Code 13 Read online

  “Good afternoon, Ensign.”

  Leaving a trail of water drops along the deck, she turned left and walked down the passageway toward the command offices.

  A moment later, she entered the suite with a sign reading Commanding Officer.

  The captain’s secretary, Becky Carney, a sweet, gray-haired San Diego native, looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon, Commander McCormick.”

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Carney,” Caroline said. “Sorry for my appearance, but the master chief said the skipper wanted to see me now.”

  “Yes, they’re waiting for you now, Commander. The captain said for you to go on in.”

  “Thank you.” Caroline stepped to the doorway of the captain’s office and knocked three times.

  “Come in.”

  She stepped in and came to attention. After seven years in the Navy, this marked the first time she had ever come to attention in running shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Lieutenant Commander McCormick reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Captain Rudy, wearing a service khaki uniform, rocked back in his large chair behind his desk. Commander Al Reynolds, who was the XO, and Cisco stood behind him.

  Rudy, a stocky, ruddy-faced officer from Texas, looked at her, put his hands behind his head, and smiled. “Glad to see you could make it, Commander.”

  “My apologies, Captain. Just got in from a run before I have to head over to the Reagan to do some will preparation.”

  “Don’t worry about it. And stand at ease.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Master Chief, the commander looks like she could use a towel.”

  “Already got it taken care of, Skipper.”

  Cisco handed her a white towel, which she hadn’t noticed he was holding until now. She took it, wiped her face, and draped it around her neck.

  “Like some water?”

  Why this constant grin from the captain?

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Master Chief?”

  “Aye, Skipper.”

  Cisco poured ice water from a pitcher sitting on the captain’s desk and handed it to her.

  “Thanks, Master Chief.”

  The cool water provided instant relief as the captain uncrossed his arms. “So I guess you’re wondering what’s so important that I pulled you in here before you could take a shower.”

  “My only thought is service to my country, service to the Navy, and service to my command, Captain.”

  Rudy’s belly laugh broke the tension. He poured himself a cup of water. “You know the reason I have you in command services doing wills and powers of attorney and not in court, Commander?”

  “I’m afraid to ask, sir.” She allowed herself a smile.

  “It’s because you’re a terrible liar.”

  She tried to suppress her giggling but ended up bursting into loud laughter. “Sorry, Captain. You’re right.”

  “Anyway, if you want to know the real reason I hauled you in off your run, look over your shoulder.”

  She turned around and felt her heart leap. “Gunner!”

  The slender naval officer with the three gold stripes of a Navy commander on the sleeves of his service dress blue jacket smiled and opened his arms in a give-me-a-hug gesture.

  “How’s my favorite cousin?” he asked.

  Caroline started to hug him. “Wait. I’m sweaty. I’ll mess up your dress blues.”

  “Who cares?” He pulled her to him in a big, affectionate bear hug, and she noticed he wore the same cologne P.J. used to wear.

  She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She turned back around. “Captain, this is my cousin, Commander Gunner McCormick.”

  “Yes, I know who Commander McCormick is,” Rudy said. “Everybody knows Commander McCormick. Not everybody makes international headlines for hauling prisoners out of North Korea. There is a method to the Navy’s madness, you know.”

  “Yes, of course.” She looked back at her favorite cousin. “What are you doing here, Gunner?”

  “Skipper asked me to drop by.” Gunner nodded at Captain Rudy. “He thought you might need a little extra help with some things.”

  “Extra help? I . . .” She looked at Gunner, then at Captain Rudy. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Rudy took the lead. “This has been in the works for several days, Caroline, but it was just finalized this morning. I knew Commander McCormick was in town for a symposium on the Law of the Sea over at the Justice School detachment. So I called him and asked him to come help me break the news. He’s on a tight schedule and has to be back at the symposium by 1330. That’s why I had to call you straight off your run.”

  She tried processing that. “Wait a minute. You’re in town?” She looked at her somewhat-famous cousin. “And you didn’t call me?”

  “Last-second thing,” Gunner said. “They flew me in off the carrier. We’re doing ops off the coast a few miles west of Point Loma. I was going to call you, but the captain called me first.”

  “Wait a minute.” She looked back at Rudy. “Sir, did you say you brought Gunner here to help break some news to me?”

  “You’re a quick study, Commander,” Rudy said.

  She turned to Gunner. “Is everything okay? Please tell me nobody’s died.”

  That brought laughter from everybody in the office except Caroline. The good-for-the-soul belly laughter brought instant relief, but also more confusion. “I give up. So what’s this news Gunner is supposed to help break to me, sir?”

  “The detailer called,” Rudy said.

  “The detailer?” She knew what that meant. “PSC orders?”

  “Yep.” Rudy nodded. “It’s permanent change of station time, Commander.”

  “London?” Maybe this was her lucky day.

  Captain Rudy shook his head. “Washington.”

  The air swooshed out of her internal tires. She looked at her cousin. “Well, I’ve wanted to go to sea too. And at least I’ll get to spend some time with Gunner.”

  “What?” Gunner grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t you have six months left on your orders with the George Washington?” she asked. “I mean, I know we’d both be on board for only a short stint, but it would be like a reunion of sorts.”

