Chapter 12

x

Tom braced himself against the table as he shuffled through the papers that Sasha left. Searching for something that, objectively, provided a basis for Sasha's theory. But, just like the first time he looked, Tom found nothing more than a series of apparently random events.

Tied together only by one Amy Granderson.

Unfortunately, as Mike pointed out, having Amy Granderson — the current acting Secretary of Defense — mentioned in connection with security matters was about as meaningful as having Tom's name come up in connection with the Nathan James. Still, Tom couldn't shake his feeling that there was something here.

"The problem, sir," Kara was explaining, "is that SATCOM transmissions from the Nathan James are easily traced. If, as we suspect, the contact has gone to ground because he's worried that his cover was blown, conventional efforts to reach him may expose him to danger. Lieutenant Green believes that the contact has ditched all normal communication devices and is relying on a burner, if those exist anymore, or the media to stay connected. He hasn't checked in on any of the pre-established secured sites. Lieutenant Green believes that the best way to reach him is to send an open message via handheld. But, without more specific information about the contact's location, UHF radio doesn't have the necessary range."

"And could easily be traced back to us anyway," Tom added, only half paying attention as he watched Sasha and Green from the corner of his eye. Sasha's forehead wrinkled, then relaxed, before she nodded. His back to Tom, it was unclear what Green might be saying. Glancing back down at the papers in his hands, reflecting transfers to and from Doak Stadium, Tom forced himself to release them. Nothing here was going to give him the certainty that he was looking for. Sasha's theory was crazy but, as Mike was fond of saying, truth was often stranger than fiction.

Which left Tom faced with a simple quandary.

Did he believe Sasha or not?

Kara nodded briskly. "Exactly.

Attempting to focus on the issue at hand, Tom looked at Kara. "Ms. Raymond was no help?"

Kara blinked, her eyes flickering from Tom to Danny and back. Then she straightened her back, obviously accepting that he knew everything about Sasha and Green's surreptitious visits to their resident hacker's cabin. "I, um, I understand that Ms. Raymond's efforts were unsuccessful, sir. Although she made a point of saying that she had little experience with such primitive technology as a handheld."

The comment sounded so exactly like Valerie Raymond that Tom almost smiled. But he couldn't shake the sense that he was missing something critical. Sasha clearly believed that Amy Granderson was behind at least some of the outbreaks and was equally convinced about Granderson's connection to the Cartel. Yet Mike's skepticism remained valid.

Would Amy Granderson really go to such lengths in an effort to increase her standing with the President?

Again, a thought half formed, only to disappear as soon as Tom tried to grab it. Refocusing, he reminded himself that the current plan was merely information gathering. Even if Sasha was wrong about Granderson, contacting Pablo might potentially provide important insight into the situation with Mexico that could help in the effort to spread the cure to Central America.

"So we need to send a message on an open, untraceable frequency powerful enough to reach Mexico?" Tom summed up dryly, understanding why Kara was stymied. This would be a challenge under any circumstances — send a message powerful enough to broadcast across Texas and Mexico, but that couldn't be traced back to the military. Frankly, what they needed to do was hijack a satellite.

Tom turned the idea around and around in his head, watching from the corner of his eye as Green joined them, wondering how much of the real story he was about to get. He turned, meeting Green's gaze head-on. "Your friend — this guy Pablo. You're sure that he's alive?"

"Yes."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Because Shemanski — that's his actual name, although he refuses to use it," a smile flitted across Danny's face. "Anyway, he hadn't been in contact. At all. That means he's in hiding."

Tom attempted to detangle Green's convoluted reasoning. "You think the fact that this guy hasn't been in touch means that he's alive? Despite both you and Commander Cooper thinking that he made an enemy of the Sinaloa Cartel and being last seen in a Red Flu hotspot?"

