Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (8 page)

Luke looked uncomfortable sitting next to a full bird Colonel. Tom leaned over and said, “We’re both off duty, son. Call me Tom. Hell, that arrogant bastard at the other end of the table used to call me by my first name when he was a Sergeant. Did it in front of his squad once, if I recall.”

Just then, Mike Lattimore walked in, also dressed in Alpha’s. Most of the patrons of the restaurant were young Marines and their families. Seeing a Sergeant Major walk through the door, everyone between the door and our table parted. Tex was a Sergeant when I first met him as a young PFC. Tall and broad shouldered, he was now over
thirty years in the Corps and had the seven service stripes on his lower sleeves to prove it.

I stood up and met him with a firm handshake. Nearing
fifty years old, he still looked much younger. “Damn Jesse, you need a frigging haircut.”

“Good to see ya again too, Tex.”

He nodded at the others and said, “Thanks for inviting me, Tom.” Then he took the chair I’d been sitting in and looked up at me. “Well, sit your ass down, boy.”

The others laughed as I grinned and said, “You’re still an asshole.” Then I took the seat to his left. I introduced him to the others. He looked at Deuce and said, “I bet you don’t remember me. Me and your pap was real tight back in the day. Real sorry to hear about what happened.”

Two waitresses arrived. One carrying a tray with four pitchers of beer, the other with a tray of mugs, shot glasses and a bottle of Pusser’s Navy Rum. “How old are you, Luke?” Tom asked.

“Just turned 22, sir,” he replied.

“Good enough, but cut the sir shit, okay.” Then to Tex he said, “Sergeant Major, peel your blouse.” Both men stood up and removed their blouses, leaving only the long sleeved dress shirt and tie on. While the shirts also had the rank insignia on collars and sleeves, it was slightly less imposing to the young Marine and he seemed to relax a little.

The waitress, having overheard Tom’s question
and knowing a Junior Enlisted Marine wouldn’t dare lie to a Senior Officer, she didn’t embarrass Luke by asking for his ID and poured two fingers of rum in each of the glasses, as the other waitress filled the mugs. Tom looked at the first waitress, a young brunette, and said, “Your biggest rib eyes all around, baked potatoes and whatever green stuff you have that’s fresh.”

When she walked away, Tex stood up, lifted his shot glass and said in a booming voice, “Gentlemen.”

The rest of us stood and offered our glasses. Marines sitting nearby also stood, facing us at the position of attention, as Tex continued, “Lift yer grog, mates. To the late Russell Livingston, a warrior’s warrior and my friend. And to all the others we’ve lost over the years.” Then nodding to Luke and Dave, he added, “And to those who keep coming to fill their ranks and the mothers and fathers who raised real men. Semper Fidelis!”

A chorus of raucous “Oohrah!” and “Semper Fi!” filled the restaurant, as we clinked our glasses and tossed down the 15 year old rum. I suddenly felt more at home than I had in years and melancholy that I’d left it behind.

For the next hour we ate, caught up on what we were doing, reminisced about old times, remembered other Marines and where they were currently serving, or where they retired to, and told many great ‘sea stories’.

Tex asked Luke, “What’s you MOS?”

“I’m 0311, with Bravo, 1/6.”

“Good outfit. Let me give you some advice. Don’t let them move you and try to avoid getting promoted to
o high. Right now, you’re surrounded with buddies that will cover your ass. Any Marine above Gunny is starting to play too much politics. Present company excluded. You planning on a career?”

“Shipping over in two months, Sergeant Major, er, Tex.”

Tom clapped him on the shoulder and said, “That’s what I like to hear. Good leaders are hard to find and even harder to keep. Like Jesse and Tex over there. You do like they did and your men will follow you right into hell, carrying jerry cans full of avgas.

I woke with a rum and beer induced headache at 0600. We’d eaten, drank, and shared what was going on in our lives until nearly midnight. Not a real good idea, when we were planning to fly back in the afternoon. At least Williams had the presence of mind to limit his intake to just a single shot and two beers. I showered and got dressed in my best jeans, a light blue guayabera shirt, and topsiders. I was just booting up my laptop, when there was a knock on the door.

“Figured you’d be up early,” Deuce said when I opened the door. “You get the email?”

“Just opened it up. What email?”

“I’ll save you having to stress those three brain cells. I forwarded it to you. It’s from the new A
ssistant Deputy Director. Wants me to arrange a fishing charter with you, to take out some VIP’s. I told you about him, right?”

“Army Colonel, yeah. So who’s the VIP’s he wants me to get sea sick?”

“He didn’t say. Just said to set it up with you as soon as possible. This week. Two VIP’s and six security, besides myself. He said we’d need two boats minimum.”

“Six security for just two guys? He wants me to take the Vice President fishing or something?”

Deuce put on his serious face for a moment. “Might be, but I don’t think the old guy’s heart could handle it. He wants us both to video call him at 0700.”

I checked my
Citizen Eco dive watch and said “Better not keep him waiting.”

