Authors: Karen Anders
“You have a theory.” He rose and gathered up his dirty dishes and she did the same. “It’s not a bad thing to talk out alternatives. You never know what correlation we might draw, or be able to put together some other lead we might have missed. Speculation isn’t a bad thing, even if it’s wrong. So let’s hear it.”
Dumping her trash and placing her dishes in the proper place, Sia turned to him. She wanted to be mad at him, even though she realized it was just an excuse to focus her feelings of helplessness on something tangible. Or someone. Instead, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax. Getting worked up wasn’t going to help matters any. Besides, she’d already gotten worked up enough for one day. Her gaze slid sideways across the busy mess as Chris’s hand cupped her elbow to steer her through the crowd. It was more of a mechanism to keep them together so he could hear what she was saying. The warmth of his hand shouldn’t affect her so, but it was like a jolt of electricity. She reined in her thoughts. “In lieu of any evidence the pilot was impaired or his system was faulty, the Navy will rule it pilot error and close the books.”
Chris’s lips thinned and his voice rasped out. “And a killer goes free.”
Her eyes solemn, Sia nodded. “And a killer goes free.”
Chapter 6
C
hris followed Sia up the ladder, unable to keep his eyes from her shapely backside. He remembered what it was like to cup her there, to hold her hips against his, giving him the leverage he needed to thrust deep inside her. His gaze traveled up the surprisingly unwrinkled and fresh uniform to her shoulders, remembering how creamy they were, how soft her skin was, so smooth and warm. When Sia looked back down pensively, he hesitated and turned around to look behind him. “You all right?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She dropped her gaze, and said, “Yes, I almost fell here on the way to meet you at the mess.”
“Lost your footing?” he said, his gaze steady on her.
“I must have,” she said with a shrug.
He stepped closer to her and he noticed how her body tightened. “You don’t sound certain.”
“I’m not. It seemed as if I’d been pushed. But I didn’t see anyone and there were a number of people coming down the ladder.”
After the talk about a possible killer aboard the carrier, Chris wasn’t about to take any chances. “How about you stick with me next time we head for food?”
Sia smiled and his heart stumbled a little. Okay, a lot.
“Ready to hold my hand again,” she said with a teasing tone.
It was so much like the old Sia, Chris felt a familiar tug of longing that was almost painful. He smiled back at her and said softly, “I’ll always be there for you, sweetheart.”
Her smile faded. “That sounded a bit sarcastic. Are you implying something?”
“Just letting you know I have your back.” Maybe he had said it that way. Maybe his resentment at her ability to turn her back on him was finally starting to show. Maybe it was time for her to know what she had done to him.
Their gazes met, warred. If the barb stung, she made sure not to show it. He could almost see her defenses surge, click into place. “But I didn’t have yours. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
He brought his mouth within a whisper of her lips, the potent connection between them made volatile by the words he refused to say. Some people had to come to their own conclusions. “Guilt is a strange emotion, Sia. It comes out of nowhere to hammer at you. It sometimes hides in the shadows, but it dictates every single thing you do. It’s a relentless master.”
“Guilt? What do I have to feel guilty about?”
Pointing anything out to a person who was unaware of why they felt the way they did was not productive. Sick of that kernel of pain inside his gut that abraded him relentlessly, he said, “You decide what I’m saying, since you seem to like to put words in my mouth.”
“Oh, forget it. We don’t have time for this.”
The sheen of pain in her eyes gave her away, but he let her retreat. He knew what it was like when guilt cut deep. There would be a better time and place. “Right, Sia. It’s all dead and buried in the past.” He brushed past her. “Let’s get back to the legal office and line up our interviews for today.”
“Who’s on your primary list?” she said, catching up to him.
“Anyone who touched that plane or had any interaction with the pilot.”
She stopped and turned to look at him. “That’s going to be a long list.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
Back at the office, she settled into a chair behind the small table she had previously used for interviews.
She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and set it on the table. “I think it would be best to organize this by area. That way we’re not wasting our time by backtracking.”
