Peggy Sue (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (9 page)

The police are generally well respected and rely on public cooperation to accomplish their work. Having been brought up under this system, Yuki had no reason not to trust Inspector Takashi. What Takashi did not mention was that he was with the NPSC’s Security Bureau. The Security Bureau is responsible for keeping tabs on foreigners and radical political groups, including investigating violations of the Alien Registration Law and administration of the Entry and Exit Control Law.

“Do you have any luggage, Dr. Saito?” the plain clothes policeman asked, as they walked toward an unmarked exit, the two uniformed officers falling in behind the pair.

“No, I am traveling light. All I have is in this briefcase.”

“Very good. We would like to ask you some questions downtown and then we will escort you to your apartment.”

“Please, you do not need to bother taking me home”

“It is no bother at all, Dr. Saito,” the police official said, “No bother at all.”

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

The C-130 carrying GySgt Rodriguez and company eventually touched down at a big Marine base. The plane was met on the taxiway by a bus and an armed escort, consisting of a pair of Humvees filled with armed Marines. Without explanation, the squad was hustled off the transport and onto the bus, which immediately departed. The Lieutenant was taken off separately and driven away in a staff car.

In the back of the bus, still bound but otherwise left to their own devices, the squad conversed in hushed tones. “Where are they taking us, Gunny?” Asked Sanchez, his voice masked by the noise of their ride.

“Don’t know,” the Gunny replied quietly. “This is definitely Camp Lejeune, but they can’t be taking us to the brig, it was closed down a couple of years ago.” The Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune—properly pronounced Luh-JERN—is a 246 square-mile United States military training facility on the coast of North Carolina. The base’s 14 miles of Atlantic beaches make it a major area for amphibious assault training, and its location between the deep-water ports of Wilmington and Morehead City allow for fast overseas deployments if needed. During their careers, most Marines end up spending time at Lejeune.

Maybe they’re taking us to the Eastern Judicial Circuit,
she thought. The Eastern Judicial Circuit is part of the Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary, an independent military court composed of both active duty and reserve military judges. The Circuit includes all Marine Corps bases, air stations, camps, depots and logistics bases within the state of North Carolina but its judges preside over courts-martial conducted worldwide. If the squad members were to be tried before a general court-martial, an Article 39(a) hearing before a military judge would be a first step.

After leaving New River Marine Corps Air Station, the bus took the Highway 17 Bypass to Lejeune Blvd and headed east. Shortly, they turned south on Holcomb Blvd and then bore left onto Sneads Ferry Road, almost as though they were taking a tour of the base. Surrounded by the flat, pine and palmetto covered plains of down-east Carolina, the bus followed Sneads Ferry Road until turning off the highway and heading southeast on a secondary road.

“Hey,” said LCpl. Ronnie Reagan, “this is the road to the Mockup.” During World War II, Marines conducted amphibious landing operations using open-topped landing craft, which they boarded by climbing down netting hung from the sides of troop transport ships. Marines training at Camp Lejeune could not practice landing operations in the sea off Onslow Beach because of the threat from German submarines. Instead, a full-scale mockup of the side of a troop transport was built on the inland side of the Intracoastal Waterway.

On this wooden stand-in for a troop ship, sometimes referred to as “the movie set,” a generation of Marines learned to climb up and down rope netting, carrying a full pack and rifle. No longer essential for assault training, the Mockup remained a base landmark.

Before reaching the Intracoastal and the Mockup itself, the bus turned off onto a side road that was little more than twin sandy ruts in the undergrowth. “Man, this is the asshole of nowhere,” observed PFC Kato Kwan. “Why are they hauling us off into the boonies?”

“Because we are evidently not officially here,” said the Gunny. “Otherwise we would be in the detention area or secure quarters at one of the satellite bases. No, people, we are being held in secret, where nobody will stumble upon us accidentally.”
This just keeps going from bad to worse,
she added silently,
at first I was afraid of being court-martialed, now a court-martial doesn’t sound so bad.
 

“We are so screwed,” moaned Sanchez.

“Shut up and grow a pair, Joey,” replied LCpl. Washington.

