Chapter 8
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T ucker sat back in the hard-backed chair and reminded himself that he was not responsible for Book’s accident or any of the others. He had nothing to worry about. He was an innocent man.
Agent Byres had a square jaw with a deep cleft in the center of his chin. His hazel eyes were just a shade too close together and too small to match the rest of his features, making his face bottom-heavy. Byres took a seat across from him and studied him as though he were a bug pinned to a board.
After facing down armed terrorists in several countries, that look wasn’t nearly as impressive as Byres probably thought it was.
“Your CO said you had an idea about correlating transfers to the jump deaths.”
“I’ve thought about it. One of our team almost died because of the asshole.” Tucker frowned. “Some of the guys bounced around the idea that some poison pill is running around playing Russian Roulette with team guys’ lives. Maybe someone who didn’t make the cut and ended up in a support position. But I don’t believe that. I believe it’s something personal with whoever is doing this.
“Book being targeted doesn’t fit that scenario because everyone liked him. He trained hard. He was quiet, took everything in like a sponge, and got the job done. He was a good, solid SEAL. He never pissed anyone off. Plus, he was the youngest on our team, and we all sort of treated him like a little brother. With all that said…I don’t think he was the target. It was someone else on the team, and Book just drew the bad chute by mistake.”
Byers shifted in his seat and reached for a pen. “Do you have any idea who might be the man who was supposed to be the target?”
Tucker shook his head. “Training is hard, and we’re constantly razzing each other to ease the tension. If this guy was pissed off by something someone said…or imagined some slight… Or, if he was passed up for some promotion or commendation…” Tucker shrugged.
When he paused, Byers leaned forward as though urging him on.
“We train across teams so we can work together cohesively. All it would take—if this guy is susceptible to getting wired when he’s criticized—is one wrong word from the wrong person, whether it was someone from his own team or someone in another we’ve worked with.
“Then one of my teammates mentioned all the movement we’d had recently, with personnel transferring in and out. I thought about why operators transfer or take leave. Injuries, trainings, promotions, emergencies, family… But what if someone pissed this guy off. He planned a scheduled training or a leave to distance himself from it. Then, he waited until it was almost time to go wheels up and set up the chute thing so it would either go down just before he left or right after he was already gone. Or, he could’ve left just before a spin-up when he knew the guys were deploying and would be HALOing in—which was what we were training for when Book had his accident.
He paused again waiting for Byers to make a comment and when he didn’t, continued.
“An algorithm might collate those personnel movements and match them up with the chute failures. If one person stood out, we might have the answer. But then again, there might be more than one. It would probably take two people. I don’t think one person could do it.”
Agent Byres fiddled with the pen for a moment, his narrowed gaze steady on Tucker’s face. “Are you always so analytical, Petty Officer Giles?”
“I’m the dive master for my team, Agent. It’s my job to analyze everything down to the smallest possible problem and outcome to ensure my teammates are prepared and safe. That sometimes shifts over into other areas of our operations. But on a personal note, it pisses me off that some fucker messed with my team and cost a good guy his career and his girl, and left him permanently disabled, destroying his life. Book deserves justice, as do the other guys who lost their lives.”
“When was the last time you took leave, Petty Officer?” Byers asked, tossing aside the pen.
“I took a week last August and flew down to Mississippi when my grandmother had hip replacement surgery.”
“Any trainings?”
“None that didn’t include my team as a whole.”
Tucker studied the guy’s expression. He thought he’d stumbled upon something, or they’d already followed the same lines of reasoning in their investigation. Or, he’d just painted a big bullseye on his own back by knowing all of this. Fuck!
“Do me a favor, Petty Officer. Don’t mention any of this to anyone else. Not even to the other members of your team.”
He remained silent a moment. “Okay.”
Byres looked at his watch and got to his feet. Tucker followed suit.
“I appreciate you coming in, Giles.” He offered his hand.
Tucker didn’t trust the handshake, but he took it. “No problem.”
