Code 13 Read online

  “Accept Christ now, before it is too late.

  “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

  “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

  Another moment of silence, as the chaplain’s words resonated against the peaceful sounds of nature.

  The commander turned to the family members seated by the grave and gave them a silent hand signal to rise, and they all stood.

  The sight caused Caroline’s heart to pound. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded it with all her heart.

  “Attention on deck!”

  Caroline snapped to attention, along with every other member of the United States military standing by the grave.

  “Present . . . arms!”

  Every naval officer flashed a sharp salute.

  The commander withdrew his sword, bringing it to a tight vertical position, gripping it just below his chin, holding it in alignment straight in front of his face, the sun glistening off the sharp, stainless steel blade.

  The pallbearers moved in perfectly executed half steps to surround the casket. In somber silence, with their hand movements in exact unison, they began to lift the casket up off the caisson. In precise half steps, they stepped back with it, now clearing the caisson.

  “Mark time, march!” the squadron leader called.

  They marched in place as they executed a pivoting maneuver, turning the casket, feet first, at an angle lined up with the grave.

  “Forward, march!”

  In hallowed silence, they stepped forward, the squadron leader out front, carrying the casket across the green grass to the grave. In a reverent unison of motion they brought the casket over the grave and laid it onto the lowering device, then stood at perfect attention, guarding P.J.’s body in respect.

  “Order . . . arms!”

  The officers dropped their salutes.

  “Parade . . . rest!”

  Captain Guy stepped forward, to a position just away from the head of the casket, as the six pallbearers lifted the American flag off the casket. Caroline watched the flag. They started from the feet of the casket, the end covered only with the red and white stripes of the flag.

  They worked in a slow, robotic, dignified fashion, wearing white gloves, as if they were handling the most precious commodity on the face of the earth, something more valuable than gold or silver or rubies. One perfect fold followed another, a third fold, then a fourth.

  Searching for a mental exercise to help her fight tears, Caroline counted folds. And when they reached the head of the casket, they folded the flag for the fourteenth and final time, compacting Old Glory into a perfect triangle. The last pallbearer turned with the flag tucked in the crook of his elbow and faced the squadron leader. With his right hand he gave a slow-motion salute, bringing his white glove to the bill of his cap.

  The squadron leader, a Navy lieutenant, slowly returned the salute, reciprocating the slow-motion dignity with which it was rendered, and received the flag.

  The squadron leader then did an about-face, took two steps toward Captain Guy, and commenced another slow, reverent salute, bringing his white glove to the black bill of his cap.

  As Captain Guy slowly returned the lieutenant’s salute, then received the flag, a tear rolled down Caroline’s cheek.

  The lieutenant did a slow about-face, took two steps toward the casket, and came to attention, standing watch over it with the other pallbearers.

  A warm breeze swept in, lasting about two seconds, then died down. A second later, Captain Guy walked alongside the casket, past the pallbearers, past the squadron leader, and approached P.J.’s mother.

  He went down on one knee just inches in front of her, with the folded flag resting on his knee.

  “On behalf of the president of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”

  Lifting the folded flag in his white gloves, he handed it to her.

  Caroline could see that she smiled, nodded, and said, “Thank you,” although her voice could not be heard in the breeze.

  Captain Guy stood, stepped away, and walked back to his position.

  “Attention on deck!”

  All military personnel snapped to sharp attention.

  “Present . . . arms!”

  Caroline and the others saluted.

  “Ready . . . fire!”

  The first rifle volley cracked the air with a stinging fury. Caroline winced.

  “Fire!”

  The second volley echoed across the cemetery, bouncing off white gravestones.

  “Fire!”

  The third boomed like distant thunder.

  When the echo from the rifles died, with a slow, melodic strain, off in the distance, the Navy bugler began to play taps, and her mind remembered the words.

  Day is done, gone the sun

  From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky;

  All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

  The long haunt of the bugle ended.

  “Order . . . arms!”

  The officers dropped their salutes.

  Admiral Lettow, Captain Guy, and the commander in charge of the funeral slowly filed by the family members, shaking hands and offering condolences, and then the commander invited the family to stand and led them off to the waiting limousines.

  “Parade . . . rest!”

  “Company dismissed.”

  That was it? Just like that?

  Caroline felt numb. Some mourners chatted, and some started to leave. She wished the family had stayed, but they’d elected to leave and not mingle.

  She stepped forward, walked over to the casket, and put her hand on it.

  “Good-bye, P.J. Until we meet again.”

  She turned and walked away.

  ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

  SECTION 60

  BRADLEY DRIVE

  Victoria strolled across the lush green grass of section 60, looking for her car, which she had parked somewhere at the intersection of Bradley Drive and Marshall Drive. She was glad that Mark was here for the funeral. She found his presence comforting in a way that surprised her.

  Still, as he walked with her across the cemetery, ever the gentleman he always had been, she didn’t feel like engaging in small talk.

