Code 13 (46 page)

Paul sipped his coffee. “Okay, let's switch over to the video and watch the show.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The screen again morphed into the aerial photograph, displaying Caroline's car moving south in front of the bank.

But Paul wasn't so interested in Caroline's car. Instead, he focused on Ross Simmons's condo.

Just as Caroline's car turned right onto Lafayette, a figure emerged from the back of Simmons's house. The figure held something in his arms and started running, straight through the backyard and into an adjacent backyard.

“Do you see that, Jefferies?”

“I see him, sir!”

The figure—it looked like a man—ran past another house and emerged on the street behind Lafayette.

“Here's over on Bunker Hill,” Paul said.

“What's he doing?”

“Look. He's setting that object on the hood of that red car.”

“He's opening the door,” Jefferies said.

“Yep. And he's putting that object in the backseat. Looks like a computer.”

“I think you're right, sir. He's getting in the driver's side.”

“Okay, now he's pulling out. Heading down Bunker Hill. Turning right. What's that street?”

“I think it's Wellington, sir.”

“We lost him. Can we get a wider angle?”

“I'm afraid that's it, sir. We kept the drone over Lieutenant Simmons's condo.”

Paul looked at Jefferies. “We just saw the killer, John. If we can just identify him and figure out where he is.”

“Agreed, sir. But it's a step in the right direction. At least we've got an idea of what he's driving.”

“That's a fact. Good work. I'll call Special Agent Romanov over at NCIS. Let's see if we can track this sucker down.”

CHAPTER 35

GOOD OLE DAYS TAVERN

MASSACHUSETTS AVENUE

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

TUESDAY EVENING

The narrow, dimly lit sports bar paid a historical tribute to the glory days of Georgetown basketball. Large black-and-white photos of the great John Thompson, the huge
bear
of a man with his trademark white towel wrapped around his neck. Photos of all the Georgetown greats of yesteryear, in uniform, adorned the walls. Patrick Ewing. Alonzo Mourning. Allen Iverson. Dikembe Mutombo.

Almost empty, the bar at first carried the aura of a smoke-filled room, except smoking had been banned in DC bars for years.

It was a place frozen in time, even in its music. The golden voice of Elvis softly caressing “Love Me Tender” would have little appeal to the mindless hip-hop generation of millennials interested in cacophonous rap.

Perhaps that explained why the place looked so empty.

“May I help you gentlemen?” The young hostess, a slim brunette, perhaps in her early twenties and wearing a navy blue Georgetown sweatshirt, approached them with a smile. She wore a name tag that read “Mindy.”

“We're looking for a Mr. Romanov,” Paul said.

“You mean Special Agent Romanov with NCIS?” The waitress smiled. “Agent Romanov and his friend are in the back.”

“His friend?” Paul exchanged glances with Jefferies.

“I wanted to keep a tight lid on this, sir.”

“Me too,” Paul said. “I wasn't expecting a foursome.”

“Would you like me to take you to them?”

“Sure.” Paul turned to Jefferies. “I can always pull the plug on this if we need to.”

“He's in the back. Right this way.”

“Very well. Lead the way, miss.”

The hostess led Paul and Jefferies to the back of the bar, where Mark Romanov sat in a booth with his back to the front of the bar. An attractive redheaded woman sat next to him.

“We're fine, John,” Paul said. “She's a JAG officer. She's okay.”

“Your guests are here, Agent Romanov.”

Romanov turned and stood. “Good evening, Captain.”

“Evening, Mark. Meet Commander John Jefferies, my XO at Drone Command and OIC at Pax River when I'm not around. I brought John because he knows how to run the computers, and I don't have time to get up to speed.”

“A pleasure, Commander.”

“You too, Agent Romanov.”

“And, John,” Paul said, looking at Jefferies, “I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Commander Victoria Fladager. She's at Code 13 along with Caroline McCormick. Victoria knows what's going on.”

“Evening, sir,” Victoria said.

“Commander.” John nodded.

“Have a seat,” Mark said. “You said it was urgent and you didn't want to go into detail over the phone.”

“I think we have a break in the case.”

“A break?” Romanov raised an eyebrow. “I'm all ears.”

“Remember I told you that on the day of P.J. MacDonald's funeral, which was the same day as Ross Simmons's shooting, I had a drone in the air over the funeral?”

“Of course,” Romanov said.

Paul glanced at Jefferies. “Well, we kept that drone in the air a little longer than the funeral. I was worried about Commander McCormick, and we kept the bird in the air and followed her all the way to Lieutenant Simmons's house.”

A pause. “You have my attention, Captain.”

“John,” Paul said, “start the laptop. I want Romanov to see this.”

“Aye, sir.” Jefferies pulled out the laptop and positioned it so Mark and Victoria could both see it.

“Okay, Mark,” Paul said. “We're going to start with an aerial clip of the last two minutes or so when Caroline was driving on Fort Hunt Road, toward Simmons's neighborhood. Pull the still shot up, John.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Okay, see? This is her car.” Paul pointed to the screen. “But down here, in the lower left, is Simmons's condo. Now keep an eye on what happens.”

“Okay.”

“Roll it, John.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The car started moving south.