We sat down on the sofa and I spun the laptop in front of Deuce. He clicked the ‘Soft Jazz’ icon that his tech genius, Chyrel Koshinski set up for the secure video link.
His face appeared in a small screen at the top right of the screen and seconds later her face appeared on full screen.

“Hi boss,” she said and Deuce turned the laptop slightly toward me. “Hiya Jesse, long time no see.”

“Good to see you again, Chyrel,” I said.

“I guess since you’re in your
office, you got the email also?” Deuce asked.

“I have the link to Quantico already set up. The ADD’s secretary is standing by. She said he’s extremely punctual. I’ll patch the link in.”

“Airborne Colonel,” I muttered. “Of course he is.”

A little telephone receiver started blinking in the top right corner. It was the old style corded telephone handset, like we used in the ‘70’s.
Kind of ridiculous for a modern, encrypted, satellite video call. The blinking receiver switched to a small screen, where a young woman was looking into the camera.

Chyrel’s image and the young woman’s switched places and Chyrel said, “Hi again, Teresa. I have Mister Livingston and Captain McDermitt on the line, whenever the Director is ready.”

The young woman, Teresa, looked at her watch and said, “Right on time. I’ll patch you through.” A moment later, her image was replaced by a man in his early fifties, with a tanned, fit looking face. His hair was in a crew cut, gray at the temples.

“Good morning, Commander,” he said. “That must be Captain McDermitt with you?”

“Yes sir,” Deuce said as he pushed the laptop a few inches away, so that we were both in the smaller picture.

“Good to meet you face to face, sort of, Captain.”

“Just Jesse’s fine, when I’m not on the boat.”

“Fine then. Jesse, my name’s Travis Stockwell. I assume Deuce has told you about me and my request?”

“Only that you want to arrange a fishing charter, Travis.” Hell, if he didn’t want me to call him by his first name, he shouldn’t have given it. At least he wasn’t on my boat, uninvited, like his predecessor had been.

“This will be a charter for two very important people. I’ve read your jacket and feel extremely comfortable with arranging this meeting. Can you be available, with two boats, for a day of fishing Sunday?”

“Today’s Friday,” I said. “Kind of short notice, but as it happens I have a pretty open schedule this weekend.”

“Good.
Are you familiar with the marina on the west side of NAS Boca Chica?”

“I know where it’s at, yes.”

“Good, I’m flying in Saturday evening and will meet you at the docks at 0530. Air Force One will land at 0600. The President and Secretary Chertoff will arrive at the marina at 0615 and the three of us, along with two Secret Service agents will go with you on the boat, total party of five. The second boat is needed to carry the rest of the Secret Service Detail, another four agents. Do you have someone to pilot the second boat? Someone with a security clearance?”

“The President?” I said. “Of the United States?”

“I thought you told me he was bright for a Jarhead, Deuce,” Stockwell said. Then he grinned and said, “Yeah, the President of the United States, Jesse.”

“
We have just the person to pilot the second boat,” Deuce said, unflustered. “One of my team is a local. Grew up in the Keys and just finished Maritime Enforcement training for the Coast Guard. Knows boats and the local waters better than anyone I know.”

“Perfect,” Stockwell said. “Will there be any problem having two boats there?”

I finally got over the shock and said, “No, no problem. I have two boats that will be perfect.”

“What about crew? Any crewmembers
outside the two of you will need secret clearance and be vetted by the Secret Service.”

“Coast Guard Petty Officer
Third Class Juliet Thurman will pilot the second boat and I’ll be her crew,” Deuce said. “She has a secret clearance.”

“I’ll pilot the boat with the VIP’s on board,” I said. “My First Mate is Navy Petty Officer Second Class Robert Talbot
, a part of Deuce’s team and my Second Mate will be Navy Lieutenant Commander Jaqueline Burdick, MD.”

“
A doctor is your Second Mate?” he asked. Then without waiting for an answer he said, “I’ll submit all your names to Secret Service for vetting. You will all need to be in uniform. Will that be a problem?”

“No sir,” replied Deuce before I could object. I don’t like leather soled shoes on my deck.

“I don’t need to remind either of you that this is completely classified. The Secretary wants to talk to the three of us, face to face and the President wants to meet you both personally.”

I was about to ask why, when Stockwell said, “The President expects to spend the morning fishing and has already been assured of a good catch. So, get your reels oiled up. We’re goin’ fishin’.”

The screen went blank. Deuce and I looked at each other. “The President?” we both said in unison.

“In uniform?” I said. “I don’t even know if I still have a uniform.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’ll have to salute your ass.”
A knock on the door kept us from talking about it anymore.

I opened the door and both Rusty and Williams came in. “We better get a move on,” Rusty said. “You two won’t have a problem getting on base, but me and Da
ve will need to stop at the PMO for a visitor pass.”

“They’re issued at the gate now,” I said. “I already called ahead and the guards at the gate will have them waiting. But yeah, we better get going.”

“What were you doing on the computer?” Rusty asked.

“Playing solitaire,” Deuce said.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Rusty, are my old uniforms still hanging in your guest closet?”

