Sweepers (18 page)

“Gonna be a sweaty workout in those street clothes,” he said with a weary grin. Karen and Train were conspicuous in their office attire.

“Good morning, Admiral,” she said. “We need to talk for a minute.”

“Fire away,” he said, wiping himself down again. He took a deep breath and whooshed it out while bending over.

He had the physique of a man in his mid-thirties and was in prime condition. If Train looked like an oak tree in his Japanese jacket, the admiral looked more like a professional tri athlete.

“Okay,” he said, straightening up. “Got both lungs back in synch. But now I need to walk that session off. Mr. von Rensel, good morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Train said as they fell in with the admiral, who headed down the main hallway of the club. Train was glancing at Karen, as if to say, When are we going to tell him? They reached the back exit door and stepped outside into the.warm-up area. Karen stepped to one side so as not to obstruct the people coming and going from the building.

Sherman, still needing to walk, frowned, but then he looked at her face.

“So what’s the matter?” he asked.

“I got a call from the police this morning,” she began.

“Ah. That syringe business?”

“No, sir. It was Detective Mcnair, and he was at Vice Admiral Schmidt’s home in Ntclean.”

“Galen?” he said, staring hard at her. “Galen Schmidt?

What’s happened?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he’s had a heart at tack. He … he didn’t survive it. His housekeeper found him this morning and called nine-one-one.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Damn and blast. He was just-I mean, Wednesday night. At the memorial service. He was fine. He’s-are you sure he’s gone? Mrs. Murray couldn’t revive him? She was trained for that. The housekeeper, I mean.” He looked from her face to Train’s, as if hoping one of them would say this wasn’t true.

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I’m guessing it happened after she went home. The reason Detective Mcnair called me was because he found a notepad or piece of paper that had your name on it. And Elizabeth Walsh’s. And something about a SEAL.”

“Right. Sure,” Sherman said.

“That’s what I went over to talk to him about. Tuesday night. God, this is like losing my father again. Just a great guy, Karen. Damned heart just gave out. He’d been a heavy smoker.

Goddamn it! I better get out there. Mrs. Murray will be a wreck.” He had begun walking around in a little circle, his body demanding a cooldown but his mind obviously hurtling elsewhere. For a moment, she thought she saw the makings of tears in his eye.

“I’m very sorry, Admiral,” she said softly. Train was staring down at the concrete.

“Yeah. Damn. Not a good week here. First Elizabeth, now Galen Schmidt.

Not a good week at all. And damn that cop. Making you come tell me.”

“I volunteered,” Karen said, looking at Train. See, she wanted to say, is this the reaction of a murderer?

Sherman was staring down at the ground when he thought of something. “So why were the homicide cops there?”

“Apparently for the same reason they showed up at Elizabeth’s: unexplained death. Standard procedure. But they weren’t doing a crime scene or anything like that.”

The admiral shook his head wearily. “Goddamn it! I’d better get over there. I’m going to clear my afternoon calendar.” Then he stopped and shook his head. “No. I can’t.

I’ve got that White House POW/MIA delegation meeting.

Well, I’ll just have to be late.” He looked at them. “Sorry, I’m all over the place. Thanks for bringing me the word.”

He turned around to go back into the club, and they followed. “Mcnair hadn’t heard anything about the syringe business last night,” she said to his back. “I told him about it, and he said he’d chase down the report.”

He nodded over his shoulder. “Okay. I’ve got a couple of hours before my meeting. I’m going to go out to Galen’s house. There’s no surviving family, and I probably ought to take charge, at least for the moment. I know he’s got a cemetery plot down at the Naval Academy. I guess I’d better call his lawyer, Terry Harris, too.”

He gave them a dismissive wave and went back inside the club. Train indicated they should wait outside for a moment to give him time to get ahead of them. They stepped back outside, making way for the procession of runners entering and leaving the building. There were several thousand military personnel working in the Pentagon, all of whom were required to work out. This made the POAC a crowded place.

“Pretty good shape for a flag officer,” Train said. “He looks more like a Marine brigadier than a Navy guy.”

“He looks like he just got hit by a Mack truck,” she replied. Train said nothing.