On the drive back, he analyzed every moment of the interview. He hadn’t applied for a transfer, hadn’t received orders or applied for another training, and hadn’t been anywhere near the chute storage unless he was with his team being issued chutes for a practice jump. He didn’t fit the criteria of the killer. He had nothing to worry about. Or did he?
To get his mind off it all, he called Brynn. As soon as she answered the call, he said, “Are we still on for the dive after work today.”
“Yeah.”
“You did great in the pool, and we’ll be at a shallow depth.”
“Can I bring my phone and take a few pictures?”
“Sure. Meet me at the house, and we’ll load our gear.”
“Okay.”
He drove to the base and got busy with the day’s activities, but his mind replayed the interview with Byres over and over in his head off and on.
During a break after lunch, he decided to reorganize his cage. Denotti wandered in to join him. He leaned against the metal frame of the door. “You okay, Gilly?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been quiet all day.”
“I have a date after work to go diving.”
“With the photographer?”
“Yeah. She needs all the practice and instruction she can get if she’s going to dive in Australia. She did great in the pool, and now we’re going on a short dive in La Jolla this afternoon just so she’ll get a feeling for what it will be like. I was able to call in a favor from Grant and he’s going to take us out for an hour or so.”
Denotti bobbed his head in agreement. “Sounds like a good plan.”
Tucker sat down on an equipment bin and rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you remember your very first dive?”
“Yeah. It was with you in BUD/s. I’m not sure you realize it, but the whole class watched you like a hawk. You had more experience diving than most of the instructors.”
“Not really, Denotti. Those guys had used equipment I’d only dreamed of at the time.” And now, they were using equipment their instructors hadn’t had. There were always improvements.
“You still had a leg up, and they depended on you for feedback. Plus, you worked with the guys who were struggling. As a class, we did better than most because of it. Even Miles Sherman. Do you remember that guy?”
“Yeah. I asked myself then, why the hell would a guy who’s afraid of water join the Navy?”
“Exactly. But you got him through the swimming and diving part of it.”
“He got himself through it, Knotty. It took him more effort, but he wanted to be a SEAL more than he was afraid of water. We all have parts of the job that challenge us.”
“What’s yours?” Knotty asked.
Tucker decided to admit it. “Being stalked by a two-hundred-pound shark inside the hold of a sunken fishing trawler.”
“You didn’t act scared. You just swam out behind him like it was a walk in the park.”
“He came out of the cloud of silt, knocked me down, scared me so bad I nearly wet my dry suit, then swam back into the cloud. Laying the rest of the charges after that was a little—dicey.”
Knotty shook his head. “You’ve either got balls of steel or you’re loon crazy, Gilly.”
“Neither. I was over halfway through laying the charges. We were under a time limit, and I just wanted the dive finished so we could get the hell out of there. Besides, I scored him with my dive knife on the way out.”
“We saw that trail of blood following him and thought he’d eaten you.”
Tucker laughed. “Well, he didn’t.” He’d tried. He wasn’t going into that, though. “Training Brynn is helping me shake off the after-effects of that experience. She’s going to be swimming in waters where great whites live and hunt. I have to help her stay calm no matter what she faces while she’s diving.”
“Not too big a challenge,” Knotty said, his tone dry.
“She’ll have a team of divers with her. I just want to prepare her for the unexpected if I can.”
“We know all about that,” Knotty said, holding out a fist.
“Yeah, we do.” They bumped knuckles.
*
A light breeze kicked across the bow of the cabin cruiser. It carried the smell of salt and a green-fishy smell of kelp. Brynn hooked her flippers with her fingers. Her camera hung at her waist in a protective waterproof casing. She might or might not take pictures, but for this first time, she needed to concentrate on just enjoying the dive and doing everything Tucker had instructed her to do in his pool.
She listened carefully to his instruction as he paused at the stern of the boat where a metal dive platform stretched across the back of the boat.
