Seawolf End Game (11 page)

“No thank you, sir. I would like to stay with my captain.”

The Provost nodded thoughtfully and then motioned toward an ambulance where Fitzgerald was being loaded up for transport to the hospital. “And the guy with his face beat in, he assaulted you?”

Kristen nodded and then pulled back some of her thick hair to show the gouge marks where Fitzgerald had dug his fingers into her slender neck. “Yes, sir.”

The Provost Marshall’s tune changed rapidly as he saw the fresh gouge marks on her neck, and his jaw tensed angrily. But just as Kristen thought everything was calming down, she heard a low growl beside her as Brodie moved off the rail. He’d seen the fingernail gouges on her neck and the berserker fury was returning.

“Sean!” Graves warned and grabbed Brodie’s right arm as Kristen gripped his left.

The Provost Marshall stepped in between Brodie and the ambulance and held up a restraining hand. “Hold on there, Galahad,” he cautioned. 

Brodie swallowed his rage and stood, a dangerous scowl on his face. He cut his eyes away from the ambulance and now glared at the Provost Marshall. “Well?” Brodie demanded through gritted teeth.

The Provost eyed Brodie cautiously and then looked at Kristen. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but do you believe there was a chance your attacker may have intended to…” he paused and shot a nervous eye at Brodie who looked about ready to go off again.

“I don’t know for certain if he was intent on raping me,” she admitted, no longer afraid that people wouldn’t believe her or that they might use such an incident against her. Brodie and Graves would stand by her. She was certain of it. “Thankfully, this time there was someone around to make certain it never got that far.”

“This time?” the Provost asked.

Kristen could almost feel the beast just below the surface as she continued to grip Brodie’s arm. Graves apparently noticed it too, because he kept his hands firmly on their captain.

“Lieutenant Commander Fitzgerald tried to rape me eighteen months ago when he was my Officer-in-Charge.”

The Provost rocked back on his heels. For a junior officer to accuse a senior officer was a serious matter. But the Navy was working hard to clean up a tarnished legacy when women were not always treated properly. Any such allegation was no longer quietly swept under the rug, and if she persisted with her charges, there would be a full investigation. “Are there any witnesses to this, Lieutenant?”

Kristen knew without any witnesses there was no chance of Fitzgerald being convicted of anything. “Not eighteen months ago,” she admitted. “We were in his car and alone.” She then added, “But there were others.” Kristen explained how there had been other women in the unit, and she believed she wasn’t the only one accosted by Fitzgerald.

“Would you mind coming down to PMO and filling out a report, Lieutenant,” the commander asked.

Kristen glanced at Brodie who responded with a slight nod, “Whatever you want to do, Lieutenant.”

“Absolutely,” Graves agreed earnestly. “Whatever you need, Kristen.”

Kristen welcomed the support of her two senior officers. It was a far cry from what she’d become accustomed to elsewhere. “Thank you, gentlemen.” They were simple words but were said with heartfelt sincerity.

The three of them went with the Provost Marshall to his office in the same building with the base police. Brodie and Graves stayed with her as she filled out the first report about what happened that evening. Then another, reporting what had occurred eighteen months earlier in Corpus Christi. It soon became clear there would be no charges against Brodie, and Kristen breathed a sigh of relief, having feared they might lock him up. The Provost Marshall explained an investigation would be started in Corpus, and she’d eventually have to testify against Fitzgerald, which she was more than willing to do.

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Lieutenant,” the Provost informed her as he walked with the three of them out to a MP van waiting to take them back to the
Seawolf.

“Why’s that?” Brodie asked.

“I’ve seen pieces of shit like him before,” the Provost explained as he opened the sliding door for Kristen and Graves to get in. “They look tough on the outside, but they’re just bullies. Once we set them down and make them stare at twenty to thirty years in Leavenworth, they usually piss themselves and beg for a plea deal.” He then shook Brodie’s hand, “Just do me a favor next time.”

“What’s that?”

“Try not to leave so many scars on the bastard’s face, would you?”

The van returned them to the
Seawolf
where they were met by a rather startled pair of sailors on watch. After all, it wasn’t every day the captain of the boat returned after a night of brawling. The three of them came on board and said goodnight. Kristen returned to her cabin and Brodie, after Graves put his foot down, went to sickbay to have a sleepy Doc Reed check the gash on his temple and redress the bandage on his left hand.

“Damn, Sean,” she heard Graves utter as she walked forward toward her cabin, her heels in hand, “for a moment there, I thought you were going to kill the son of a bitch.”

She heard Brodie’s reply as he disappeared down a ladder well, “For a moment there, I was.”

Kristen grabbed a change of clothing and went down for a shower. She showered quickly, not wanting to get distracted from getting in and out before he returned by thinking too much about everything that had happened during the evening. But it was impossible to block out the images of Brodie flinging Fitzgerald off her. His eyes, showing the full fury he was capable of, had been both terrifying to behold as well as—she admitted with some embarrassment to herself—exciting at the same time.

Plus there had been the lengthy conversation with Patricia. It had helped Kristen make sense of exactly what she was feeling. Unfortunately, Patricia’s advice had not solved her problems; it had only made her recognize how impossible the situation was. If she wanted to be around him, even with the limited contact they were currently having, she had to stay on the boat. But Kristen could not stay on the boat and let her feelings for him show. If Brodie, or anyone else, were to learn how she felt, then she’d be unable to function on board. The already awkward relationship between them would grow intolerable.

