file procession across the grass.

  Some looked off to the right at P.J.’s flag-draped casket. Others looked away, staring straight ahead. One little girl with curly blonde locks, her hair fluttering in a gust of breeze, took her mother’s hand.

  A young couple clasped hands.

  The lieutenant directed them to the front row, where they sat, leaving three seats on the end vacant. The lieutenant nodded at the commander, who opened the back door of the third limousine.

  Gabrielle Barnes MacDonald stepped from the car and took the commander’s arm. Even in mourning, wearing a simple black dress that accentuated her slim body, P.J.’s sixty-three-year-old mother looked gorgeous and elegant in the afternoon sun. Her face bore a grim look with all the grace that Jacqueline Kennedy had displayed so courageously all those decades ago in this very cemetery for another former naval officer struck down by an assassin’s bullet.

  P.J.’s father, William, and his younger sister, Delia, fell in behind Gabrielle and the commander. They were a graceful family who projected strength and reassurance among dozens of sniffling mourners displaying emotions of sorrow around the grave. The MacDonalds were class personified, and Caroline had hoped to become a part of this family.

  Now that would never happen.

  The commander led the MacDonalds to their seats, and they sat in silence, absorbing the sounds of chirping birds and the breeze rustling through the treetops.

  Caroline noticed for the first time several high-ranking naval officers behind the family. There stood her friend, Captain Paul Kriete. She felt a sense of comfort and appreciation that he had come. Beside Paul, Vice Admiral Zack Brewer stood with his wife, Diane Colcernian Brewer, her auburn hair gleaming in the sun, wearing a dark-blue dress and large designer shades. Just beside the Brewers was the Secretary of the Navy, the Honorable H. Lawrence Anderson, with his wife, Amy.

  Gabrielle MacDonald looked up at Admiral Lettow and nodded her head, signaling the chaplain to step forward.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

  “We gather here in this gorgeous place, on this hallowed ground, in the midst of God’s natural beauty, to say our final good-bye to Lieutenant Commander P.J. MacDonald, who was an officer, a gentleman, a servant of his country, and, most important, a servant of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

  “As we prepare for the final portions of this military ceremony, to render honor to this strong man whom we lost too soon, a patriot who loved his country, the family has requested two passages of Scripture that were P.J.’s favorites, one from the Old Testament and one from the New, each marked in his Bible.

  “The first is from the book of Psalms, from Psalm 29:3–9 to be precise, and reflected P.J.’s love of the sea.

  “The voice of the LORD is upon the waters;

  The God of glory thunders,

  The LORD is over many waters.

  The voice of the LORD is powerful,

  The voice of the LORD is majestic.

  The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;

  Yes, the LORD breaks in pieces the cedars of Lebanon.

  He makes Lebanon skip like a calf,

  And Sirion like a young wild ox.

  The voice of the LORD hews out flames of fire.

  The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness;

  The LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

  The voice of the LORD makes the deer to calve

  And strips the forests bare;

  And in His temple everythin
g says, ‘Glory!’ ”

  Lettow paused, looked up, and cast a reassuring glance at the family. “And then there are two short verses from the New Testament, which in so many ways go to the very heart of who P.J. was, and indeed of who he still is.” He looked down. “The first is from Saint Paul’s letter to the church at Ephesus, chapter 2, verses 8 and 9. ‘For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.’

  “And finally, from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome, chapter 10, verses 9 and 10. ‘If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved; for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.’ ”

  Lettow closed the Bible in his hand and looked up.

  “This concludes the reading of the true and everlasting Word of God. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

  “The words of Holy Scripture remind us that even in death, there is yet life. The promise of the great Savior, Jesus Christ, is that if we have placed our trust in him, though we should die, so also shall we live. P.J. placed his hope and trust and confidence in that great Savior, who is the only way to God the Father, and because Jesus lives, so, too, does P.J. live.

  “If you do not know Christ Jesus as your Lord and Savior, if there is doubt in your mind, doubt in your heart, if you don’t know your destination should earthly death come upon you, suddenly and unexpectedly, as earthly death came quickly for our brother-in-arms, then I invite you today to place your faith in Christ. Only in him, only through him, only by him, may we escape the fiery bondage of eternal death and be assured of life forever, on streets of gold, by precious running waters, in the presence of our glorious Savior under the wings of God the Father.