Chapter 3
Aboard the USS Seahawk (somewhere in the North Arabian Sea)
"Damn," Commander Harmon Rabb sighed, glancing at his watch, and rubbed his dry tired eyes. It was nearly 0400 hours, and he was still only halfway through the mountain of paperwork left by the late agent Connelly. Harm was slowly sifting through it ever since his arrival aboard the Seahawk, but he had to do this mostly at night so as not to arouse suspicion from the yet unexposed spy. This was his second sleepless night in a row -- sleepless and fruitless. Sleep deprivation was already reflecting on his daytime responsibilities, his cover, as an aviator. Earlier today he caught himself dozing off during a general briefing for a reconnaissance mission over the Afghani border. If this went on much longer, he was afraid that he might end up falling asleep in the cockpit. Harm stifled a yawn, shaking his head wearily. He needed at least a couple of hours of sleep or he risked being grounded by the CAG and possibly blowing his cover.
He rose stiffly, throwing one last look around the murdered agent's quarters and was about to head out for some much-needed shuteye, when a folded piece of scrap paper half-buried under piles of folders caught his eye. Curious, he picked it up gingerly, wondering in the back of his mind whether he shouldn't just give in to his overwhelming desire to bury his face in a pillow and leave this newfound piece of information (whatever it was) for later. Any thoughts of sleep evaporated from his mind, however, once he saw the contents of that paper. In it were names of five crewmembers whom the late agent Connelly considered to be the most likely suspects based on their whereabouts in the hours preceding the fatal mission. Three of those names were already crossed out -- apparently, agent Connelly had already interviewed them and dismissed their candidatures as Taliban spies. Of the remaining two, one was a communications officer who was on duty the night before the mission. His name had a question mark next to it, and Rabb dismissed it as well, finding it hard to believe that anyone other than the Captain and the CAG would have detailed information about the mission prior to the briefing. The second name, however, caught his attention. It was one of the pilots who, according to the note, was seen leaving the com. room at 09:35 hours the morning of the mission. Troubled by such precise timing details, Harm placed the note in his shirt pocket and headed for Captain's quarters, an idea forming in his head.
* * *
"What is it, Commander?" Captain Johnson blinked sleepily, as he finished buttoning up his shirt.
Harmon Rabb stood at attention, furtively throwing somewhat sheepish looks at the irate skipper. "I'm sorry to drag you out of bed at this hour, Skipper," he began in a firm if apologetic voice, "but I have just stumbled upon something that might help solve this case ... and ..." he stumbled awkwardly, searching for the right words, "well, Sir, you're the only one aboard the ship who's cleared for any and all information related to the case."
The Captain raised his hand impatiently, silencing him. "I am well aware of the restrictions you are under, Commander. Believe me, I do not like the situation any more than you do. How do you think it makes me feel to know that there might be a murderous traitor among my crew and that I am powerless to do anything about it?" He paused, his jaws clenched in anger, but his eyes were still fixed on the younger man's face. "Believe me, Commander, I want you to catch that son of a bitch the sooner the better so I can personally feed him to the sharks. But I am sure you can understand if I am not particularly excited to be discussing this subject -- regardless of the time of day."
"Yes, Sir." The junior officer swallowed sharply, his eyes never leaving some fixed point on the wall above the captain's head.
"At ease," the Captain nodded finally after a moment's pause, and Harm gratefully assumed a more relaxed posture.
"So, Commander, what is so important at 4 in the morning?"
"It's more of a ... hunch, Sir, actually," Harm offered hesitantly, afraid of irritating the man any further. His fears turned out to be well founded, for but a fraction of a second later Captain Johnson was back in his face, eyes blazing.
"A hunch?"
"Yes, Sir." He swallowed again. If he was wrong about this, the skipper might just decide to skin him alive; if he was right, he would be confirming that one of the crew under this man's command is a traitor and a murderer. "Great. With these options even a ramp strike sounds more appealing." Harm winced, mentally steeling himself for the captain's reaction. "Sir, what time was the mission briefing on the day of the incident?"
The Captain lowered his gaze momentarily, searching his memory. "0900 hours," he said finally.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, I'm certain," the Captain's voice had once again grown irritable, making the younger man regret his unfortunate question. "The briefing began at 0900. It was over at 0925."
Commander Rabb let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "I was afraid of that." The words came out in a whisper, and the Captain had to strain his ears to make them out.
"Afraid of what, Commander?"
Wordlessly, Harm reached into his pocket, pulling out the list made by agent Connelly. "Here, Sir."
A few minutes passed in silence as Captain Johnson perused the contents of the note, and the angry tightening of his jaw muscles was the only thing that betrayed his emotions. "Is this conclusive?" he asked finally, handing the list back to the JAG officer.
The latter merely shook his head. "It's still pretty circumstantial, Sir. However, I'd say the timing is fairly alarming, especially for someone who had just gotten out of a mission briefing." He frowned, glancing back at the note, which may well have caused the poor CIA agent his life. "Agent Connelly must have thought it alarming too," he added solemnly, looking straight at the skipper.
"And he was murdered before he could substantiate his suspicions." This was a statement, not a question.
"I believe so, Sir, yes," Harm nodded.
The Captain fell silent, his lips pressed together in a tight line, while he considered the JAG's words. "You have a suggestion on how to deal with this, Commander?"
A flicker of doubt flashed in the younger man's eyes and vanished so fast that the Captain questioned ever seeing it.
When the junior officer spoke, his blue eyes held nothing but confidence and cold resolve. "Yes, Sir, I do."