No, her secret would have to stay locked deep within. Kristen knew it would be hard, perhaps even painful. But any pain was more desirable than being apart from him. She shut off the water, realizing she’d overstayed her usual hasty shower routine. Kristen toweled off quickly and dressed rapidly, leaving her wet hair loose about her shoulders. She wiped everything down hurriedly, hoping to be gone before he returned from sickbay. But then she heard the hatch leading to the passageway open followed by voices.

Shit!

She wasn’t quite ready to see him again. But she couldn’t simply hide in the small bathroom and hope he didn’t notice. She paused for a few more seconds, hearing the XO and Brodie’s muffled voices. Kristen gathered her toiletries, clothing, and towels. Then, summoning up her courage and planning to slip out of the cabin without a word, she opened the door and stepped out.

His back was to her, providing her some comfort except for the fact he was stripped to the waist, his ripped shirt tossed into a trash bin, and his suspender straps hanging loosely about his waist. He was facing the XO who was seated in a chair.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Graves said pleasantly. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Much better, thank you, sir,” Kristen replied as she took the two steps necessary to reach the door leading into the passageway and be gone before the captain spoke to her.

But she didn’t make it as he turned slightly, his tattooed arm facing her as he looked at her. “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Doc Reed is up and in his office…”

Kristen nodded, giving her best “I’m okay” smile. “No really, sir. I just want to hit the rack,” she explained as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder but stared at the ripped knuckles on his hands. A knock on the door behind her interrupted any more conversation.

“Come in, Spike,” Brodie said showing either omniscience or the ability to see through doors. The hatch opened and COB, a look of anger on his face, came in.

“What the fuck did you…” COB caught himself as he saw Kristen standing before him, her back against the bathroom door. The anger vanished instantly from his face as he paused, concern on his face as he looked her over. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked. “That bastard didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Kristen shook her head, wishing she could simply slip by and return to her cabin. “I’m fine, thank you, COB.”

“We’ve all heard,” he told her with fatherly affection as he continued to study her with concern, his eyes flashing briefly with anger when he saw the dried blood on her lip and red welt on her cheek. “If there is anything…”

“Right now I just want to get some sleep,” she told him. “But thank you again.” Kristen slipped past him and he gave her a reassuring gentle pat on the shoulder as she passed by.

“Sleep well, Miss,” COB said to her as she stepped away and then turned angrily toward Brodie. “I sure as hell hope you killed the cocksucker!”

“He sure tried,” Graves replied to COB as she closed the door and made good her escape.

The Kremlin

T
he Russian president stood from behind the desk in his private office. Considering his responsibilities, the office was quite small. He had a formal office in which he received dignitaries and foreign leaders which was ornately decorated with paintings, a few small statues, fine rugs, hand-crafted wood molding, a huge desk that—he assumed—was meant to impress people. But he preferred the small office for serious work.

Vitaliy Shuvalov, his Foreign Intelligence Director entered. With the Korean phase of the operation now stabilized, and the Americans distracted, the president was focused on the final phase but had insisted Shuvalov keep an eye on the situation in Japan.

“Good evening, Mister President, I apologize for disturbing you so late,” the Director said politely, but without feeling. The youth had gone bald prematurely, and the president thought his head somewhat bullet shaped.

“Not at all,” he replied as he directed the youth to a seat. The president’s personal secretary offered drinks which both men refused, before she exited, leaving them alone. The president lit a cigarette as he got settled in his chair, and then got to the point, “What can you tell me about the Americans?”

Shuvalov opened a small briefing binder as he slipped his glasses on. His voice was steady, almost emotionless as he explained, “The
USS George Washington
and
USS Nimitz
are both in Sasebo harbor undergoing repairs. Our agent in the docks believes neither carrier will be ready for sea for at least a week.”

“What can you tell me about the American suspicions regarding North Korea?”

“Their president has welcomed our overture to act as an intermediary to stabilize the situation, and the western press is hailing our move as a possible peaceful solution to the crisis. This has certainly calmed the situation somewhat, but the Americans are moving cautiously. There is no indication they are redeploying their forces back to their original patrol areas.”

“How long before they could?” the president asked, knowing it was essential to keep the Americans occupied with Korea until the next phase was complete.

“The Americans appear to be uncertain about the possibility of peace. Their forces in the region are on high alert, but they do not appear to be leaning toward preemptive offensive action.”

“How can you be certain?” the president asked, not necessarily afraid of the Americans attacking the DPRK. It would certainly keep the westerners occupied.

“Our man in Sasebo reports that other than an increased maintenance tempo, the Americans are showing no sign of preparations for offensive action. In fact, he reports a recent gala of sorts for the naval officers in port.”

“A gala?” the president asked.

“A party, Mister President.”

The president smiled thoughtfully. As a KGB officer, he’d been taught that the Americans were lazy, but when riled could act decisively. Certainly he’d seen this during his presidency when the Americans had invaded Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in 2003. He’d witnessed their military easily crush all opposition in both countries. But, if the Americans were relaxed enough to hold a party…

“Perhaps we should press our Iranian friends to move faster.”

Shuvalov nodded his head in agreement. “I believe it wise, Mister President. They are behind schedule as it is, and our sources say the
USS Roosevelt
will be leaving port within the next week heading toward the Mediterranean.”

“Not the Persian Gulf?” the president asked, knowing they couldn’t be certain of anything the Americans might do.

“Their crew has been told to expect liberty in the Mediterranean and the American consulate in Spain and Italy have each started coordinating port calls for the fleet. But, once in the Mediterranean…”