Brakes squealed as they pulled up in front of a cluster of temporary structures, surrounded by fencing and razor wire. Armed guards with dogs walked the perimeter and the sound of a generator could be heard.
It looks like we have been slipped the big green weenie,
the Gunny thought silently,
and our future prospects look flatter than hammered shit.
 

Chapter 4

Beneath Parker’s Station, Australian Outback

In an office dug out of the bedrock beneath Parker’s Station, Jack sat doing paperwork, the bane of all commanding officers. Round duct work brought in fresh air, which circulated out through a grate above the door to the hallway. Drifting through the grate, Jack could hear voices—a small crowd of people not in agreement about something. Then came a knock on the door.

“Come,” the Captain called out.

The door opened and in marched the Chief, followed by the three SEALs and a large black woman that the Captain did not know. The Chief halted in front of the desk, came to attention and saluted, saying “Senior Chief Zackly, reporting to the Captain with a party of four.”

This must be something serious, for the Chief to be strictly adhering to protocol.
Normally the Navy does not render the hand salute indoors, unless under cover or armed—or when formally reporting to the commanding officer. The Captain returned the salute. “At ease. What is this all about, Chief?”

“Sir, I got a matter that needs your attention,” the Chief began. “Our new SEAL contingent brought some extra personnel with them, specifically this lady behind me.” The lady in question smiled, revealing dimples and several gold teeth.

“And you are?” Jack asked the woman.

“I be Jesse, Captain,” she replied, with a strong Jamaican accent. “jesse Lowe, da bar tender at de Flustered Virgin.”

“I see,” Jack said. “and how is it that you came to accompany Chief Morgan and these other gentlemen to Australia?” Chief Morgan and the other two SEALS, Petty Officers Jones and Kowalski, were standing at parade rest, hands clasped behind their backs and eyes focused on the wall above the Captain’s head.

“Well ya see, Captain, des boys be comin’ into da Virgin for a while now,” the island woman began. “Some of my best customers, dey are.”

“No doubt.” The Captain looked at Chief Petty Officer Morgan, the ranking SEAL. “And you and the boys just couldn’t bear to leave your favorite bartender behind, Chief?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir,” Morgan replied. “I mean that there is more to it than that, Sir.”

“I’m listening, Chief Morgan.”

“Well, Sir. It’s like this,” said Morgan. “When we first started hanging out at the Flustered Virgin there were some trouble makers there, a real bad element. Me and the boys, we sort of invited all the unsavory types to leave.”

“And these undesirables all took your advise and vacated the premises?”

“Most of ‘em, Sir. Though some had to be asked more than once. The thing is, Captain, some of the people we ran off blamed jesse here for it.”

Jack could see that jesse wanted to speak, but Chief Zackly had obviously told her not to speak unless asked to. “Miss Lowe, did you have something you wanted to add?”

“Yes, Captain. Some of dem dat was trown out were really bad, rude boys and gangstas. I knew I can’t stay if Rick and da boys go away.”

“So you asked them to take you along?”

“Yes, Captain. Dat I did.”

“And you thought this was a good idea, Chief Morgan?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir, but I couldn’t think of any good alternative on such short notice.”

Jack sighed. Sailing a spaceship to other stars and fighting hostile aliens, that was the easy part of his job. The hard part was taking care of the crew. “All right, Miss. Here is what we can do. We can drop you back on the island of your choice, or we can probably set you up in one of the larger cities here—Sydney or Melbourne, for instance.”

“No, please, Captain,” the large woman said, a hint of pleading in her voice. “I been listening to da two officers dat picked us up, de good lookin’ one and de cowboy, talkin’ about travelin’ among da stars. Dat’s were I want to go, into outer space!”

“I see. And what qualifications do you have, that I should add you to my crew?”

“Well, I’m a great bartender, jus ask des boys here. But I can also cook, all sorts of island dishes, not just Jamaican—conch pate, chicken wrapped in banana leaves, roti, johnny cake, fungi, seasoned rice an beans—any ting you can tink of.”

“I see,” the Captain said, then, addressing Chief Zackly, “Senior Chief Zackly, do you think we have room for another cook and bartender on the crew?”

“Well, Captain. If she’s willing to help out with other ship keeping chores and such, I think we can find her a berth.”

