Wood's Reef (18 page)

Chapter 32

Mac’s place was quiet. Sue and Trufante were gone, apparently shacked up at his place. Wood was finally asleep. He’d had an uncomfortable night until she caved in and made him a cocktail of Scotch, pain killers, and some Advil pm, just for a kicker. She could hear him snoring through the open door of Mac’s office.

Not a word from Mac, and her efforts to contact him had failed. The operator at the Naval base had refused to connect her to anyone in charge. She doubted her messages were even being passed on. True to her nature, she was relentless until the Petty Officer on duty, his name written down and underlined a dozen times on the yellow pad in front of her, one for each call, had finally told her he would have the police after her for harassment. He was clear that there were no prisoners at the Naval base. The detention center there had been mothballed years ago.

She scanned her email. A couple of work-related notes, but nothing positive from her inquiries about Mac. She had received a note from an old colleague, saying that this sounded like a personal matter. He was clear that the ACLU would not get involved in personal issues. If there was a broach in civil liberties, she could file papers later and he would review it. She knew she was pretty much done there. Saturday morning was not a good time for lawyers. Nothing could be done without getting a judge off the golf course, or in the Keys, off his boat. Anything other than a child abduction was going to wait until Monday, and more than likely Monday afternoon.

Once in a while, her profession frustrated her, and this was one of those times. The law was the law for better or worse, kind of like a marriage. Her unshakable beliefs allowed her to apply it in black or white terms. She had no problems representing a Greenpeace activist, an illegal immigrant, or a housewife in Montana if the law had been violated. She knew most attorneys saw the law on a sliding grey scale applied to each case depending on its variables, and most often their fee. It was hard to make the kind of friends that could help her now with her background. Her affiliation to the ACLU and currently Davies and Associates often hurt her more than helped. Once more, she thought about her future. What these people never got was that no matter how sensational the case, it could happen to them. Maybe not tomorrow, but the ever-increasing reach of the government into private citizens’ lives was happening, one baby step at a time. 

She went over to the kitchen and started some breakfast. Surprised by the selection in the pantry and refrigerator, she placed the ingredients for a frittata on the counter. Diced onions and garlic were tossed into a cast iron skillet, butter already melted on the bottom. While the onions became translucent, she chopped a sweet potato and a couple of zucchini. Next she diced some bacon and cooked it in the microwave. As the ingredients cooked, she reflected on Mac.

She’d known him since she was a kid. Eight years older than her, he had been working for her dad. He’d taken her fishing and crabbing. He’d taught her to drive when she became frustrated with her dad. Mac became a crush as she matured. She wouldn’t admit to herself that he was too old for anything to come of it. As she progressed through college and her political views changed, she started to resent her dad and anything attached to him. This meant Mac as well. Yes, her views in those years had been a little idealistic, or maybe a lot idealistic. She’d protested everything from Iraq to the rights of immigrants. But as the years went by, her views softened. She gained some perspective and started to understand, although she hadn’t yet acknowledged the merit of her fathers arguments. She’d come back several times more from guilt than want. She’d seen Mac again after his divorce, even felt some empathy, but couldn’t muster the courage to comfort him. 

The years had paved bitterness between them that had never been reconciled. Communicating feelings, especially when it came to apologizing was not a Woodson trait. She felt badly about everything left unsaid. Although they both now shared a libertarian viewpoint, she came at it from the left, and he from the right.

She took her frustration out on the eggs, beating them into submission, then adding them to the mix with the cooked bacon. Mac again occupied her thoughts as the dish cooked. She wanted to deny the attraction, but couldn’t. She had noticed the look on his face when the doctor had asked her out, and had to admit it made her feel good. And again how alone she felt when the Navy men had taken him into custody. 

The eggs were firm on the bottom and crusting on the side when she placed the pan under the broiler to finish it off.

***

She was deep in thought and didn’t hear the doorbell, if they even rang it. Trufante and Sue were heading up the stairs one step at a time as Mel took her pan out of the oven.

“Still got my timing,” Trufante said as he limped into the room, his grin large. Sue trailing close behind, smiling as well, both of them fresh from the shower. “Smells good. Old man never said you could cook.”

“That’s cold. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

Wood stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. “Take it to go. We gotta get a move on. Y’all are having a party up there while Mac’s missing and no one’s watching my place.”

Trufante opened the door. “Wood, you old bastard. I knew they couldn’t keep you down.”

Wood grimaced in pain as he started to head up the stairs. He only got a few steps up when Sue intercepted him and walked him back down. She sat him in the office chair and started checking him out. 

“You look pretty good,” she said. “Let me check the wound.”

He got up and lifted the bottom of his t-shirt, revealing the criss-cross of staples. 

“Where’s the dressing? You have any idea how susceptible to infection that is right now?”

“Don’t worry about me, sister. It’s not infected. I looked in the mirror. Can’t reach around too well, though. I’d appreciate it if you’d dress it back up for me. First, do me a favor and get my daughter and that Cajun boyfriend of yours down here. We need to make a plan.”

Sue ordered him onto the couch. The desk light turned to illuminate the wound she examined it for signs of infection. Satisfied for the moment that it was ok, she started to clean the area around the incision. Antibiotic cream applied, she was just starting to tape the bandages in place when Mel and Trufante entered the room. 

Wood stood and examined Sue’s work. He gave a quick nod to her and began. “We need to head out now. That sorry ass Vice President has a surprise coming.”

“You’re not going for a boat ride like that. Look out there.” Mel looked out the open garage door toward the canal. “The flags are almost straight out. I haven’t been around here for a while, but I bet that still means it’s bumpy as hell out there.”