“Agreed.”
“We’ve already interviewed the airman who had direct communication with Lieutenant Washington. So I’d like to talk to everyone who was on duty that day.”
“We could systematically move down from Pri-Fly to the Flight Deck Control and Launch Operation Room,” Chris said.
Sia responded, “That’s where the handling officer and his crew play with their paper planes?”
Chris snorted. “Right, the table is called the
Ouija Board,
a two-level transparent plastic table with etched outlines of the flight deck and hangar deck. Each aircraft is represented by a scale aircraft cutout on the table. The handlers use those cutouts to represent real planes as they move on and off the carrier. When one is in maintenance, they turn it over.”
“So anyone who works in that room knows when a specific plane is down for maintenance?” Sia asked.
“That’s correct. Handy for a killer to keep track of both Saunders’s and Washington’s planes.”
“Yes, handy indeed,” Sia said.
Sia pulled up the list and jotted down a few names according to priority. “What’s next?” she asked. “The control centers, including the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center and the Combat Direction Center?”
Chris nodded. “We will want to speak to the landing signal officer and crew that were present when the jet crashed, along with getting the footage of the crash, as well. The captain can get us that information.”
“I think we have enough for now. Let’s get started.” They made their way out of the legal office and were soon ascending the ladder to Pri-Fly. The skipper wasn’t present at this time. Instead, the OOD, or officer of the deck, took his place to stand a four-hour watch. Chris and Sia split up the list and took statements from each of the crew members who had been present during the crash of Lieutenant Washington’s fighter.
When they met at the end of the interviews, Chris asked, “Anything pop?”
“No, nothing of significance that I could detect.”
“Okay, let’s move down to the next deck and then question the handling officer, Lieutenant Susan Cotes.”
The Flight Deck Control and Launch Operation Room was small—smaller than Chris remembered. He wedged himself inside the windowless room, followed closely by Sia. The close confines intensified the smell of her fresh hair and the subtle smell he would always define as Sia. Trying to minimize his distraction, he turned slightly away from her. Lieutenant Cotes was a tall, quite beautiful woman with dark brown hair and sharp green eyes. She was wearing the yellow tunic that identified her as an air handler.
After introducing themselves, Chris said, “Lieutenant Cotes, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the day Lieutenant Washington crash-landed his fighter jet on the
McCloud
.”
“Yes, sir. Anything I can do to help.”
“All the information you received from the flight deck LSO was accurate that day?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Jackson is always on her game. She tried to wave off Lieutenant Washington, but it was too late. He hit the edge of the carrier and crashed.”
“When was the last time Lieutenant Washington’s plane was in maintenance?”
Chris noticed how her hand shook as she smoothed it through her hair. He wondered whether it was nerves or something else. “I can’t exactly recall, but I can look it up for you and get you the information as soon as possible.”
“Did you know Lieutenant Washington?” Sia asked.
“Yes, I did, but only as an acquaintance.”
“We’ll look forward to receiving that report. Thank you for your time,” Chris said.
“She was a little jumpy,” Sia said as they made their way to the Combat Direction Center. “Could be the general unrest after a crash or something more.”
“Could be.”
In the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center, they talked to several radar technicians, including a young man named Ensign Brant, who was new to the position. Once they were done with that, it was long past the lunch hour. They went to get something to eat and then were back in the legal office. When Sia opened her laptop, she let Chris know Lieutenant Cotes had sent her an email giving her a report as to when Lieutenant Washington’s plane had last been serviced. “Looks like it was just a week ago, and it looks like the master chief oversaw the repairs. He’s the one who signed off on the log.”
“That would be significant if the master chief wasn’t responsible for just about every plane that went through maintenance.”
“True, but it does tie him to Lieutenant Washington. Let’s find out who did the actual maintenance.”
In the maintenance hangar below the flight deck, Sia and Chris tracked down someone who could give them answers regarding who had actually worked on the plane.
They were directed to a seaman mechanic who was on record as performing the necessary maintenance. “Seaman Yost?”