"Yes, sir." There it was again. That absolute certainty. Green crossed his arms over his chest, one hip leaning against the table, then elaborated. "Pablo and I, we go all the way back to Lejeune. He was our DEA contact for the mission where I met Cooper. From what Commander Cooper told me following her meeting with Jesse, I'm betting that he and Jesse were followed out of Mexico. When they split, we think that Pablo covered her tracks and, once he was sure that she was out of range, he went to ground. The only thing that would make him lift his head again is if he thought that they found him. Then he would have done whatever he needed to do in order to warn us."

Brothers-in-arms. Tom rarely thought back to those long-ago days in Bosnia, the once pristine white bandage on his leg stained a dark maroon, his arm across Nat's shoulder as they ran those last fifty yards to the waiting chopper. More accurately, Nat dragged him, Tom having been in and out of consciousness for the last several miles. After Tom left the team and moved into CIC, they saw each other less and less. In fact, the last time Tom remembered seeing Nat was a couple of years back, right after his divorce from Darien when the guys insisted on toasting his new freedom. But no matter how much time passed, Tom knew that if Nat called and told him to that the Canadians were about to launch an attack on the James, he would believe the guy, even if the scenario was so implausible as to be ridiculous.

Some bonds simply couldn't be broken.

Tom met Danny's gaze, decision made. Sasha's theory might be far-fetched, it might be wrong — it might even be a load of crap sold to them by a known conspiracy theorist. But at the end of the day, he trusted her instincts. "Sounds like you know him well. Tell me, Lieutenant Green, what kind of music does Pablo listen to?"

xxxxx

Two hours later, Tom leaned back in his chair, easing stiff muscles. Kara was gone, back in CIC to begin coordinating the operations in New Orleans, while he and Green worked. He looked over at Green, realizing that this was likely the most time the two had spent together since that day in the Arctic when they were stuck in quarantine on the deck of the Nathan James. Somewhat to Tom's surprise, they had worked together well. Although, upon considering the matter, Tom realized that he shouldn't have been. Anyone who worked with Sasha regularly was bound to be good at his job. One thing that had stood out to Tom over the last few hours was that Green was more than just the muscle of the operation. He was easy to bounce ideas off, asking thoughtful questions and not shy about offering criticism. Tom was beginning to understand why Green became Sasha's go-to, although Tom was also fairly sure that Danny had lied in response to every single question of a personal nature, from his favorite type of music to the focus of his undergraduate degree.

"We're going to have to ask Lieutenant Granderson for help," Tom said finally.

The problem wasn't hacking the satellite. That was easy enough and something that Kara could have done hours ago. No, the trick was hacking the satellite without creating a disruption in service, and then adding a message to be repeated every ten songs on one particular station only — all without leaving any trace of their presence. Taking into account the varying lengths of songs, the addition of new songs and revisions to playlists, the need to avoid gaps in airtime, and not skipping commercials that were paid for and therefore likely monitored, the algorithm was far more complex than Tom initially imagined. Frankly, he now understood why radio DJ was still a job.

He narrowed his eyes on Green. "You are to tell her only that we are attempting to reach a contact. Nothing about Amy."

Green hesitated, then asked. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"You should tell Lieutenant Granderson everything." Green paused, then plowed on. "If you hide your concerns about her mother from her, Captain, she's going to think that you don't trust her. Worse, the crew may wonder the same thing and turn on her."

Tom hesitated, recalling Mike's comments about him cold-shouldering Green up in the Arctic. At the time, Tom had thought he kept his suspicions to himself. Now he wondered how much the crew picked up. Probably more than Tom wanted to admit. "Speaking from personal experience, Lieutenant Green? You don't seem to have suffered any permanent harm."

Green's face didn't change. "I'm not a member of this crew, sir. Lieutenant Granderson is."

Damn it, Green was right.

