Navy Justice

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“I was at the boat rental place two days ago, ready to get my own little powerboat to take me out to the prearranged area, when it occurred to me that I’d be better off using my own equipment. If anything was going to happen at sea, I wouldn’t be able to prevent it, but I trust the ability of the aircraft carrier and her ship’s company to do their jobs. I certainly couldn’t protect them.”

“What are you most worried about?”

“That’s classified.”

Joy shook the bottle into which she’d mixed oil, vinegar, lemon juice and salt. When she finished, she poured a generous amount over the ready-made salad she’d bought.

“Save the classified routine for someone else, Brad. I’m the one risking my neck getting classified information for you, remember? What about your boss? Can you contact him now?”

“I could use your phone, as you suggested. But I’d rather not. I’m pretty damn sure that everyone’s calls on this side of the island are being monitored. So if a call went into the Bureau from either your landline or your cell, it would immediately pop up. I don’t want to bring anyone into this, no matter how legit they are.”

“Maybe you should calm down and be a little more trusting of the process.”

“I trust no one.”

Joy washed her hands and looked out her kitchen window at the windswept coastline. The emergency vehicles of this morning were gone, but she knew Brad was correct. Several lookouts had been assigned to keep an eye on the beach for whatever—or whoever—washed up in the next few days. She didn’t have to see them to know it.

They were looking for the domestic terrorists whose group Brad had infiltrated.

She shuddered. The thought of American citizens willingly working for such an evil cause gave her the creeps.

Brad was a solid military man who now worked for the FBI. He wasn’t going to emerge from his undercover role until he had the answers he needed. That they all needed to ensure the safety of the base and surrounding area.

“I’m going to get into more comfortable clothes,” she told him. “Please help yourself to some of this and I’ll be right back. We have to come up with an action plan.” She pointed to the dish of crudités and hummus she’d prepared and left on the dining room table.

“I’ve kept myself occupied all day. I think I can manage another five minutes.” He walked over to the table. “Wow, you’ve fixed us a regular feast.”

“It’s the least I can do to support my local counter-terrorist undercover FBI agent.”

“Well, not the least.”

Joy didn’t react to his comment—she wasn’t sure he realized he’d said it so loudly.

Brad’s tone was steady, the same level voice she remembered from Norfolk. But his expression was worrying. It wasn’t the five o’clock shadow or the rumpled hair. They’d worked long hours together with few breaks and had seen each other at their worst.

It was the faraway look in his eyes. As if he was there physically, talking to her, but his mind was preoccupied with figuring out a puzzle.

She’d have to help him get to the bottom of it. Especially since she preferred her yoga pants and T-shirt to an orange jumpsuit.

* * *

THEY SAT WITH half a bottle of wine unfinished between them as she took notes and Brad leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. She’d left the dinner plates in the sink for later, much as that pained her. What they were doing was more important.

“You must know something or you saw something downrange that’s incriminating to whoever wants General Grimes, and maybe you, dead. Let’s list all your missions and detachments. Anything you think was suspicious about them.”

Brad actually laughed, a rumble from deep in his chest. It seemed to echo in her dining room.

“The real question is what mission wasn’t suspicious or fraught with shady characters. Hell, Joy, do you think they send former SEALs and FBI agents to deal with the ‘aboveboard’ terrorists? Do you think there’s such a thing?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled, and she noticed his even white teeth. He’d always been attractive, but as an enlisted man he wasn’t available to her, even with his engagement on the rocks. He’d acted on his beliefs and on what he knew was right; she respected him for that. His behavior was typical of most Navy personnel she’d known, but she’d met a few officers as well as enlisted who’d crossed the line into fraternization. Brad had never so much as tried.

His good looks and their chemistry tempted her nonetheless.

“Cut me some slack, Iverson. I don’t have the battle scars you do.”

“I’m sorry, Joy. I guess I needed to blow off some steam with a good laugh.”

“Glad I could help. Now that it’s out of your system, how about refocusing and going over what you know?”

The thought of a bomb or a missile hitting either of the bases on Whidbey and injuring innocent civilians as well as Navy personnel stoked the fire that’d fueled the most fundamental reasons Joy had joined the military. She’d wanted to serve her country, protect its citizens and help defeat the bad guy wherever and whenever possible.

“Joy, you know I can’t tell you any of that.”

“You can’t tell me details, fine. But you can list who you’ve been targeting. No names—just call them persons A, B, C, whatever. I just need a timeline.”

“I realize now it was a cell of four, three since this morning’s events. I think one of them is a veteran, unfortunately. Army.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it being another vet.” She should have, though. The horrors of war were enough to make the most stable, honest human being turn to alcohol, drugs and worse. Mental illness rates among war vets were skyrocketing, and the VA Hospitals overflowed with PTSD patients.

“It’s not anyone I ever worked with, not former Navy or Marine. The guy was in the Army and saw several people in his unit killed or injured by an IED. Based on what I’ve seen of him, he probably has TBI.”

Traumatic Brain Injury. “That’s rough.”

“I’ve met all three players in this local cell face-to-face. The shooter is the first one I didn’t know. The cell’s small, and they’re not the type who have the months of training by al Qaeda or ISIL behind them. They’re homegrown terrorists who want some kind of vengeance because they feel the US Military wronged them—or the cause they’ve been associated with online.”

“Only one of the three you know personally is a veteran?”

“Yes. There’s one guy who acts like he has ties to another suspect, but I don’t have anything solid there. Look, you have to trust me. I know my job, Joy.”

“If you know it so well, why are you here asking me for help? Asking me to put my honorable discharge on the line, not to mention my new civilian job? A job, by the way, that wasn’t easy to land?”

“Because I need your help. I can’t say it any more clearly. I can’t do this alone. If these lowlifes have somehow hooked up with the worst of the bad guys from overseas, they have to be stopped more than ever. I promise you, you’ll come out a hero when all’s said and done.”

“I’m no hero, Brad, nor am I interested in being one. I’m a lawyer. A civilian lawyer. Maybe you just should’ve taken them out with your SEAL methods.”

He grunted. “Trust me, it crossed my mind. But a SEAL’s trained to take out the enemy on foreign soil. Not civilians in American territory. As an FBI agent, I have to play by the rules, too. And there’s more—don’t ask me for details here. The longer I track them, the more Intel we get, and the better our odds of finding how and what they’re communicating with the overseas operatives. How they got hold of a surface-to-air missile, for instance. Plus, the likelihood that they’re going to slip up increases with each hour I remain undercover. These seemingly loner operatives could help us blow open a much larger network.”

She leaned back in her chair. It was mind-boggling to consider how much the FBI and other LEAs did to keep the country safe on a daily basis.

Her task was much simpler.

“Tell me about your boss.”

“Mike Rubio. You met him briefly during the Norfolk trial. He was the officer in charge of my SEAL team. We’ve worked together for almost two decades.”

“And yet you have no way to contact him other than through official channels? I’m not getting this, Brad. You have to have someone to reach out to. And won’t he be worried about you?”

“He might be, but we’ve been through worse. I already told you. I can’t make a move until I know where the cell is and what they’re up to. Or if my team’s narrowed in on them or even taken them out by now. That might not show up in the press right away.”

“Yeah, I know.” So many Navy cases had initially attracted media attention, but after it was determined that it would be in the nation’s best interests to keep the facts classified, reporters had been notified and the cases left to die a quiet media death.