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Authors: David Poyer

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BOOK: The Passage
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“I don't think it's—”
“Let me finish,” said Leighty mildly, and Dan bit his tongue. “The Japanese lost at Midway, maybe lost the whole war, because one squadron of dive-bombers got through unnoticed. In a general war at sea, we'll have upward of a hundred Backfires, Badgers, and Blinders in a strike, all firing air-to-surface missiles, and more cruise missiles from their Echoes and Charlies. The results of the Velvet Hawk series of fleet exercises are pretty consistent. Screen units—like
Barrett
—can expect to engage up to twenty incoming missiles at once in a major strike.”
Leighty paused, then went on. “This ship is the future, and we've got to make it work. If we can't, if the computers have become a liability instead of an advantage, maybe it's best we get that on the record by failing the battle problem.”
Vysotsky looked stunned. Dan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Leighty didn't seem to register that failing refresher training could mean both he and the XO would be relieved. The captain continued, “We have three weeks. Mr. Lenson, I want you to pass off as many of your duties as you can to Mr. Shuffert, then supervise the effort to get ACDADS back up.”
“Uh … aye aye, sir.”
“It's in your hands. Maybe Gitmo can help, though I don't know how much smarts they have on software. But bottom line is that we'll do the final battle problem in full auto. The system
will
work by then in mode three, or we will accept a failing grade.”
Harper looked grave. Shrobo shook his head slowly, gaining him a virulent look from Vysotsky.
Woollie broke the pause. “That's a risky course of action, Captain.
Really, if this new software's the problem and a senior software engineer says it's not working right, maybe I can persuade the commodore to grant you some kind of waiver on the—”
“I see what you mean, but I don't think that's the issue.” Leighty tapped his lips with a pencil. “These ships are going to have to fight someday—without software engineers aboard. You can't ask for a waiver in the middle of a battle. Thank you for the offer, but I believe I'll stay with what I just said.”
“All right, sir, I'll notify the commodore of your intention. Otherwise … today's exercises were unsatisfactory.”
“Thank you,” said Leighty. He stood up, and glancing at one another, the officers and chiefs got up, too, and filed out.
 
 
DAN was sitting glumly in his office, contemplating the fact that the captain had just bet his career and the possible future of a whole ship class on him and his team, when someone tapped on the door. “Yeah,” he called.
It was Diehl, the NIS guy. “Lieutenant. You said if I had any questions …”
“Yeah. Come on in.” He tried to force a casual tone as he cleared off a chair beside his desk.
“This a good time? You look busy.”
“I'll probably be here all night. So you might as well ask whatever it is you want to ask me now.” He forced a smile. “Cephas, how about getting Mr. Diehl some coffee. Me, too. Sugar? Cream?”
Diehl said black, and the yeoman left. He and Dan were alone, with the upper half of the Dutch door open. Diehl reached over and closed it. “Keep it private,” he said.
“How's the investigation going?”
“It's an interesting situation. Did you know Sanderling was a fruit?”
“You mean did I know before we went through his belongings, or—”
“Before.”
“No.”
“No hints to that effect? No suspicions?”
“I'd hear the guys make jokes occasionally. He was kind of the runt of the litter in the division. But they talk that way all the time.”
“Sailors, you mean? Enlisted?”
“Not just enlisted.”
“The kind of ‘suck my dick,' ‘whip it out' kind of stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.” Diehl sat slumped, looking vaguely around the office. His eye lingered on Dan's desk. “That your daughter?”
“Yeah.”
“No picture of your wife?”
“We're divorced.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me, did he have any special friends he hung out with, went ashore with?”
“Not that I know of. The leading chief, Dawson, or Petty Officer Williams, they might know.”
“Uh-huh. I sure wish we had a body, or a note. You know, eighty percent of suicides leave notes. The stuff the signalmen are telling me, just that they saw something white, that it was moving, then it sank—that he jumped overboard, then finished himself off when the ship was making up on him—that's like only one way of looking at it.”
“What do you mean? They saw him go down.”
“They saw someone struggling in the water, then sinking. How about this: Somebody knocks him on the head and throws him over. He comes to, tries to swim. Maybe he's hurt. He almost makes it, but he goes down just as the ship's getting ready to pick him up. It would look exactly the same.”
“Now taps, taps. Lights out,” announced the 1MC. Diehl waited till it was silent again. “You sure this is a good time for you? Now, you were on the effects board for his stuff. Who was there? You, that chief warrant—”
“Harper. It was me, Harper, Oakes, Dawson, and Cephas, the recorder.”
“Uh-huh. Cephas says you told him to bag and dump all the boy mags.”
“Right.”
“Why'd you keep the diary, Lieutenant?”
Dan blinked, suddenly angry. They couldn't keep quiet, like he'd asked them to. The question was whether they'd also told Diehl that Sanderling had mentioned the captain. He was starting to answer when the door banged open suddenly, as if kicked from outside. “What is it?” he said sharply.
“Sorry, sir.” The yeoman stopped halfway in. “You
asked
for coffee … . Should I come back later, sir?”
“No, leave it here. Thanks,” Dan said. Then, to Diehl: “You already talked to the yeoman here?”
“Yeah, hi,” Diehl said. “You want to give us a couple more minutes? Thanks. Close it … . Man, this is shitty coffee. Okay, why'd you keep it?”