A young man with dark brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses turned and came immediately to attention. “Officer on the deck,” he said.
“At ease, sailor. Are you Yost?”
“That’s me. What can I do for you?” Yost relaxed into an at-ease position.
“I’m Special Agent Chris Vargas from NCIS and this is Lieutenant Commander Soto, JAG. We have a few questions for you regarding Lieutenant Eli Washington’s jet. We understand you were the one who did the maintenance.”
The man straightened when he saw Chris’s badge. He looked at Sia and paled a little. “Yes, I did.”
“You can continue with your duties,” Sia said.
Cleaning a dirty wrench with a red cloth, he set the tool aside and chose another wrench. “Are you saying there was something wrong with the plane and that is why he crashed?” Turning away, he slipped the wrench inside an open panel.
“No. The report hasn’t come back yet. Were you the only person who worked on the plane when it was in the bay?” Chris asked.
He stopped what he was doing and faced them. “You’re asking me this question because of the master chief.” He looked between the two of them.
“Just answer the question, Seaman,” Sia said. Her voice brooked no disagreement.
“The master chief was one of the most knowledgeable people I’ve ever worked for in the Navy. I still have a hard time believing he had anything to do with that other F/18 crash, but the shiner on your face says otherwise.”
Sia said nothing.
Seaman Yost sighed. “The master chief went over my work on Lieutenant Washington’s fighter.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Very. He oversaw all the departments in Maintenance. I was surprised he would take the time to go over my work here in Avionics.”
“Were you present at the time?” Sia asked, stepping closer, her voice steely.
“No. I wasn’t,” Yost said with a tinge of anger in his voice. Chris suspected he didn’t like ratting out the master chief, even if he was dead and all evidence pointed to the fact he was guilty. “Ma’am,” he added when Sia’s eyes narrowed. “He sent me to start work on another jet.”
“So it’s possible he could have tampered with the plane?” Sia stepped back and eyed the plane Yost was working on.
“Well, that calls for conjecture, ma’am.”
Sia stiffened and her head whipped around. “Are you trying to get into trouble, Yost?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then answer the question,” she snapped.
“Yes,” he ground out. “In my opinion, I’d say he had plenty of time to tamper with the jet.”
“What repairs did you perform on the plane?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he sighed. “Routine stuff, but I did notice his radar unit was unseated in the brackets and I fixed that.”
“As if it was jarred loose?” Chris asked.
“No, as if it was a hurry-up kinda job. I just figured the last mechanic was in a rush to finish the job.”
“You didn’t report this?”
“Nah, it was something that was minor and I didn’t want to bust the guy’s chops.”
“That’s all for now, Seaman Yost.”
He nodded and went back to work.
After they were a safe distance away, Chris said, “We’ve established the master chief had access to Lieutenant Washington’s plane. Could it be he killed Washington from beyond the grave?”
“I guess it may have been possible, if he tampered with the plane. We need to light a fire under them to get that plane checked over ASAP.”
“I could get my forensics specialist over to where they’ve taken the plane and we would have a report in twenty-four hours,” Chris said.
“He’s that good?”
Chris nodded.
“The salvaged plane was taken to a hangar at Hickam Air Force Base. Saunders’s jet is there, as well.”
Back in the legal office, Chris connected to his forensic specialist.
“Who’s the lovely lady?”
“Keep it focused, Math.” Math was the resident nerd at NCIS, but he would be what women called cute. Intensely dedicated to his job, Math did notice a nice turn of ankle and a pretty pair of eyes. He had dark hair that was styled in a bowl cut, with bangs on his forehead. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and had that perpetual look of an eighteen-year-old. He sometimes acted like one. But Chris often let it slide. The kid was brilliant.
“Hi, lovely lady. Swear to God, Vargas, you get all the good assignments.”
Sia smiled at the young man on the computer screen.
“Sia, this is Justin Mathis. Don’t encourage him.” Chris turned back to the screen. “I have a job for you.”