“You still think he’s hiding something?” she asked, giving Train a challenging look. “I mean, I don’t think that was acting. Besides, first his exgirlfriend, and now his closest personal friend? Both dead in a week’s time? What’re the chances of that being coincidence?”

“Slim to none,” Train agreed. “But we’d better wait for the cops to finish with their investigation out there. What was that about a POW/MIA meeting at the White House?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Galantz is supposedly an MIA. Maybe Sherman can get the POW/MIA Task Force records, if he’s in that loop.”

She nodded. “I’ll ask. But not right now, I think.”

“You’re probably right. That cop comment on all this coincidence?”

She turned to walk back into the POAC building. ““That cop’ does not reveal what he’s thinking all that well,” she said. “But I got the impression that he was at least intrigued by the association.”

Train snorted. ““Intrigued by the association’? You’ve been in the JAG Corps too long, Counselor.”

She ignored that remark. They walked up the front stairs and out onto the pedestrian overpass. “I’m going to harass the Bureau of Personnel some more,” she said. “We need to get those Galantz files.”

“How much of this have you passed on to Admiral Carpenter?” he asked.

Karen hesitated. She was not yet sure enough of Train von Rensel’s relationship with the JAG to reveal why she had held back the Vietnam story from the front office. Once more, she wondered if all this evasion was prudent.

“None of it, actually. I’ve asked Captain Mccarty, his EA, to confirm that I can count on your help marshaling NIS assets-to find an exenlisted guy who might have something to do with Sherman.”

“But you held back on the Vietnam river story? And the syringe?”

“Yes.” She looked straight ahead as they entered the cavelike North Parking entrance and went through security.

He stopped just inside the main doors, forcing her to look at him. “I assume you have your reasons, okay? But, that said, I recommend you get to Carpenter and tell him everything. And I’ll want a copy of that Galantz file. I’ll run some traps within NIS. And one more thing.”

“What?”

“You need to start being careful. Very careful.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Two people are dead, Karen. One sounds a lot like homicide; the other’s an open question-for now anyway. But both of these people were close to Sherman.”

And?” But then she knew.

And, you’re getting close to Sherman. Now’s maybe not such a good time to be close to Sherman, okay?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Let’s get back to the orifice.”

Karen finally got the call to go see Admiral Carpenter at 3:30. After Train’s warning, she had called the front office again for an appointment. The chief had put her on call for the afternoon.

Apparently, the JAG was handling a flap about a breaking drug scandal down at the Naval Academy.

Wonderful, she thought. The CNO will have been foaming at the mouth, which would put the JAG in a really swell mood.

In the intervening hours, she had mulled over the issue of how much of what she had learned in the meeting with the cops and at dinner she should tell Admiral Carpenter.

But she had promised Sherman not to reveal what he had told her over dinner, and she still could not see any relevance between his failed marriage and his current situation.

Admiral Sherman, at least in her mind, deserved some consideration, assuming that he was the target of a stalker. But what if Train was right and Sherman was involved somehow in the death of Elizabeth Walsh?

What had Train said?

“Sherman could still be making all this up”-that was it.

Well, I know how that three-star was acting. She thought the word shabby just about described it. She and Train had reviewed the case file again after lunch, but there were too many loose ends for any effective brainstorming. Just about when she had decided to ask if he wanted to go with her to see Carpenter, Train had signed out for the Navy Yard and left the office.

She entered the JAG’s office three minutes after getting the call. The admiral was sitting in his desk chair, his back to the door. He, too, was talking on the telephone. Karen wondered irreverently if he was talking to the yeoman on the other side of the door. She made a noise to alert him that he was not alone, and he acknowledged her presence with a wave over his shoulder. A minute later, he hung up and turned around.

“Okay, commander. I can give you ten minutes. Bring me up-to-date on the matter of William Taggart Sherman.”

Karen took a look at the expression on his face and decided to tell him everything. It took twenty minutes, not ten.