“I couldn't decide if it was better to throw it away or forward it to his family. So I decided to look through it.”
“Why didn't you look through it there?”
“I thought I'd do it later.”
“Uh-huh. Where is it?”
“I finally destroyed it.”
“Uh-huh. That's what you were doing back on the fantail this morning?”
“Yes. I wrapped it in—”
“Five feet of copper wire and threw it overboard.”
“That's right.” The guy had done his homework, Dan thought.
“Let's see, you were court-martialed once, weren't you?” Diehl asked him, offhand, sipping coffee as he waited for an answer.
“Not a court-martial. Court of inquiry.”
“Letter of caution, not good. And according to your service record, you had to respond to some of the fitness reports you got as a jaygee.”
“I didn't know you were allowed to go into our service records.”
“Sure I am. Anybody I think might be subject to charges.”
“So I'm a suspect?”
“You got to admit, it looks suspicious. The kid's queer, he dies and you steal his diary and throw it away. Makes me wonder what it said.”
“I took charge of the diary as the ranking member of the effects board. I didn't ‘steal' it.”
“This could just be a murder investigation, Lieutenant. Why don't you can the coy act and tell me what the book said. It could save us both a lot of trouble.”
“It was a record of his feelings. Part of it, he wrote about his sex life. Like anybody does in a diary.”
“He's open about being a faggot? In the diary?”
“Yeah.”
“Mention partners?”
“Sometimes.”
“Anybody on the ship?”
“It mentioned some contacts on the ship.”
“This ship.
Barrett.
”
“Yes.”
“Now we're getting somewhere. Names?”
Dan said carefully, “It gave no proper names.”
“That's hard to believe. Are you in there?”
“No.”
“No reference to you at all?”
“Only that I kept turning down his special-request chits.”
“Come off it, Lieutenant. Where did you fuckee-suckee this kid? Your stateroom? The office here? You didn't do it down in the bunkroom with the enlisted.”
Dan controlled himself. This was the guy's interrogation technique, that was all. “I told you, I didn't have relations with him,” he said.
“You got a girlfriend, Lieutenant?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Show me a letter.”
“Wait a minute. Are you really asking me to prove I'm heterosexual by showing you a letter from my girlfriend?”
“Maybe. How about it?”
“I don't have any letters from her. She's in Charleston; we only left last week. And I don't think she'll write, anyway. We had an argument before we got under way. Anyway, does that mean a guy's not gay, if he's got a girlfriend? How about a wife and daughter?”
“You'd be surprised, Lieutenant. I personally think there's a hell of a lot more guys out there go both ways than anybody thinks. Anyway, you ain't got a wife; you said you were divorced. How about if I call the ex–Mrs. Lenson, find out why?”
“Why we broke up is our business. I'm not giving you her number.”
“Not cooperating, that's not the way to clear things up, Lieutenant.”
“That's outside the scope of this investigation.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Diehl. “You sure you never snuggled up with this Sanderling kid? When your shoreside pussy wasn't available?”
“No.”
“Who are you protecting, Lieutenant?”
“I'm not protecting anyone.”
“You don't lie good, Mr. Lenson. Fact, you lie real bad.”
“I've told you the truth. I read the diary; it couldn't be returned to the next of kin; it had no remarks indicating an intention to commit suicide; it gave no names of partners aboard ship.”
“One, two, three, four, six,” said Diehl. “What's five? I don't need a polygraph machine to tell me you're speaking me
sau
about something. Ask you this: If it isn't that you like to suck boys' dicks, is it worth flushing your career down the toilet for? 'Cause I'm gonna find out what it is sooner or later.” He sipped coffee and looked at the overhead. “What exactly is the problem here? Have we got some kind of personality conflict going?”
“I don't think so. I just find your questions offensive.”
“Oh, I'm the bad guy because I'm asking questions? Clue you in, Lieutenant. I haven't even started asking them yet. I'll tell you something else, something I learned in submarines. ‘Don't sink the boat.' Everything else is secondary to that. But these asshole bandits can do it. It's not a matter of one guy. That, maybe we could live with. But these buddy fuckers start linking up. They get this chain going, and it grows and spreads … . When the roaches get out of hand, somebody's got to come in and spray the kitchen.” Diehl took out a Skilcraft and a pad of paper. He put them beside
Dan's hand, on the desk. “Now, I'm gonna leave you alone here for a while. I want you to write down what you know. This is your last chance to get straight with me. After that, cross your legs; I only got one more nail.”
“Take your paper with you,” said Dan. “I don't have anything to add to what I said.”
When Diehl closed the door, Dan sat without moving. His mouth was dry. Shit, he thought. I handled that
all
wrong. Well, at least he'd kept suspicion away from the captain.
Yeah, real good work. So now he suspects
me.
A tentative knock turned out to be Cephas. Dan waved him in, seeing from his face that he'd have to mollify him now for yelling at him. He sighed. The Weapons Department yeoman was either ingratiating or else sullen; he seemed to want something, some acceptance or approbation, but even when Dan complimented him on a typing job, it didn't seem to be enough … . He started to reach for the growing stack of paper in his box, then remembered that as of now, when he wasn't on watch, he was on the ACDADS problem full-time. He said the necessary few words to Cephas. Then, hoisting himself wearily to his feet, he made his way through darkened, empty passageways toward the computer room.
BOOK: The Passage
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