“All right then, welcome aboard Miss Lowe. Chief, let Lt. Curtis know we have another new crew member.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Oh tank you, Captain! You won regret dis!” the excited jesse gushed.

“As for you three,” the Captain said looking at the SEALs. “I know that SEALs have a reputation for being fun loving and a bit unorthodox, but this is your only free pass. No more surprises, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir!” the three replied in unison.

“Very well, you three and Miss Lowe are dismissed. Chief, could you please find Mr. Taylor and Mr. Vincent for me? I think I would like a word with them.”

“Aye, Captain. They’re waiting in the hall,” the old Chief grinned. As Chief of the Ship, it was his job to keep the ship running smoothly and that meant anticipating his captain’s requests. The SEALs and Peggy Sue’s newest crew member filed out, then the Chief leaned out the door and said, “Yous two Sirs please come in now.”

JT and Billy Ray entered the Captain’s office looking sheepish, knowing they were in for an ass chewing. The Captain eyed them up and down, letting them stew in their own juices for a minute. Finally he spoke: “Do you gentlemen have any more surprises for me? A few late additions to the serving staff? A butler or perhaps a personal attendant or two?”

“No, Sir,” both men responded.

“Do you think I’m running a cruise ship here? I sent you to pick up three bloody sailors and you come back with the first local woman who tells you a sob story! I’m glad you weren’t gone longer or we’d be sailing with a steel drum orchestra and a reggae band.”

The Captain stared hard at the two young officers.

“Mr. Vincent, and you Mr. Taylor, were sent on this mission because you both have shown good judgment and leadership in the past. I’ll not ask you what you were thinking when you agreed to bring the SEAL team’s personal bartender along with us. Obviously, Chief Morgan can be very persuasive, probably as persuasive as the local rum.”

“Yes, Sir,” the two replied, with JT adding, “no excuse, Sir.”

“It’s a damned good thing for you that we are short-handed and on a tight schedule. That, and I love island cooking,” the Captain concluded, reining in the temptation to further unload on the two young men. “As things stand, I have something else for you to work on.”

The two officers exchanged relieved glances, while the Chief stood behind them grinning.
Too bad things are so busy
, the Chief thought,
the Captain was just building up a good head of steam.
 

“Gentlemen, I am becoming concerned about the fate of our former Marine contingent,” Jack began. “From the drone left at Parker’s ranch, we know that they were treated roughly and hauled off in a CH-53 to Goodfellow AFB. There they were held in a hanger until a C-130 showed up and took them elsewhere.”

“Do we know where they went, Sir?” JT asked cautiously.

“As best as the ship’s computer can tell, the Hercules landed at Camp Lejeune, but where the Marines were taken once they arrived is unknown.”

“Lejeune is a big place, Sir,” JT said, “with lots of wild areas to stash a squad of Marines. Plus there are Marines in training running all over the place. I don’t think we can just stroll up to the gate and ask for Gunny Rodriguez.”

“Indeed not, Mr. Taylor.”

“Beggin’ the Captain’s pardon,” the Chief said. “I may have a way to find ‘em if they’re hid somewhere.”

“Yes, Chief?” Jack asked. “And what would that be?”

“I gave Jennifer, Gunny Rodriguez, a comm pip as they were leaving, just in case something went screwy.” At the time, the Chief was operating under the old adage, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Besides, if everything went well for Jennifer she was just going to flush the little device.

“I see. Good thinking Chief,” the Captain said, with a knowing look. “Well, the fact that there has been no mention of the returned Marines on the news makes me suspect that they are being held under duress. The range of a pip is not far, but our equipment should be able to detect its presence from a few klicks away.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied Billy Ray, eagerly joining the conversation. “I reckon we could insert a drone and let it survey the area. The drones are real quiet and, with adaptive coloration, almost undetectable from the ground at 30 meters.”

“Very well, Mr. Vincent. I will leave it in your hands. I want those people found. We owe them a debt, and if the U.S. Government cannot treat them with respect we will have to take corrective action,” Jack looked at each man in turn. “Mr. Taylor, devise a plan to retrieve our Marines. I want no casualties, on either side, and no surprise additions this time, gentlemen.”