P Deutermann - Darkside

“Gentlemen, the superintendent,” announced Admiral McDonald’s rather imperious executive assistant. The admiral came through the door, followed by Captain Robbins. McDonald was a distinguished-looking officer, tall, with bushy eyebrows, keen blue eyes, and a ruddy face that belied the submariner’s gold dolphins he wore on his uniform. He went to his chair at the head of the table and nodded at the Public Affairs officer, who went to the podium. Someone dimmed the lights and then the PAO went through a review of press articles and other media interest in the plebe’s death. It was not a pretty picture. Normally, when there was an untoward incident at the Academy, the supe would let the press briefing go on just long enough to get the flavor. This time, he let the PAO go through all the articles. No one spoke when he was finished.

“Tell me again how we are characterizing this?” the admiral asked.

“Under investigation; initial speculation from ‘informed sources’-that’s me-is that it was an accident.”

“At that hour of the morning.”

“Well, yes, sir, Admiral, but the alternatives are suicide, or worse.”

The admiral nodded. “Okay, so how about suicide? Any indicators?”

“None, sir,” the commandant said. “He wasn’t a star, but the company officer says he wasn’t a total goat, either. His roommate discounted suicide immediately. He said Dell was making it. Barely, but making it.”

“And this, um, other aspect?”

Robbins shrugged. “We’ve got NCIS into it, Admiral. The rumor’s out. Some questions on it, but Public Affairs says nothing until NCIS completes their investigation.”

“They buy that, Berry?”

“So far, anyway, Admiral.”

The supe looked over at Jim, who was never sure whether or not Admiral McDonald knew who he was. “Mr. Hall? You were at the scene?”

“Unfortunately, yes, sir, I was.”

“No knives sticking out of his back, or other indications of foul play?”

“The body was no longer thick enough for anything to be stuck in it, Admiral.”

This comment provoked an embarrassed silence.

“Okay, troops,” the admiral said wearily. “We have a dead plebe. We have an NCIS investigation. We have lots and lots of wonderful press coverage. We have the Board of Visitors coming between now and graduation, and we have the vice president of the United States here on commissioning day to make the graduation speech. What we need now is damage control until we have some answers. Berry?”

“Sir?”

“Refresh the executive staff, in writing, about how this works when we’re under siege. One point of contact. One source of information. No sidebars with anybody. No speculation as to what happened. Rumor control within Bancroft Hall. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll have it out today.”

“Dee,” he said, turning to the commandant, “Let’s see if we can get inside the NCIS investigation somehow. I don’t want them spooling up any bigger deal than is necessary, and I’d really like to keep it local.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the commandant replied, then made some notes. Jim thought Robbins hated being called Dee.

“Senior chaplain, I want to call the parents and reassure them that we’re going to find out what happened here just as quickly as we can. Set that up for me, please. And make sure they have a warm body down in Norfolk to hold their hands.”

The senior chaplain, a Navy captain, nodded and made his own notes.

“Everybody else: We’re very close to the end of the year. I’m saddened and deeply disappointed that we’ve lost a mid this close to the end. I want everyone to strike a balance, however, between handling this incident and ending the year properly so that the class of 2002 goes out with an appropriate bang. The commandant’s office will be the focal point of all incoming information on this matter. The PAO’s office will be the focal point of all outgoing information. Having the vice president here is almost as big a deal as having the president, from the standpoint of security, protocol, and logistical planning, especially after last year in New York. We want to show proper deference to the Dells’ family tragedy, while still keeping the commissioning week train on the tracks. Any questions?”

There were none, or at least none anyone wanted to put to the admiral.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” the admiral said as he got up.

Ev pushed away the remains of a microwave dinner and vowed once again never to eat another one. He pitched the plastic tray into the trash and went to answer the phone. It was Julie. Finally.

“Dad,” she said without preamble. “I think they searched my room.”

“ What? Who? And how do you know?”

“The second class in the room next door. They said they saw those two NCIS people coming out of my room with the OOD just as they were getting back from their last class. Those people who interviewed me.”

“Did they take anything?”

“Not that I can tell. Melanie’s still checking her side.” Melanie Bright was Julie’s roommate. He thought for a moment. “This may be serious, Julie. Your cell phone up? You got minutes left?”

She said she did.

“Call Liz DeWinter. Tell her what’s happened. If she’s willing to come after hours, we can meet here. I’ll drive over and get you.”

Julie called back forty-five minutes later, confirming that Liz was willing to meet right away. Ev drove over to get Julie, meeting her near the chapel. As he drove up, he saw that she was talking to another midshipman. They had their heads close together, but the mid walked away when he saw the approaching headlights.

“Who was that?” Ev asked as Julie got in.

“Tommy Hays. You remember Tommy. Classmate. Swim team. No sweat-he’s cool.”

Ev wanted to ask if they’d been talking about what was going on, but he decided not to pursue it. Ever since Joanne had died, Julie had become somewhat secretive about her social life. She gradually stopped bringing other mids home on the weekends, and sometimes took a weekend without telling him where she was going-or with whom. He was pretty sure Tommy Hays was or had been a regular. But everyone on the faculty knew that spring of first class year was a stressful time for Bancroft Hall romances. With graduation, commissioning, and first duty orders rapidly approaching, they either signed up for one of the assembly-line marriages in the chapel at the end of commissioning week or they never saw each other again as they scattered to fleet training schools all over the country. Ev drove Julie back to the house in worried silence.

Liz arrived fifteen minutes after Ev returned home with Julie. She showed up wearing designer jeans, an oversized Columbia University sweatshirt, and carrying what looked like a fat day planner. Ev heard the car in the drive and went to the porch to meet her. He could tell from her expression as she looked around that she was probably surprised by the size of the lot and the house. People who didn’t know him wondered how a Naval Academy professor could afford a place like this. She locked the Mercedes and headed for the front porch, where she saw Ev waiting for her in the lighted doorway and waved. He greeted her and led her to the spacious study, where Julie, still in her working blues, was waiting with a worried look on her face. Ev asked Liz if she’d like a drink, but she declined and turned directly to Julie. “Okay, Julie, tell me again what happened.”

Ev fixed himself a scotch while Julie talked to Liz. “And no one’s contacted you?” Liz was asking. “No official summonses to front offices?”

“Not a word. Since we talked last night, I’ve been going to classes, working out with the swim team, formation-the usual stuff. Our company officer didn’t know anything about this visit, either.”