At His Command Page 8

  “I’m not. It seemed as if I’d been pushed. But I didn’t see anyone and there were a number of people coming down the ladder.”

  After the talk about a possible killer aboard the carrier, Chris wasn’t about to take any chances. “How about you stick with me next time we head for food?”

  Sia smiled and his heart stumbled a little. Okay, a lot.

  “Ready to hold my hand again,” she said with a teasing tone.

  It was so much like the old Sia, Chris felt a familiar tug of longing that was almost painful. He smiled back at her and said softly, “I’ll always be there for you, sweetheart.”

  Her smile faded. “That sounded a bit sarcastic. Are you implying something?”

  “Just letting you know I have your back.” Maybe he had said it that way. Maybe his resentment at her ability to turn her back on him was finally starting to show. Maybe it was time for her to know what she had done to him.

  Their gazes met, warred. If the barb stung, she made sure not to show it. He could almost see her defenses surge, click into place. “But I didn’t have yours. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  He brought his mouth within a whisper of her lips, the potent connection between them made volatile by the words he refused to say. Some people had to come to their own conclusions. “Guilt is a strange emotion, Sia. It comes out of nowhere to hammer at you. It sometimes hides in the shadows, but it dictates every single thing you do. It’s a relentless master.”

  “Guilt? What do I have to feel guilty about?”

  Pointing anything out to a person who was unaware of why they felt the way they did was not productive. Sick of that kernel of pain inside his gut that abraded him relentlessly, he said, “You decide what I’m saying, since you seem to like to put words in my mouth.”

  “Oh, forget it. We don’t have time for this.”

  The sheen of pain in her eyes gave her away, but he let her retreat. He knew what it was like when guilt cut deep. There would be a better time and place. “Right, Sia. It’s all dead and buried in the past.” He brushed past her. “Let’s get back to the legal office and line up our interviews for today.”

  “Who’s on your primary list?” she said, catching up to him.

  “Anyone who touched that plane or had any interaction with the pilot.”

  She stopped and turned to look at him. “That’s going to be a long list.”

  “Then we’d better get started.”

  Back at the office, she settled into a chair behind the small table she had previously used for interviews.

  She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and set it on the table. “I think it would be best to organize this by area. That way we’re not wasting our time by backtracking.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ve already interviewed the airman who had direct communication with Lieutenant Washington. So I’d like to talk to everyone who was on duty that day.”

  “We could systematically move down from Pri-Fly to the Flight Deck Control and Launch Operation Room,” Chris said.

  Sia responded, “That’s where the handling officer and his crew play with their paper planes?”

  Chris snorted. “Right, the table is called the Ouija Board, a two-level transparent plastic table with etched outlines of the flight deck and hangar deck. Each aircraft is represented by a scale aircraft cutout on the table. The handlers use those cutouts to represent real planes as they move on and off the carrier. When one is in maintenance, they turn it over.”

  “So anyone who works in that room knows when a specific plane is down for maintenance?” Sia asked.

  “That’s correct. Handy for a killer to keep track of both Saunders’s and Washington’s planes.”

  “Yes, handy indeed,” Sia said.

  Sia pulled up the list and jotted down a few names according to priority. “What’s next?” she asked. “The control centers, including the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center and the Combat Direction Center?”

  Chris nodded. “We will want to speak to the landing signal officer and crew that were present when the jet crashed, along with getting the footage of the crash, as well. The captain can get us that information.”

  “I think we have enough for now. Let’s get started.” They made their way out of the legal office and were soon ascending the ladder to Pri-Fly. The skipper wasn’t present at this time. Instead, the OOD, or officer of the deck, took his place to stand a four-hour watch. Chris and Sia split up the list and took statements from each of the crew members who had been present during the crash of Lieutenant Washington’s fighter.

  When they met at the end of the interviews, Chris asked, “Anything pop?”

  “No, nothing of significance that I could detect.”

  “Okay, let’s move down to the next deck and then question the handling officer, Lieutenant Susan Cotes.”

  The Flight Deck Control and Launch Operation Room was small—smaller than Chris remembered. He wedged himself inside the windowless room, followed closely by Sia. The close confines intensified the smell of her fresh hair and the subtle smell he would always define as Sia. Trying to minimize his distraction, he turned slightly away from her. Lieutenant Cotes was a tall, quite beautiful woman with dark brown hair and sharp green eyes. She was wearing the yellow tunic that identified her as an air handler.

  After introducing themselves, Chris said, “Lieutenant Cotes, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the day Lieutenant Washington crash-landed his fighter jet on the McCloud.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything I can do to help.”

  “All the information you received from the flight deck LSO was accurate that day?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Jackson is always on her game. She tried to wave off Lieutenant Washington, but it was too late. He hit the edge of the carrier and crashed.”

  “When was the last time Lieutenant Washington’s plane was in maintenance?”

  Chris noticed how her hand shook as she smoothed it through her hair. He wondered whether it was nerves or something else. “I can’t exactly recall, but I can look it up for you and get you the information as soon as possible.”