She detailed the events of the past week, since the first meeting on Tuesday. She told him about the meeting with the police at Sherman’s house, the session with Admiral Kensington, the mysterious threatening letter from the SEAL, the syringe incident, and now the news of Galen Schmidt’s heart attack. The only part that she deliberately left out was the story behind Galantz and the dinner conversation about Sherman’s marriage. She was halfway hoping that Carpenter would be satisfied to absorb the big picture and not worry about details. But of course the Vietnam story was his first question.

“Why would this individual be after Admiral Sherman?

What is this stuff about an incident back in Vietnam?”

Karen hesitated. “Admiral, he asked me not to reveal that part of it. At least not within the”Navy hierarchy,’ as he calls it. I think he’s afraid that the story might create a scandal if it got out now.”

Carpenter frowned. “He did, did he? The”Navy hierarchy’? And yet you just told me he shared this story with the civilian police?”

Karen colored but did not reply. He looked at her and nodded. “Right. I forgot. He’s a pretty boy. Okay, let’s stop with the games. Sherman is a flag officer, but you work for me, not him. Besides, a basic rule of life applies here: When you’re in trouble, you don’t hold things back from your lawyer. Ever.”

“But are you his lawyer, Admiral?” she asked. And then she caught her breath when she realized how impertinent that question might sound.

Carpenter surprised her with a quick grin. “Good point, Commander. But in a sense, I am. I’m the JAG. I’m the whole uniformed Navy’s lawyer.

Not to be confused with the Secretary of the Navy’s general counsel, who is the Navy Department’s lawyer. But practically speaking, I’m ‘of counsel’ to that flag-officer hierarchy that Sherman’s still so afraid of. Hell, he’s still acting like a captain. If he wasn’t such a brand-new flag officer, he’d have known to come see me a long time ago.

Now, give.”

She recounted the facts of the Vietnam story, and of the night visitation in San Diego. She was surprised when he interrupted her. -

“What was the name again? Galantz?”

“Yes, sir. HMI Marcus Galantz.”

Carpenter was writing down the name. “And he was a SEAL?”

“Yes, sir. That’s one of the reasons I am definitely going to need Mr. von Rensel’s help. I’m waiting for Galantz’s record to come back from the archives. Oh, and Admiral Sherman feels that, given the circumstances, Galantz was probably listed as MIA.”

“He does, does he? Why isn’t von Rensel in here with you right now? Does he know all this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, where is he?”

“He’s over at NIS right now, sir. He and I-” She ran out of words.

“You and he what? Disagreed? Let me guess, you think Sherman is being screwed over, and von Rensel thinks he’s guilty of something. Am I right?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Tell-me something,” he said. “What was his recommendation regarding this bullshit about keeping back information from the Navy hierarchy?”

“He told me that I should tell you everything.”

Carpenter nodded with satisfaction at her answer, but he did not comment out loud. Instead, he went back to Sherman’s situation. “And the good admiral has no proof of the letter, or of that long-ago nocturnal visit from this supposedly MIA SEAL, right?”

“Yes, sir. That’s true.”

The admiral turned in his chair, his face scrunched up again in a frown as he stared out the windows at nothing.

“For what it’s worth, Admiral,” Karen said. “I don’t think Admiral Sherman is making this up. Or that he’s involved in the death of Elizabeth Walsh. Nor do the police, as best I can tell.”

Carpenter wheeled the chair around slowly to face her.

“And this feeling is based on what facts, precisely?”

Karen paused before replying. “Admittedly, just a gut feeling, I guess.

He didn’t have to tell us about the discrepancies he noticed at Elizabeth Walsh’s house. Or, for that matter, the mysterious letter, or the incident back in 1972.”

“Unless he’s a really clever devil. He is a flag officer, after all.”

Karen managed to keep control of her face, but Carpenter caught the effort. “You can think it, Commander,” he said with a frosty grin. “But you’d better not say it.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” was all she could manage, glad to have the tension broken.

“Okay. What I was getting at, of course, is that by offering up some morsels, he could be running a game on the cops-a dangerous game to be sure, but a game nonetheless.”

“But what about the syringe business?”

“It was in your locked car, after you and he had taken a ride to the restaurant. Do you know that he didn’t just plant it, make a quick call to the cops from the restaurant, and then go through some charade with the patrol cops, all in order to make it look like someone was watching the two of you?”