  Gunner looked at Captain Rudy. “She’s thinking about the ship, sir.”

  “I know.” Rudy grinned. He looked at Caroline. “I’m not talking about the USS George Washington. I’m talking about Washington, DC.”

  The captain pronounced the word Washington in a funny Texas accent that sounded like “Wershington.” A quirk in the captain’s dialect.

  “You mean they’re sending me to DC, sir?”

  “That’s right, Commander. Congratulations. This should be an excellent career move for you.”

  “But wait a minute.” She scratched her head. “The detailer has talked about London, Sigonella, Japan, and the USS George Washington. I haven’t heard him say a word about DC. This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”

  “You’ve been in the Navy long enough to know that every day is a new first time for everything, Commander,” Rudy said.

  “May I ask where in Washington?”

  The captain paused, then exchanged a glance with Reynolds, then Cisco, then Gunner. Then he looked squarely at Caroline, smiling like a possessive daddy bear and proud papa all wrapped into one. He crossed his arms and sat up high in his chair for the announcement. “You’re going to the Pentagon, Caroline. You’re going to Code 13.”

  The announcement froze the passage of time and everything around her. The shock had come from left field, like an unexpected left hook from a Golden Gloves prizefighter. She looked out the windows of the captain’s office, out at Pier 1 where the USS Cowpens was moored.

  Sailors walked up and down the catwalk between the pier and the ship, exchanging salutes. Two U.S. Marines carried a plywood box up the catwalk and onto the deck of the ship, disappearing behind the quarterdeck. />
  Had she heard that right?

  “Code 13? Did you say Code 13, sir?”

  “That’s what I said, Commander.”

  “I don’t . . . wait . . . I’m confused. I thought the officers at Code 13 were hand-selected by the admiral himself.”

  “They are.”

  “And I thought officers considered for Code 13 had to be approved for top-secret clearance before they could even be considered.”

  “They do. You’ve been cleared.”

  “But, Captain, I barely know Admiral Brewer. Why would he hand-select me for Code 13?”

  “Maybe you don’t know Admiral Brewer well. But people who know you do know the admiral well. Put it this way. A few things shook out and a few things fell out. Next thing you know, the admiral wants Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick at Code 13. What the admiral wants, the admiral gets.”

  She looked over at Gunner, who stood beside her with his arms folded, grinning. His grin was matched by grins on the faces of all the men.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She lost her thoughts. “May I ask who recommended me to Admiral Brewer?”

  Rudy smiled. “If you think about it hard enough, I have a feeling you might be able to figure it out.”

  Her mind was in a fog. How could this be happening?

  The lightbulb went on. P.J.!

  And her heart quickened. In the midst of the shocking news, her mind had gone into a fog about the fact that somehow, not only had she been ordered to the JAG’s most prestigious duty station, but she had been given orders that would reunite her with the only guy in her life whom, if he had proposed, she would have married.

  She had to get ahold of herself. “Was it Lieutenant Commander MacDonald, sir?”

  Rudy smiled. “That’s a good guess, Caroline. But no, it wasn’t P.J. MacDonald. But I can’t say anything else about it right now because . . .” Rudy scratched his chin. “Put it this way . . . there’s some information concerning the officer who made the recommendation that cannot yet be released.”

  “I understand, sir.” Caroline tried to hide the disappointment in her voice and tried changing the subject. “Uh, Captain, when does the admiral want me to report to the Pentagon?”

  The grin disappeared. Rudy’s face turned more serious. “That’s the other reason I called you in here on short notice. They want you in Washington and reporting by the end of the week.”

  “End of the week?”

  “Afraid so. Dominoes are dropping fast. That’s one of the reasons your cousin Gunner is here. He’s going to help you pack and get moved out. Sorry about the short notice, but that’s life in the Navy. You know how it is.”

  Her mind spun faster than a dryer on high-speed cycle. So little time. So many good-byes to say. She was already starting to miss San Diego and Ginger. What would it be like to be at Code 13? And why had she been selected, seemingly out of the blue?

  She never imagined she would be considered for such a position. She thought her relationship with P.J. had ended. How hard it had been to surrender the hope of them being together forever.

  And now this?

  Was she wrong?

  Was fate about to perform another incredible feat of one-upsmanship? To send her world into an unpredictable whirlwind?

  “You okay, Commander?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, Captain. I was just thinking.”

  “Well, there’s one other thing I need before you ship out.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything, sir.”

  “I got a call from the skipper of the USS Cape St. George.”

  That got her attention. “Captain Kriete?”

  “That’s right. Seems he’s pleased with your work aboard his ship.”

  “Oh. Well. Thank you, sir. It was a team effort.”

  “You’re too modest, Caroline. Anyway”—Rudy scratched his chin—“it seems the captain has invited me, you, and Commander Reynolds on board his ship for dinner tomorrow night in the wardroom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It seems the officers and crew want to express their appreciation to the command, and to you, for the hard work in getting their estate plans done prior to their sailing. Dinner will be in dress whites. Meet me and Commander Reynolds here tomorrow evening at 1800. We’ll walk over to the ship.”