  “Did you know Lieutenant Washington?” Sia asked.

  “Yes, I did, but only as an acquaintance.”

  “We’ll look forward to receiving that report. Thank you for your time,” Chris said.

  “She was a little jumpy,” Sia said as they made their way to the Combat Direction Center. “Could be the general unrest after a crash or something more.”

  “Could be.”

  In the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center, they talked to several radar technicians, including a young man named Ensign Brant, who was new to the position. Once they were done with that, it was long past the lunch hour. They went to get something to eat and then were back in the legal office. When Sia opened her laptop, she let Chris know Lieutenant Cotes had sent her an email giving her a report as to when Lieutenant Washington’s plane had last been serviced. “Looks like it was just a week ago, and it looks like the master chief oversaw the repairs. He’s the one who signed off on the log.”

  “That would be significant if the master chief wasn’t responsible for just about every plane that went through maintenance.”

  “True, but it does tie him to Lieutenant Washington. Let’s find out who did the actual maintenance.”

  In the maintenance hangar below the flight deck, Sia and Chris tracked down someone who could give them answers regarding who had actually worked on the plane.

  They were directed to a seaman mechanic who was on record as performing the necessary maintenance. “Seaman Yost?”

  A young man with dark brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses turned and came immediately to attention. “Officer on the deck,” he said.

  “At ease, sailor. Are you Yost?”

  “That’s me. What can I do for you?” Yost relaxed into an at-ease position.

  “I’m Special Agent Chris Vargas from NCIS and this is Lieutenant Commander S
oto, JAG. We have a few questions for you regarding Lieutenant Eli Washington’s jet. We understand you were the one who did the maintenance.”

  The man straightened when he saw Chris’s badge. He looked at Sia and paled a little. “Yes, I did.”

  “You can continue with your duties,” Sia said.

  Cleaning a dirty wrench with a red cloth, he set the tool aside and chose another wrench. “Are you saying there was something wrong with the plane and that is why he crashed?” Turning away, he slipped the wrench inside an open panel.

  “No. The report hasn’t come back yet. Were you the only person who worked on the plane when it was in the bay?” Chris asked.

  He stopped what he was doing and faced them. “You’re asking me this question because of the master chief.” He looked between the two of them.

  “Just answer the question, Seaman,” Sia said. Her voice brooked no disagreement.

  “The master chief was one of the most knowledgeable people I’ve ever worked for in the Navy. I still have a hard time believing he had anything to do with that other F/18 crash, but the shiner on your face says otherwise.”

  Sia said nothing.

  Seaman Yost sighed. “The master chief went over my work on Lieutenant Washington’s fighter.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Very. He oversaw all the departments in Maintenance. I was surprised he would take the time to go over my work here in Avionics.”

  “Were you present at the time?” Sia asked, stepping closer, her voice steely.

  “No. I wasn’t,” Yost said with a tinge of anger in his voice. Chris suspected he didn’t like ratting out the master chief, even if he was dead and all evidence pointed to the fact he was guilty. “Ma’am,” he added when Sia’s eyes narrowed. “He sent me to start work on another jet.”

  “So it’s possible he could have tampered with the plane?” Sia stepped back and eyed the plane Yost was working on.

  “Well, that calls for conjecture, ma’am.”

  Sia stiffened and her head whipped around. “Are you trying to get into trouble, Yost?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then answer the question,” she snapped.

  “Yes,” he ground out. “In my opinion, I’d say he had plenty of time to tamper with the jet.”

  “What repairs did you perform on the plane?”

  For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he sighed. “Routine stuff, but I did notice his radar unit was unseated in the brackets and I fixed that.”

  “As if it was jarred loose?” Chris asked.

  “No, as if it was a hurry-up kinda job. I just figured the last mechanic was in a rush to finish the job.”

  “You didn’t report this?”

  “Nah, it was something that was minor and I didn’t want to bust the guy’s chops.”

  “That’s all for now, Seaman Yost.”

  He nodded and went back to work.

  After they were a safe distance away, Chris said, “We’ve established the master chief had access to Lieutenant Washington’s plane. Could it be he killed Washington from beyond the grave?”

  “I guess it may have been possible, if he tampered with the plane. We need to light a fire under them to get that plane checked over ASAP.”

  “I could get my forensics specialist over to where they’ve taken the plane and we would have a report in twenty-four hours,” Chris said.

  “He’s that good?”

  Chris nodded.

  “The salvaged plane was taken to a hangar at Hickam Air Force Base. Saunders’s jet is there, as well.”

  Back in the legal office, Chris connected to his forensic specialist.

  “Who’s the lovely lady?”

  “Keep it focused, Math.” Math was the resident nerd at NCIS, but he would be what women called cute. Intensely dedicated to his job, Math did notice a nice turn of ankle and a pretty pair of eyes. He had dark hair that was styled in a bowl cut, with bangs on his forehead. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and had that perpetual look of an eighteen-year-old. He sometimes acted like one. But Chris often let it slide. The kid was brilliant.

