Code 13 (54 page)

“I'll never go to prison. I'm too smart for that. Only I know what happened to P.J.! They've already pinned it on Vinnie Torrenzano.”

“Wrong, Mark. You aren't the only one who knows. Now I know.”

He stared at her, glaring angrily. Then, slowly, he reached his hand into the pocket of his bathrobe and pulled out a 9-millimeter pistol. “This is the gun that killed the guy who tried to kill you. He was a dumb guy, that Vinnie Torrenzano. The idiot took care of Ross Simmons and then took shots at you and Caroline McCormick. Made it real easy to pin P.J.'s death on him. Real easy. But like I say, I'm the only one who knows what happened to P.J., and it's gonna stay that way.” He reached over and worked the action, chambering a bullet into firing position.

“Mark, you need help. You aren't well. Why don't you put the gun down? I'll help you.”

“Shut up!” He pointed the gun straight at her head. “Hands up! In the other room! Now!” He nodded over to the living room.

“Okay. I'm moving.”

“Get your hands up!”

“Okay.” She complied. “You know you won't get away with this.” She stepped around him and thought about going after his gun. But that would be utter stupidity. “There's no point in making matters worse for yourself, Mark. You've got a history of distinguished service. All that will be in your favor. You just need some help, that's all.”

“If I wanted legal advice, I'd ask for it. And if I do need legal advice, it won't be from you.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I wasn't trying to upset you.”

“Sit down on the sofa!”

“Okay. Fine.” She sat.

“No. Move over to the center of the sofa.”

“Okay.” She scooted over to the center of the sofa as he ordered.

He started walking toward her, his gun held out straight at her head, walking closer, closer.

“Don't move,” he said. “Just be still.” His voice diminished to a whisper. “Perhaps your last minutes on earth may be more enjoyable than you think.”

The steel gun barrel touched the middle of her head, igniting a cold rush that started in her neck and ran down her spine. He brought his left index finger to his lips and gave her a hideous shushing, about to deliver the coup de grâce.

She prayed silently that somehow God would stop him in his tracks, but that if he pulled the trigger, God would take her to heaven with Jesus.

“Now, if you'll just cooperate, you will enjoy immense pleasure before your death.”

“What are you doing?”

“Something I've always wanted to do. Something you wanted to do with your P.J. But P.J. can't compete with me. And he never could.”

“Mark, no. Just go ahead and shoot me. Please.”

“Shut up!” He pushed her down onto the sofa and forced his mouth onto hers.

“No!” She tried to scream, but he stuffed his hand over her mouth.

She managed to free her hand and scratch him hard across the face. He pulled his hand away in reaction. Then as she belted out a loud scream, he slapped her across the face.

“You will cooperate!” he demanded.

“Never! Just kill me now!”

“Not until I get what I want!”

She tried scratching him again, and this time he punched her in the mouth. The room spun and a galaxy of stars rushed across her eyes. Somehow she wound up on the floor, although she wasn't sure if she fell or if he pushed her. She looked up.

He again brought his face close to hers—so close she could smell his breath—and tried to kiss her. Struggling against him, she freed her hand and poked him in the eyes.

“Aaaahh!” He slapped her again and blurted an obscenity, then a string of obscenities. “So you won't do this the easy way? Well, we can do this the hard way! No reason you have to be alive during all this.” He reached up and grabbed a pillow off the sofa and shoved it down over her face and nose.

“I can't breathe! I can't breathe!” she screamed as a claustrophobic feeling of panic and suffocation blanketed her body and lungs.

“What are you doing?” She heard another man's voice. The pillow dropped off her nose as Paul Kriete yanked Mark back by the collar. Caroline rushed over to her.

Mark turned and threw a punch. Paul punched back.

“Get out of the room,” Caroline said to Victoria. “I'm calling 911.”

In a blur, like two Tasmanian devils in a dust cloud, the men rolled on the floor, angrily punching each other, each trying to gain superior leverage over the other.

“Yes, I need police here! Right now!” Victoria heard Caroline screaming into her cell phone as Paul pushed Mark down, shoulder blades first, like a wrestler about to pin his opponent.

Paul appeared to have subdued him. But then Mark, with his shoulders pinned, slipped his hand into the pocket of his bathrobe.

“He's got a gun!” Victoria screamed. As Mark pulled the pistol from his pocket, Paul lunged for it.

A shot rang out.

In a moment of eerie silence, except for jazz music playing low in the background, the fighting was over.

Both men lay on the floor, motionless.

EPILOGUE

ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

AFTERNOON

Under the midafternoon sky, alone in thought, Caroline sat in her car in the parking lot with her sunroof open and windows down. She was glad she opened the windows, for the sparrows, cardinals, and purple martins sang melodically, making a joyful noise to the Lord that was just as beautiful, if not more so, as the finest anthem of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

The birds' chorus brought with it a single gust of cool breeze, carrying the smell of flowers into the car like a sweet, light perfume. Perhaps gardenias, but she wasn't sure, and it didn't really matter.

P.J. was here. At least his body was here. And she could sit here forever. Right now this was the most beautiful place on earth.

She had thought about inviting Victoria to join her. What an amazing friend Victoria had turned out to be, going from a vicious competitor for P.J.'s romantic affections to a friend who almost laid down her life in a brave scheme to attract P.J.'s murderer. Caroline had misjudged her at first.

But at the end of the day, she decided she wanted to be alone. Alone with P.J.