  It seemed that Captain Paul Kriete would have his way, even if he had to go through official channels. Wow. She couldn’t help but admire that.

  “Commander? That gonna be a problem?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’ll meet you and Commander Reynolds tomorrow at 1800, then be prepared to execute orders for transfer to Washington after that.”

  “Excellent. Well, as I recall, you’ve got an appointment on board the Reagan.” He checked his watch. “Seems to me you’d better go hit the shower, throw on your uniform, and get moving. I don’t need any calls from the skipper of the Reagan about my star lawyer being late.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  CHAPTER 2

  WARDROOM

  USS CAPE ST. GEORGE

  PIER 2

  32ND STREET NAVAL STATION

  SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  FRIDAY EVENING

  Despite great progress made in the expansion of opportunities for women, the United States Navy remained, and forever would remain, primarily an armed service run by men.

  Caroline, unlike some of her more militant female friends who remained quite vociferous in the cause of feminism, never objected to the lopsided gender makeup favoring the opposite sex. Likewise, tonight, in the officer’s wardroom of the guided-missile cruiser USS Cape St. George, she did not object either.

  One man alone, trim and well fitted in the choker whites of a naval officer’s uniform, could stop most women dead in their tracks. But tonight she was the only female officer in the wardroom of more than twenty-five men, authentic naval officers, with even the least of them proving to be handsomer than the studliest actor Hollywood had to offer.

  Caroline sat in the third position on the right side of the elongated table, to the right of her own executive officer, Commander Al Reynolds. Just to the left of Commander Reynolds, at the end of the table but not at the head of it, sat her commanding officer, Captain Al Rudy.

  These three seats occupied by her, Reynolds, and Rudy had been reserved for the ship’s guests of honor, and all had been positioned to the immediate right of the ship’s commanding officer, who oversaw the meal proceedings from the table’s head.

  Caroline knew why they had been invited here: The swoon-producing hunk of a man bearing the four gold stripes of a Navy captain on his black shoulder boards had invited her out, and she had declined the invitation. And the joint invitation to her commanding officer ensured she would have to tag along.

  Slick.

  Of course, declining that original invitation to spend one-on-one time with the captain had gone against every natural inclination in her body, and he had no doubt sensed that she’d been tempted to accept before declining.

  Why should she have declined?

  After all, she and P.J. were done. Weren’t they?

  Or were they?

  Then came her orders, not only transferring her to DC, but transferring her directly to P.J.’s command!

  Now what?

  It would have been easier if they’d transferred her to London, like she had hoped. Had she received orders to London, or to any other duty station in the world other than Washington, she would have accepted Captain Paul Kriete’s invitation faster than your head could spin—if he had asked again, that is, rather than planning this dinner.

  That was how badly she’d wanted to accept.

  But these orders . . . the thought of reuniting with P.J. . . .

  Besides, when he had asked her for that drink, Captain Kriete was preparing to sail with his crew across the Pacific, all the way to the Indian Ocean. So what would have been the point anyway?

  Maybe all these crisscrossing orders and ships’ movements were God’s way of telling
her this rock-solid hunk of a naval officer was forbidden fruit. Moreover, maybe they were God’s way of telling her that she and P.J. were destined to be together.

  In fact, she felt somewhat satisfied with herself. By turning down Captain Adonis again, assuming he thought for a minute that this latest ploy would work, she was bravely going with the hope of another chance with P.J.

  Of course, the glances and nods thrown her way from the head of the table, the quick, furtive looks, the irresistible dimpled smile, the shining, pearly white teeth against his chiseled, tanned face and dark, wavy hair—all were more than enough to make her weak-kneed.

  There!

  He did it again before turning his conversation to Captain Rudy.

  The tension was so thick in the wardroom that it would take a laser to cut through it. And that oh-so-hot atmosphere was even hotter because only the two of them knew.

  Those sly glances. Those heart-melting smiles. Maybe he didn’t intend to ask her out again. Maybe this was his revenge, his way of torturing her for turning him down.

  If only P.J. knew how she had sacrificed for him.

  On the bulkhead, the ship’s clock showed a sweeping second hand racing toward the top of the hour.

  Caroline saw Captain Kriete glance up at the clock, and as the second hand swept past twelve, he rose from his chair.

  Soon she would be transferred across the country to her new duty station at the Pentagon, at the mysterious Code 13. But for the time being, her mind was anywhere but at her next duty station. His presence, as he stood looming over the end of the table with the gold pin of command on his white uniform jacket, was larger than life.

  When he lifted his spoon and rapped it three times against his water glass, he proved more commanding than the fiercest judge she had ever faced with the loudest gavel slammed against the largest courtroom bench.

  And then he spoke.

  “Gentlemen.” He glanced at her furtively. “Commander McCormick. I have an announcement.” Three more dings on the glass.

  Silverware stopped clanging. Water glasses and wineglasses found their places on the table. Enlisted mess stewards, wearing white dinner jackets and black slacks and holding silver trays as they moved back and forth between the wardroom and the galley, stopped dead in their tracks.