P Deutermann - Darkside

“Are we okay in this shit?” he asked, looking at the solid green waves coming at them like white-capped infantry, angry at losing their prey.

“Hell yes,” she said. “This is nothing. This is a trawler hull, basically. Tarted up inside, but she’s a pretty tough sea-keeper. You did quite a job out there today. You okay?”

“A little winded, but, yeah, I’m fine. It was the sex that wore my ass out, I think.”

She grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, then brought the yacht around to head back to the area where the boat had sunk. Ev saw the flashing lights of a Coast Guard boat behind them. It was banging through the waves, sending up dramatic V ’s of spray. Liz switched over to the emergency band and checked in with the approaching boat. Ev was content just to sit there in a corner of the pilothouse. And Sundays used to be such quiet, peaceful days, he thought. Then he remembered that there were a woman and child down below, a child who had probably just lost her daddy. He heaved himself upright and went below decks.

Down in the master cabin, the survivors were huddled together under all the blankets and sheets on the bed. Ev wondered if he should find the air-conditioning thermostat and turn it off, but they were probably experiencing the cold of exhaustion. The little girl appeared to be asleep, but her mother was staring fixedly at nothing when he came in. He sat down gently on one corner of the bed.

“Can I get you anything? Some water? Coffee? A drink?”

She shook her head. The boat was corkscrewing now as Liz took her across the seas toward the sinking datum. Being inside wasn’t pleasant.

“The Coast Guard boat is almost here,” he said. “We’re staying in the area for a search. They’ll probably send a helo out, too.”

The woman reached down and put her hand over her daughter’s upturned ear. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “I saw him go down. He put his jacket on Lily. Then the mast hit him, right on the head. Hard. His eyes rolled up and he was gone. I couldn’t reach him and still hang on to her.”

He sighed and nodded. “How long were you in the water?” he asked.

“Forever,” she said, still speaking softly, not wanting to wake the child. “I didn’t thank you, did I?”

“No need. It was Liz who saw the sail. Liz DeWinter. This is her boat. We almost went right on by.”

“Several boats did. They couldn’t see us, I suppose.”

“I couldn’t see you until we were damn near on top of you.” The boat began to roll again as Liz slowed and turned parallel to the seas. Ev could hear the deep-throated engines of another boat close by. “Get some rest,” he said. “There’s no point in transferring you to the Coast Guard boat. We’ll take you in. I’m sorry about your husband.”

“Thank you,” she said almost mechanically. “I don’t think it’s really penetrated yet.”

“I lost my wife two years ago,” he said. “To a drunk driver.”

“And this Liz DeWinter? Who is she?”

Ev looked down at her, startled by the question and the vaguely disapproving expression on the woman’s face. The yacht hit a large wave and shuddered.

“Right now, she’s saving my life,” he said. “Now get some rest.”

He got up and turned out the lights. As he was shutting the cabin door, he thought he heard her say she was sorry. You don’t know the half of it, he thought. But you will.

Jim Hall wrote a quick note at his desk, sealed it into an official envelope, marked it “Eyes only, personal-for RADM-Select Robbins,” and asked a secretary to give it to the commandant’s admin assistant. Then he went to meet Oberst-sturmbannfuhrer Branner over in Mother B.

Branner was waiting for him in the rotunda. She was wearing another tight short skirt outfit, and she was tapping one high-heeled foot impatiently. There was a fat briefcase sitting on the marble floor beside her. Two firsties walking by gave her an unabashed once-over until she looked back at them, at which point they found an urgent reason to pick up the pace.

“We have a development,” she said without preamble when he joined her. “It seems that Midshipman Markham turned up having some of Dell’s clothes in her room.”

“And how did we find that out?” he asked. He was conscious of the fact that their voices were echoing around the cavernous room.

“Room inspection,” she said. “Apparently one of those random things. Markham was in charge of the room for last week. She was placed on report for having nonregulation gear in the room. They called me this morning just before I left to come over here.”

“Was it truly random, or did you put a word in to the Exec Department?”

“Moi?” she asked sweetly. “Actually, no. Fortuitous, but random. We’re meeting with Dell’s roommate in five minutes.”

She picked up the briefcase and they headed for the commandant’s conference room. “What do you want me to do in there this time?” he asked.

“I’ll ask the questions. If you think of something, chime in. This kid’s not a suspect. I’m going to concentrate on what he knew about Dell, not the incident. I will tape it, so you’ll need to ID yourself at the appropriate time. Otherwise, follow my lead.”

“Anywhere,” he quipped as they stepped behind the partition. She ignored the remark. They went into the commandant’s outer office and the secretary led them into the conference room, where Midshipman Antonelli was waiting nervously. He stood up to attention and sounded off when they entered the room. He was a tall, rangy kid with heavy shoulders, a bony face, crooked nose, acne, and the regulation buzz-cut hair of a plebe. Jim guessed he played sprint ball.

“Midshipman Fourth Class Antonelli, sir!” the plebe shouted. Then he realized that one of them was a woman. “Uh, ma’am. Sir!” He blushed furiously, staring straight ahead, hands pressed flat to his sides, tucking his chin in even harder.

“Please sit down, Midshipman Antonelli,” Branner said.

“Yes, ma’am!” Antonelli all but shouted.

“And carry on, plebe,” Jim said in a calm voice.

“Sir, aye aye, sir!” the boy replied. He sat down in one of the side chairs and folded his hands in his lap. He still sat semirigidly. Branner took the chair at the head of the table, and Jim sat down next to her. They brushed knees for an instant, and Jim moved his chair, trying to ignore those shiny stockings. Branner fished the tape recorder out of the big briefcase and set it up.

“Midshipman Antonelli, I need you to relax, please,” she said. “We’re here to talk about Midshipman Dell, but not about what happened to him, understand? You are not a suspect or even a formal witness. We’re just trying to find out more about Dell as a person. What kind of a roommate he was. What kind of guy. How you two got along. Like that, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the plebe said, lowering the volume just slightly and giving Jim a sideways look.

“And this is Mr. Hall, the Academy security officer; he’s helping me with my inquiries. Now, I’m going to tape this, so we’ll do the introductions all over again for the tape.” She saw him frown and moved to reassure him. “The tape’s no big deal-it just keeps me from having to take a bunch of notes, okay?”

The plebe nodded and then Branner took him through the audio ID process. “So, Mr. Antonelli, tell us about Brian Dell. What kind of guy was he?”

“We got along,” Antonelli said after first licking his lips. He was obviously very nervous. Jim wondered how much of it was due to having to do an interview in the commandant’s office with NCIS, and how much of it was due to what had happened to his roommate. Branner looked over at Jim as if to say, You take it.