“Yeah,” he said with a puzzled look. “Yours and mine both. But, I don’t think mine fits anymore. Why?”

“Jackie and I have something to go to and I’ll need my Charlie uniform.”

We left the suite and got in the big Expedition and pulled out onto Western Boulevard. “Just stay on Western. It’s about three miles to Highway 24 and turn left.”

“Where’s Luke going to meet us, Dave?” Rusty asked.

“He’s got his own car. Said he’d meet us at SNTC on Snead’s Ferry Road, wherever that is.”

“SMTC,” I corrected him. “Stands for Special Missions Training Center. It’s on the east side of the base, at Courthouse Bay.”

We turned onto Highway 24 and I said, “The main gate is about two miles on the right. When you pull into the gate get over in the left lane and roll your window down.”

At the gate, I showed the young Lance Corporal on duty my retired ID card
. Deuce flashed his DHS ID and asked the young Marine if he had two visitors passes for Rusty and Williams. Once they showed their drivers licenses, the guard went into the building and came back out with their passes.

We continued onto the base and I said to Deuce, “A little over three miles, bear left at a Y intersection. That’s Snead’s Ferry Road. From there, Courthouse Bay is about 15 miles.”

“Fifteen miles?” Williams asked. “How big is this base?”

“Altogether, it covers about 250 square miles,” Rusty said. “Some of the best fishing on the coast.”

We got to the Coast Guard facility a little after 0800. The graduation ceremony was supposed to start at 0830. We found a place to park and within a few minutes Williams located his son. I asked a Coast Guardsman where the graduation was to take place and he pointed out the building. It appeared to be a small auditorium. There were only a handful of guests, as the class only had 20 people in it. Julie was one of only two women in the class.

We found seats in the small section of bleachers set aside for guests and within minutes a Coast Guard Captain came to the podium and the ceremony began. After a few brief words, a Chief Petty Officer led a group of 14 people into the small auditorium. Julie was the only woman among them and she looked real sharp in her dress white uniform.

The Captain described the training the 14 had undergone and praised them on their fortitude. At the end, he pointed out that one graduate stood out among the others and would receive the Honor Graduate recognition and be promoted, meritoriously.

“
This Seaman,” the Captain said, “exemplifies the character traits and leadership qualities the Coast Guard is looking for in its non-commissioned officers. Not only did this Seaman qualify in the upper percentile of nearly all training assignments, but she was voted by her peers as an outstanding leader. Seaman Juliet Thurman, front and center!”

Rusty couldn’t contain himself and let out a loud whoop. I turned to him and said, “Can you
maintain?”

Julie
stood and marched smartly to the front of the podium and the Captain continued. “Seaman Thurman is the first female to graduate this school and has set an example for others to follow. Her knowledge of small craft and safe water practices has been exemplary, as was her performance on the shooting range.” Then he picked up a sheet of paper that I knew to be Julie’s promotion warrant, or whatever Coasties call it.

He walked around the podium and stood in front of Julie and in a loud voice said
the words that we who have served could recite without reading, “To all who shall see these presents, greetings. Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the fidelity and abilities of this Seaman, I do hereby appoint Juliet Thurman a Petty Officer Third Class in the United States Coast Guard. To rank as such from this second day of June, 2006.” He continued, charging Julie to carry out the duties of her rank and charged others of lower rank to obey her orders. But, I didn’t hear all that. I was as proud of her, as I would be if she were my own daughter.

The ceremony ended with the traditional tossing of head gear, then the graduates were dismissed. Julie came running toward us, as we stepped down off the
bleachers. She went straight into Deuce’s arms and gave him a long kiss. Stepping back, she said, “I’ve missed you so much, Russell.” Julie wasn’t real big on calling him by his nickname.

Then she gave Rusty a big hug and
he was beaming as he said, “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

The Captain walked up
with one of Julie’s classmates, as we were congratulating her and said, “Petty Officer, all the others have received their orders already. I was told your orders were supposed to arrive by special courier today at graduation. But, they haven’t arrived yet. Is one of these gentlemen your father?”

“Captain Osgood, this is my dad, Rusty, my ‘adopted dad’ Jesse and my fiancé Russell.”

He shook hands with each of us and I introduced Williams and his son.

Deuce introduced me to Petty Officer Third Class Jeremy Dawson. He was the other on Deuce’s team undergoing Maritime Enforcement training.

“I understand Julie learned her boating skills from the two of you,” the Captain said. “You raised quite a daughter.”

“Thanks, Skipper,” Rusty said.

“I’m your courier, Captain,” Deuce said. “Commander Russell Livingston, currently assigned to DHS.” He opened his briefcase and took out a legal envelope. “These orders transfer Petty Officer Thurman to active duty and reassign her to the Department of Homeland Security, Caribbean Counter-Terrorism Command. If you’ll look them over, sir, all that’s required is your signature.”

The Captain shuffled through the papers. When he was satisfied, Deuce produced a pen from his briefcase and
closed it for the Captain to sign the orders on. When he finished, he handed them back to Deuce, who put them away in his briefcase.