“To enter the water, we’re going to do the same thing we do at the pool—mask on, regulator running, and flippers on. Then, we’ll release most of the air from our BCD and step off the platform. There are kelp gardens and plenty of fish and other marine life to take pictures of in this area. Visibility is probably between ten to twenty feet, though. Not nearly as clear as the conditions where you’ll dive in Australia. So, I’ve heard.”
“I want to take our picture together to commemorate my first ocean dive, Tucker. Is that okay? I won’t publish it or use it on my podcast. It’s just for me personally.”
He grinned. “Sure. Turn your back to the water so you’ll get the ocean in the shot.”
When he looped his arm around her waist, her heart stuttered. It was just the excitement of the coming dive, she cautioned. She unhooked her camera encased in its watertight casing from her BCD, raised it, and hit the button, taking a picture, then another.
She backed it up so they could look at the pictures together. A blue cabin cruiser was in the water behind them. She momentarily wished she’d waited for the boat to move out of the frame, then shrugged it off. She wasn’t going to put the photo on her podcast. It was purely for her memories. She attached the small strobe she’d purchased, then returned the camera to the anchor on her BCD.
Tucker grasped her hand. “Just keep breathing naturally, stay relaxed, and we’ll look around for some marine life so you can take a few shots.”
“I think you’re more nervous than I am,” she teased.
Tucker smiled. “I’m not nervous at all. I’m confident you’ll do fine. You’re a quick study.”
Grant, the owner of the cabin cruiser, climbed down the ladder from the flybridge and dropped the anchor. “You two ready to rock and roll?” he asked.
“Yeah. We are.”
His skin was tanned and weathered by the sun, his hair peppered with gray. He walked with a slight limp, but it didn’t seem to hold him back. Tucker had told her he was a retired SEAL and ran a charter for fishermen and divers on the side. Grant lifted the railing at the stern of the ship, and they stepped out on the platform. “You’re going to love this experience,” he commented. “I’ll be right here waiting on you when you get back.”
Tucker put on his flippers and raised the hood of his wetsuit. She did the same. He turned her so he could turn her air on, then turned his back to her so she could do the same for him. He put his respirator in his mouth, checked his gauge, and lowered his mask.
Brynn mirrored his actions. The cove’s waves weren’t angry, but with the water rocking the deck, she had to grip the railing as they climbed onto the metal platform. She watched as Tucker released some of the air from his BCD. She did the same. He put his palm against his mask to hold it in place, stepped off the platform, and dropped beneath the surface. Brynn was quick to do the same.
The water was surprisingly clear of sand and debris. Tucker raised a hand, signaling, “Okay.” She gave him the signal back. She kept her breathing slow and even and tried to relax. He stayed by her side as they kicked downward into deeper water. The first fish she saw was an orange-gold garibaldi fish. It swam close to her with a slow grace that thrilled her. She reached out a hand, and it glided past her fingers, giving her a snub.
Tucker pointed out a guitarfish lying on the bottom half-buried in the sand. She remembered her camera and reached to unhook it from her BCD. She turned on the strobe and snapped a quick picture. The kelp floated in the current like a dark green vine-entwined forest. Small schools of fish wove in and out of the greenery. She didn’t know if the small strobe would offer enough lighting for the pictures to turn out, but the experience was enough.
A lobster peaked out from beneath the green leafy water plants in the midst of chunks of coral, and she captured him as well. Tucker pointed out a spotted shark chasing after a small fish, and the sight gave her a quick jolt. It flicked its tail and was gone.
The time passed too quickly, and it seemed only fifteen minutes had passed when Tucker tapped his dive watch, signaling it was time to go.
They surfaced close to the boat. Grant stepped out onto the platform to help them climb aboard the platform.
Her legs felt rubbery, and she was thirstier than she’d ever been, but she was exhilarated by the experience.
“What do you think?” Tucker asked.
“I think I’m hooked.”
He grinned. “I knew you would be.”