  “Hi, lovely lady. Swear to God, Vargas, you get all the good assignments.”

  Sia smiled at the young man on the computer screen.

  “Sia, this is Justin Mathis. Don’t encourage him.” Chris turned back to the screen. “I have a job for you.”

  “I’m up to my eyeballs, in eyes, so make it fast.”

  “I’m not going to ask.”

  “It’s best you don’t.”

  “I need you to fly out here and look over a fighter jet for me. I need a report fast.”

  Math sighed. “Let me guess, twenty-four hours.”

  “You got it in one.”

  “Vargas, I can’t promise anything until I see the wreck.”

  “I don’t care what anyone else says, Math, you’re the best.”

  “Ha ha. Bye, lovely lady.”

  “He’s very good at his job, so if anyone can get us some answers, Math can.”

  “I pulled Lieutenant Washington’s record and I found something interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Looks like there was a reason Lieutenant Cotes was a bit jumpy.”

  “Why?”

  “She filed a sexual harassment complaint against Lieutenant Washington.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Nothing against Saunders?”

  Sia pulled up the pilot’s file. “No, nothing here I see.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t harassing her. Maybe she didn’t get a chance to file a complaint.”

  “It’s possible, but from what I heard from his wingman, he didn’t seem the type and I didn’t find any notes in his rack when I searched.”

  “We’ll search again.”

  Sia bristled. “Do you think I’m inept? That I can’t do a competent search?”

  “No, that’s not what I was implying. It’s possible something got missed. Especially when you’re not sure what you’re looking for. Now we know what we’re looking for.”

  “In the meantime, let’s get Susan Cotes in here for some more questioning.”

  Chris and Sia were seated when Susan Cotes entered Legal. She was still in her bright yellow tunic as she took a seat at the table across from them.

  “I don’t know what I can add to what I’ve already told you,” she said, to break the thick tension in the air.

  “Oh, I think you do,” Sia said. “You neglected to mention you had filed a sexual harassment charge against Lieutenant Washington.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you,” she said quickly. “I didn’t want to blurt it out in front of my coworkers.”

  “Well, we’re alone here. Tell us the details now. Did he assault you?”

  “No, nothing like that. He was sending me notes. They would be tucked into my uniform or slipped under my door. Once he cornered me in the wardroom and said we should explore the relationship I’d described in a note to him. I had no idea what he was talking about. I wasn’t participating in this fantasy note-writing that he was sure was me. I suggested he had me mixed up with someone else. He insisted it was me, and he seemed quite confused by my response. That’s when I lodged the complaint. I barely knew him.”

  “So he’d never initiated direct contact with you before the incident in the wardroom?”

  “No. I thought maybe he was shy or something—not that he seemed that way. I’m not about to get involved with a pilot. I’m interested in making the Navy a career. I didn’t want to derail it. Lieutenant Washington was a very handsome man, but I just wasn’t interested. When I told him so, he seemed completely baffled and said I was a crazy bitch sending him mixed messages.”

  “Do you have any of these notes?”

  “I gave them to the captain when I filed the grievance.”

  “You submitted your complaint only two days before Washington crashe
d his plane.”

  “Yes, it started up about four days before the crash. I didn’t want it to get out of hand, so I made the complaint and hoped the captain would reprimand him and it would stop.”

  “But Washington crashed before the captain had a chance to speak to him?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry he’s dead. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “That’s all for now, Cotes. We might have more questions for you later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She stood and left the cabin.

  “How about we split up,” Chris suggested. “You go and talk to the captain and I’ll question Washington’s wingman. He might have some information about Susan Cotes.”

  Chris shook his head. “I thought we were going to stick together.”

  “Don’t be silly. I just fell. It’s nothing to be concerned about. Besides, we need to split up the workload. It’s more efficient.”

  Chris looked skeptical, but nodded. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  Chris headed toward the wardroom and found Lieutenant Monroe drinking coffee at a table. “Hello, Monroe,” Chris said, showing the lieutenant his badge. “I wanted to talk to you about Lieutenant Washington’s crash.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Chris sat down and leaned back in his chair. “What were the conditions like when you both went to land?”

  “It was windy, and that’s always a tricky landing.”

  “Thank God for the meatball.”

  “Amen to that. It got me in safely with no wave-off my first pass, but when Eli went to land, it was a different story. His flying had been somewhat erratic about a half an hour out, but that’s understandable as he reported a problem with his radar. So he reported it and we were recalled. Most of the chatter on the radio was about Eli’s condition.”

  “Did he answer?”

  “He did, but as the approach got closer, he got more incoherent. Once I landed and taxied off, I no longer was on the radio. I watched as the LSO waved him off, but Eli came in too low and hit the ship. He skidded right past me. I could see him in the cockpit, but he made no attempt to eject. I didn’t even realize I was screaming for him to eject. Of course, he couldn’t hear me.”

  “Did he appear to be unconscious to you?”

  “He appeared aware, but I only saw him for a split second. If he had ejected, he would have made it.”