  Her whole relationship with P.J. MacDonald had come and gone as fast as a whirlwind—a compacted representation of life itself—here today, gone tomorrow.

  In the brief time she’d known him, his magnetism had enticed her imagination almost day and night, and their kiss just a few nights ago was the most electric thing she had ever experienced.

  In many ways P.J. had been everything Mark wasn’t. Exciting. Super brilliant, über handsome. Unpredictable.

  Yet here was Mark. Steady. Dependable. Mildly handsome, but no Adonis like P.J. But ever the gentleman.

  Still, she knew she couldn’t soon shake the images of the afternoon. The horse-drawn funeral caisson. The folding of the flag. The firing of the rifles and the final rendition of taps, all in honor of P.J.

  But the image that she would never forget came after all that. The image of Caroline standing alone by his casket, her hand lovingly placed upon it, tears streaming down her face.

  Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick was the woman who still loved P.J. MacDonald more than anyone in the world. And now Victoria felt a tinge of guilt that she had made a play for him.

  But then again, what red-blooded single woman wouldn’t have been drawn to him? And besides, it wasn’t like he and Caroline were still together at the time.

  But the image of Caroline at the casket?

  Victoria felt her eyes watering.

  And now here was Mark, by her side again, which compounded her guilt.

  A moment later, they reached Bradley Drive, which was one of several streets inside the boundaries of the cemetery, all named for great American war heroes.

  �
�I parked around the corner, over on Marshall Drive. Not much farther,” she said finally. But before Mark could even respond, she spotted the woman, who within a matter of days, had both brought out her jealous anger and then brought her to tears.

  “Caroline!”

  The blonde naval officer, her black Volkswagen Passat parked along Bradley Drive, looked up. “Victoria?”

  “Wait a second?”

  “Okay,” Caroline said.

  “Is that the officer who was standing by P.J.’s casket?” Mark asked.

  “That’s the one. Give me a second, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  Victoria stepped out ahead of Mark and walked across the last two gravesites over to the street where Caroline stood by her car. She walked right up to the woman she had thought would become her rival. “Caroline, I just want to let you know how sorry I am. I think I can see how much he meant to you. I didn’t realize it before. It’s so obvious.”

  Caroline smiled and nodded. “That’s very gracious of you. Thank you for your kind words.”

  “I also want to apologize that I didn’t come across in a warm manner when we met. Please forgive me.”

  “No worries. It’s all such a blur anyway.”

  “You know, I hope we can be friends. I mean, we’re going to be working together, and although you knew P.J. a lot better than I did, I have a feeling that’s the way he would have wanted it.”

  Caroline looked up. Her eyes were still watery. A kind smile crossed her face. “I think that’s a great idea. And I think you’re right. P.J. certainly would want us to be friends.” She reached out, and they embraced.

  “I’ve got someone I want you to meet,” Victoria said.

  “Okay.”

  She turned and motioned Mark over. “This is my friend, Special Agent Mark Romanov, from NCIS in Norfolk. We go back a long way. He heard about P.J. and came up to offer his support.”

  “Hi, Mark,” Caroline said.

  “My pleasure, Commander.”

  “Please, Caroline is fine.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Mark said, “but I wish it could have been under different circumstances.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I want you to know we are going to get to the bottom of this, and whoever is responsible will be brought to justice.”

  “Mark’s the NCIS’s best investigator,” Victoria said, “and they’ve brought him up from Norfolk to nail whoever did this.”

  “Actually,” Mark said, “they’re assigning me up here for six months TAD.” TAD was the military acronym for temporary active duty. “Just to work this case until we get some answers. I’ve leased a furnished townhouse in Alexandria.”

  “Oh really?” A ton of bricks hit Victoria’s stomach. “I didn’t know that part. I mean, the part about you getting a TAD assignment.”

  “Just found out myself,” Mark said. “I didn’t get around to mentioning it yet.”

  “Anyway, thanks for the words.” Caroline looked at Victoria. “Was everybody here today from Code 13?”

  “Everybody except Lieutenant Ross Simmons.”

  “I thought he was missing,” Caroline said. “I remember meeting him just before our run.”

  “Was he supposed to be here?” Mark asked.

  “I thought Captain Guy ordered everybody to be here to show full support from the command.”

  “Strange,” Mark said, turning to Caroline. “Anyway, Commander—”

  “Caroline,” she interrupted.

  “Yes. Caroline. Would it be okay if I give you my card, just in case you need me for anything?”

  She smiled. “Yes, of course.”

  He handed her his card.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. And I hope to see you under more pleasant circumstances next time.”

  “You too.”

  Caroline got into her car, cranked the engine, and drove away.

  Victoria watched as Caroline’s car turned off onto a side street, then disappeared.

  “You can tell she’s taking this hard,” Mark said.