“Bumpy, my ass,” Trufante said. “It’s damned nautical. That there’s sitting on the porch, beer-drinking weather.”

“No matter, you candy ass. We’re going on the bay side. That wind is out of the south. We’ll be in the lee of it.”

Mel looked at Sue, knowing where this was going. “How much can he really do?”

“Well, I’m not a doctor and I can’t give —”

Mel cut her off. “Nobody’s gonna sue you, least of all him. That’s Mr. Personal Responsibility there.”

“If the stitches open, it’s gonna be ugly. If he gets banged around and hits that spot it could do internal damage. If nothing else, it’s gonna hurt.”

“See that? I’m good. Let’s go.” Wood stood and headed out the door. He hobbled down to Mac’s boat and struggled over the side, making sure to turn his face away from the group to conceal his pain.

“There’s no stopping him.” Mel said, hands on hips, shaking her head. “I’ll go fix him some food and pack some stuff. Tru, get the boat ready. Sue, would you come along and keep an eye on the two cripples?”

The engines started, and Wood called out, “Get a move on, girl. I’m in no mood.”

“You’ll wait for me or I’ll swim out there and kick your old ass.”

Wood gave her a grin.
That’s my girl.

Chapter 33

Garrett scanned the CNIC Inspector General’s website. He’d never even considered filing a complaint before, but what he had just witnessed might change that. Key West Naval Air Station was a conglomeration of many departments, many of them belonging to other branches of the military. As Master of Arms, the Navy’s military police, he was responsible for base security. Jim Gillum had been entrenched as base commander long before the twenty-eight year old Petty Officer had been assigned there. He knew the man’s reputation for total conformity, not even getting close to grey areas. Command ineffectiveness was the term often used to describe the many career men with long-term postings and no hope for promotion. They were all over the military, and usually had these types of base assignments.

The call from Gillum had been non-routine, to say the least. The only time he’d ever had contact with his base commander was for a review or recommendation of one of Garrett’s subordinates. The red flags were up like hurricane warnings as soon as he’d taken the call. He’d had no choice but to comply with a direct order from his commander, but what he’d witnessed in Marathon could not be ignored.

As Master of Arms, he was confident in his knowledge of Naval law, and detaining an American citizen on American soil was not included in the ‘
you can do this
’ chapter. In fact, the U.S. armed forces were prohibited from Naval operations on U.S. soil. The abduction and restraint of an American citizen could not go unreported, no matter what the Base Commander said.

The website listed the contact information, easier to access here than the dozen binders he had to constantly update resting on a shelf behind his desk. He wasn’t sure whether to be worried about filing the report. The Navy was supposed to protect whistle blowers, but they also had an old boys network that ran deep. If this report fell into the wrong hands his career would be over. Feeling he had to do the right thing, hand trembling slightly, he clicked on the email link and quickly closed the screen as someone entered the office. A few minutes later he reopened it. The pause had caused doubt, his future was uncertain if he hit the submit button.

What if it happened to someone I knew
was the final rationalization for hitting send. Once the email was gone into the vapor of the internet, he sat back and breathed deeply. For better or worse, he’d just done something that could not be undone. A moment later, the screen flashed with an incoming message. He opened it, expecting an auto-response that his message had been received and would be reviewed in due course. It was not. The message asked for an immediate phone call.

He went off base to make the call, not wanting any chance of being overheard. Pacing the sidewalk off US1, he dialed the number. Again he pondered his future and if this was the right move, but it was too late. He had to follow through with the complaint now, or they could investigate him.

“Bill Gordon.”

“Yes sir, this is Petty Officer Garrett in Key West. Sir, you requested that I call.”

“Yes, Petty Officer, thank you. Are you in a place we can talk freely?”

“Yes, sir, I am off base.”

“Please describe the incident and surrounding circumstances to the best of you recollection.”

Garrett went on to describe Gillum’s actions on the Marathon trip. Gordon allowed him to finish before asking questions. The question and answer session, was more of an interrogation. The tone of Gordon's voice became more serious as the conversation developed. He paused abruptly when Garret mentioned that he had overheard something about a bomb.

Then, Gordon changed direction. “Tell me exactly what you heard.”

Garrett recounted the conversation he’d overheard, and finally Gordon answered. “As I see it, you witnessed not only the illegal detention of an American citizen, but the cover-up of a potential threat on our soil.”

Stunned that the cover-up of the operation was more damming than the detention, Garrett waited for Gordon to continue.

“You did the right thing, Petty Officer. I’ll take it from here and make sure you’re protected. Please leave me a number where I can reach you.”

Garrett gave him his cell number and disconnected. He had a half-hour before he was due back at the base, so turned and started walking, hoping to clear his racing mind.

***

Gordon set the phone down, grabbed his notes, and went next door to his CO. The situation laid out, the men just looked at each other. 

The Commanding Officer started, “What a mess. Arresting a captain and base commander is going to ruffle some feathers somewhere. I’ve got a buddy down there that runs the Underwater Training School for the Army. They’re housed in the same base. Let me try him and see what’s going on down there.” He picked up his phone and dialed. The conversation was short and one-sided. Gordon listened on as he explained what was happening. Finally he sighed and put the phone down.

“Looks like our boy is a career guy, going nowhere. He does squat — neither good or bad.” He looked at his computer screen. “Gillum’s record is clean as a whistle. He’s been based on or near that station since the ’60s. Saw active duty during the Cuban Missile Crisis. After that, strictly a desk jockey.” He sat back, silent for a minute. “Arresting him is bound to end up in the press, and we don’t need that. Why don’t you head down there and have a chat with the guy? He’s been serving almost fifty years. Maybe he just needs to go out to pasture. Email me a summary, will you? Good job.”