As much as Tom wanted to protect Alisha from the horrors that her mother was suspected of committing, doing so was likely to cause more harm than good should Amy Granderson turn out to be all that Sasha feared. Tom nodded curtly. "Please ask Lieutenant Granderson to join us. You might as well get Ms. Raymond as well. She may have some ideas despite our primitive technology."

xxxxx

Tom rolled his shoulders as he waited for the computer to connect. After hours bent over the screen while first Alisha and then Valerie Raymond worked, Tom's back had gone from stiff to excruciating. Worse, having to listen to Raymond spout her conspiracy theories for hours had burned through every ounce of his patience. Finally, Jed's face appeared, Ashley and Sam behind him, their faces squinting at Jed's phone.

"Dad!" Sam shrieked. "I made a new friend! He has a totally kickass skateboard!"

"Language," Tom replied automatically, before spoiling it by leaning closer to the screen. "Think he'll let you try it out?"

"Grandpa said I had to ask you first," Sam replied, glancing at the older man.

"Just remember to wear your helmet," Tom cautioned, his gaze going to Ashley. "How about you, Ash? Have you made any new friends?"

Ashley shrugged. "Hannah Slattery is here, so we've been hanging out."

After several more minutes of listening to Ashley sigh and flip her hair while Sam bounced off the wall, Tom decided it was time to wrap things up. "Now let me talk to your grandfather for a few minutes. Love you both."

"Love you, Dad!" Sam shouted, while Ashley grunted. Jed said something that Tom didn't catch, then Ashley disappeared.

Jed turned back with a shake of his head. "Sorry about that, son. Ashley's having some trouble with friends back home. Apparently one of their fathers is claiming that the vaccine is a scam and actually giving people the virus. Idiots. Of course, Ashley stood up for you and now the girls aren't talking."

Tom sighed. This was hardly the first time Tom had heard the theory, and part of him even understood the reasoning behind such far-fetched conspiracies. If he wasn't in the Arctic with Doctor Scott, seeing how dedicated the woman was, the idea of developing a vaccine and a cure for a virus that nobody had heard of six months ago sounded preposterous. The only thing he could do for those people was spread the vaccine so widely that none of them were ever exposed.

Deliberately changing the subject, Tom asked, "Any word from Darien?"

Jed's face relaxed. "I heard from her just this morning. She said she's feeling much better." When Tom didn't respond immediately, Jed shifted, hitting the phone and giving Tom an excellent view of the inside of his father's nose. "I figured that you called to ask about Darien, but that's clearly not it. What's bothering you, son?"

The connection wasn't secure and there were more news outlets watching the Nathan James right now than covered the World Series, so Tom carefully considered his words. "Your friend, Mark, the one who died a couple weeks back?"

Jed's posture immediately changed. "Yes, son?"

"Didn't you say that he had a message for me?" Tom asked, trusting that his father would also understand the need for discretion.

"He did indeed," Jed replied. He looked straight at Tom, and Tom could see the anger in Jed's eyes. "He said that it's better to have an enemy who slaps you in the face than a friend who stabs you in the back."

That's what Tom thought.

"Mark wasn't a trusting man," Jed continued. "To be betrayed by one of the few he let into the inner circle was a harsh blow."

And one of those few happened to be the Vice-Chair of the President's Defense Policy Board.

Until she conveniently took over his role as the Secretary of Defense.

Tom held Jed's gaze. "Anything else that Mark would want me to know?"

"To trust no one," Jed said, before adding. "And stay the hell away from that cesspool."

Message received, Tom thought. Message received.

xxxxx

By midnight, Tom was both exhausted and frustrated. Exhausted because he spent most of the evening coordinating with Fort Sam Houston on the proposed site of the cure location in New Orleans, and frustrated by the fact that Sasha disappeared long before Tom was finished and now was nowhere to be found. After walking into a rousing poker game and getting the evil eye from Frankie Benz, Tom gave up and retreated to his cabin.

Only to discover that the woman he was looking for was in the last place he thought to look. A smile sliding across his face, Tom slipped the door closed behind him.

"This is getting to be a habit."