  “We’re all taking it hard. But no doubt, she’s taking it the hardest.”

  “Tell ya what,” Mark said, “I don’t like hanging around cemeteries. Let’s find your car, then go get a drink and grab something to eat. Maybe Old Town Alexandria? Or maybe Georgetown? What do you say?”

  She studied his face. She didn’t want to rekindle their relationship. Not now, anyway. Not with P.J. just being buried.

  On the other hand, he had played the role of the perfect gentleman, and she didn’t want to be alone after spending the afternoon in a cemetery.

  “Okay. All right. But just as friends for the time being. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He flashed the same handsome smile that had attracted her from the beginning. “For the time being.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  “Deal.”

  CHAPTER 20

  APPROACHING LIEUTENANT COMMANDER CAROLINE MCCORMICK’S TOWNHOUSE

  OXFORD HUNT

  OFF OLD KEENE MILL ROAD

  WEST SPRINGFIELD, VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  The drive from Arlington down the Shirley Highway, past the Capital Beltway, and then to Old Keene Mill Road in Springfield had taken forever, or so it seemed.

  Washington’s traffic nightmare, no matter the time of day or day of the week, was far worse already than anything she had experienced in San Diego.

  And another problem with Washington was exorbitant housing prices. DC was even more high-priced than San Diego. Junior officers had to live out a ways from the Pentagon because senior officers, lobbyists, and high-paid government bureaucrats snapped everything closer to the Pentagon and closer to DC itself.

  Caroline took comfort in the fact that the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, Vice Admiral Zack Brewer, although he could afford something closer, had elected to live out in Springfield, “to be with the men and women with whom I serve,” he had often said.

  She had already heard that the admiral’s townhouse was off Old Keene Mill Road, about a mile from her rented townhouse in Oxford Hunt.

  Brewer was a legend and JAG Corps hero. And to a lesser degree, so was his wife, Diane, once among the top JAG officers in the Navy before she married Zack and left active duty.

  She turned left on Huntsman Boulevard.

  Her townhouse community sat near the intersection of Huntsman and Sydenstricker Road. She wheeled into her short driveway, turned off the engine, sat a moment, and stared at the townhouse.

  She got out of the car, locked it, walked to the front door stoop, and unlocked the door. She tossed her purse onto the sofa in the den, went into the kitchen, and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, then went to her bedroom to check her email.

  The computer on her desk had lapsed into sleep mode. She tapped the space bar and was back in business.

  That’s what she needed now. To get her mind off this.

  She opened AOL and was greeted with an immediate, “You’ve got mail.”

  She smiled at the sound. Even an electronic voice at the moment was better than no voice.

  Let’s see. Junk. Delete. More junk. Delete. What’s wrong with my spam filter?

  She scrolled down a bit.

  What’s this?

  From: Ross Simmons.

  Subj: Caroline, P.J. asked me to contact you.

  What?

  The email had been sent two days ago, but with the shock of P.J.’s death, frankly, she had missed it.

  She opened the email.

  LCDR McCormick,

  I met you the day you first visited Code 13. I was working with P.J. on several projects. He gave me your personal email address and asked me to contact you if something happened to him. He didn’t want me contacting you on government email.

  Captain Guy assigned the Blue Jay project to P.J., and P.J. emailed me a draft opinion that he completed the night before he died. He wanted me to show it to you if so
mething happened, but not at the Pentagon.

  My address is 4024 Lafayette Drive, Alexandria. My cell is 704-555-3141, but it’s best not to call me to avoid anyone who might be monitoring. Can you come as soon as you get back from P.J.’s funeral? It’s important.

  Very respectfully,

  R. D. Simmons

  LT, JAGC, USNR

  How strange.

  She picked up her phone and started to dial the cell number provided.

  No, if Simmons asked her not to, there must be a reason. And if P.J. had asked Simmons to deliver something to her, he must have had a reason.

  She hit the Print Screen button on her computer, then snatched the address off the printer. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door to her car, got in, and, trying to control her shaking hands, punched the address into her GPS.

  With a twisted feeling in her stomach and with her heart racing, she backed into the street and stepped on the accelerator.

  CHAPTER 21

  APPROACHING LIEUTENANT ROSS SIMMONS’S CONDO

  ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  The GPS showed Ross Simmons’s condo was three hundred feet on the left. Her heart accelerated as she slowed the car, turning onto the short street that was Lafayette Drive.

  The street was off a main road, in what looked like a quiet, low-traffic neighborhood. She strained to look at the gold house numbers on the black front door of each condo. Even numbers on the left. Odd on the right.

  4016 Lafayette Drive . . .

  4018

  4020

  4022

  The next condo’s front door was wide open, blocking her view of the house number.

  4026

  4028

  Caroline tapped the brakes, stopping the car. She shifted into reverse.

  4028

  4026

  The driveway was empty. This had to be 4024 Lafayette Drive.