And now there was but one more matter she needed to check on. She looked at her watch. 1500 hours.

The vote should be complete by now.

She flipped on her satellite radio.

“This is Tom Miller from our Fox News studios in New York with breaking news from Washington.

“The United States Congress has narrowly approved a line-item appropriation for the largest military or civilian drone contract in history. Under the name Operation Blue Jay, the U.S. Navy will operate fifty thousand drones off the coastal waters of the United States and along the internal borders between the United States and Mexico, for the purpose of maintaining the stability of the borders and to ensure the United States is protected from invasion by sea or along its inland borders.

“The project as approved was scaled back from the original proposal, which called for some one hundred thousand drones to be shared jointly by the Navy and the Department of Homeland Security. But that idea was shelved when the Judge Advocate General of the Navy expressed concern in a legal opinion that the proposed joint use might violate the time-honored legal doctrine of
posse comitatus
, which prevents military assets from being used in domestic law-enforcement operations.

“The JAG opinion, co-drafted by two Navy JAG officers, the late Lieutenant Commander P.J. MacDonald and Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick, also expressed concern that domestic use of the drones inside the borders of the United States could raise Fourth Amendment concerns and violate citizens' rights to privacy without the issuance of search warrants, even when operated by the Department of Homeland Security.

“The scaled-down contract was awarded to defense contractor AirFlite out of Savannah, Georgia, and the first Navy Drone Command will be headed by Rear Admiral Select Paul Madison Kriete, who was today nominated by President Surber, with his final promotion to rear admiral to be confirmed by the senate.

“And speaking of Rear Admiral Select Kriete, he was personally involved in solving one of the most horrifying murder conspiracies
against naval officers in history, having stopped the aggression of two different men, one being a rogue NCIS officer, who were involved in attacks on JAG officers.

“That JAG murder mystery was addressed at the Pentagon earlier today by Vice Admiral Zack Brewer, the Judge Advocate General of the Navy. Here is some of what Admiral Brewer had to say.”

Caroline felt her heart leap. Just the sound of Zack Brewer's name and the soothing sound of his voice brought comfort to every member of the JAG Corps.

“Good afternoon,” Brewer said. “Thank you for coming. It's been a tough couple of weeks for the Navy, and especially the JAG Corps. But our duty in service to our country goes on, and I am pleased to report two things. First, the JAG Corps has done its duty in providing legal advice to the Secretary of the Navy on the proposed drone contract for Operation Blue Jay, and we're expecting congressional approval today. Indeed, by the time you hear my voice, Congress may have already approved that project.

“Second, I've just received a call from the director at NCIS at Quantico, with information on the identity of shooters launching attacks on several JAG officers at Code 13.

“Ballistics and forensics show that the Glock 9-millimeter pistol used in the killing of Lieutenant Ross Simmons and the attempted murder of Lieutenant Victoria Fladager was owned by a Vinnie Torrenzano of New York, who was shot dead in a shoot-out with NCIS agents in Washington. Mr. Torrenzano's fingerprints were all over that weapon, as well as shell casings found in the gun. This was the same gun used in the attempted murder of Lieutenant Commander Caroline McCormick. Additionally, Mr. Torrenzano's car, a red Mercedes, was spotted at the Simmons shooting and at the shooting of Commander McCormick at the Pentagon. Forensics also suggests that Mr. Torrenzano was involved in the murder of a young family—a father, a mother, and a little girl in the Oxford Hunt section of West Springfield, Virginia—and that murder was connected with his plan to kill JAG officers. Mr. Torrenzano's motivation appears to be that
he wanted to block the legal opinion written by these JAG officers, which authorized, partially, the drone contract. That's all I have on Mr. Torrenzano at this time.

“Moving on to Lieutenant Commander P.J. MacDonald's killer, I regret that this appears to have been the work of a rogue NCIS agent, Special Agent Mark Romanov, who was killed in his home in a struggle over his gun as he tried to murder yet another JAG officer who had blown his cover. Special Agent Romanov, who is the agent who shot and killed Vinnie Torrenzano, is tied to Commander MacDonald's murder through a gun, a .357 revolver he planted on Mr. Torrenzano's desk to try to pin the MacDonald murder on Torrenzano.

“He is also tied to the MacDonald murder through photographic evidence found on his computer, and by a confession he made to one of our JAG officers. I can't go into any more details at this time and will defer further questions on these cases to NCIS and local law enforcement.

“But suffice it to say, we do not consider any of our officers still under any threat, and to all military and civilian personnel who have brought this horrendous nightmare to a close, I would like to thank you on behalf of the U.S. Navy and the U.S. Navy JAG Corps.”

Caroline flipped off the radio.

She should be ecstatic. After all, how many lawyers could say they drafted a legal opinion that led to passage of a bill by the U.S. Congress based on that recommendation?

But she could feel nothing other than satisfaction in the fulfillment of her duties.

She got out of the car and started walking toward P.J.'s grave.

As she strolled across the lush green grass under clear Carolina-blue skies, words came to her that she had memorized in Raleigh, back when she was a student at Ravenscroft School, and then again as an American history major at UNC.

“We cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.”

These were the words of President Abraham Lincoln, spoken over 157 years ago at another national cemetery, in Gettysburg, after one of the bloodiest battles in American history.

Almost miraculously, she remembered the next lines of the speech, walking across the graves of the dead through a sea of green grass punctuated by small white flags.

It was almost as if she had learned them yesterday.

“The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.”