“Freeze it!” Paul said. “Look! See that guy coming out the back of Simmons's place?”

“Whoa,” Mark said. “How'd you miss this before?”

“Because we were using a tighter angle and were only focusing on following Caroline's car. Now watch what he does. Roll it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, look!”

“He's making a run for it,” Mark said. “What's he got?”

“The missing computer, I think,” Paul said.

“Of course,” Mark said. “Makes sense.”

“Yep. Now watch what he does.”

“He's headed to that red car,” Mark said.

“Oh my gosh!” Paul said.

“What, Captain?”

“Freeze it, John.”

“What?”

“Why didn't it hit me before?” Paul said.

“What, Captain?” Mark asked.

“That red Mercedes! I'm sure I've seen it before.”

“Where?”

“In the parking lot!”

“What parking lot?”

“At la Madeleine. Sunday morning when we met there. Why didn't I put two and two together?”

“You saw the Mercedes in the parking lot?”

“I'm sure of it,” Paul said. “I pulled into the parking lot, then got out of the car to get the door for Caroline. The Mercedes pulled in right beside us.”

“Are you sure it's the same Mercedes, sir?”

Paul looked away. “Let me think.” He gazed over at the large photograph of John Thompson. “Yes. An E-class. 350. I couldn't swear to it, but I know it in my gut.”

The men looked at each other.

“Captain,” Mark said, “you didn't happen to have one of those drones in the air this morning over either Commander McCormick's townhouse or the Pentagon, did you?”

Paul shook his head. “I wish I did. I was pushing it to justify an official training mission over Arlington the day of the funeral. And of course, as far as I'm concerned, it's legitimate to protect a United States naval officer.”

Mark seemed to think. “Of course, you know if we turn this over to civilian law enforcement we run the risk of violating
posse comitatus
.”

“How ironic,” Paul mused. “The very issue these JAG officers like P.J. MacDonald were wrestling with, we may have already violated.”

Commander Jefferies spoke up. “You mean using the military for civilian law enforcement?”

“It's a close line,” Mark said. “That's the whole reason they want Homeland Security to operate these drones over civilian airspace. But
right now, frankly, I'm more concerned about catching this monster than I am about
posse comitatus
.” He looked at Paul. “You know, I'm going to need her help again, and I'm going to need your help again.”

Paul's stomach knotted. “Look, I'll be happy to help all I can. I'll even see about getting one of these drones up in the sky to support the operation,
posse comitatus
or no
posse comitatus
.” He looked Mark in the eye. “But can't we leave her out of it?”

Mark shook his head. “Captain, I know she's special to you. But if we don't get this guy, he might get her first.”

Paul crossed his arms. “Look. Caroline's a real trooper. She has the mind of a JAG and the bravado of a Navy SEAL. But the difference is the SEALs get weapons, and we're asking her to put a target on her back like a sitting duck. There's only so much anyone can take. She only survived by the grace of God. She's so determined to trap this guy I'm just afraid she's going to get herself killed. I just wish there was another way.”

Silence. “Maybe there is another way.” Victoria spoke up.

Romanov looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Captain.” Victoria looked at Paul. “Can we keep Caroline in the hospital a few days?”

“Well, that's a medical decision. But as of today, I don't think Dr. Berman wants to cut her loose too soon because of that concussion, even tomorrow. She's stubborn and wanted to leave as soon as possible, but I think I could persuade Captain Guy to order her to follow doctor's orders.”

“Do you have the keys to her townhouse and to her car?”

“No. But I took her purse to the hospital, and I think I could get the keys.” Paul glanced at Mark, then at Victoria. “Why do you ask?”

Victoria grinned. Her green eyes sparkled. “You know, I wasn't always a redhead.”

Mark responded, “I'm not sure I follow you.”

“You do know that I was once a blonde, don't you?”

Mark raised his eyebrow. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“How about this?” Victoria glanced at Mark, then at Paul. “Mark, how about if we plant a press release that Caroline has been released from the hospital, that she's safely home, and that she will be reporting for duty tomorrow morning. I can go home tonight . . . In fact, Captain, if you can get me into Caroline's place tonight, I can come out her door as a blonde in the morning, and we can get that drone in the air and see if this maggot falls for the bait.”

The men exchanged glances.

Mark spoke up. “You want to play the role of Caroline?”

“Caroline's not in any kind of condition to be out there right now, and if she's willing to put her neck on the line, then so am I. P.J. was my friend too. We all want to know who killed him, and Ross.” She looked straight into Mark's eyes with a steely determination that reminded Paul of Caroline. “Can you make it happen, Mark?”

Mark stared at her for a second, his face expressionless. “You really want to do this, don't you?”

She met his stare. “Mark, you know me. I've had two of my shipmates at Code 13 murdered, and a third who was almost killed.” She paused. “I'm a naval officer, and this is my duty. This is personal.”

Silence.

Paul spoke up. “I think she means it, Mark.”

“Of course she means it,” Mark said. “I've known her a long time. Okay. If it means that much to you, I can make it happen.” He looked at Paul. “Captain, if you can get over to the hospital and get Caroline's keys and then get Victoria over to her townhouse tonight, I can get that story planted tonight. And of course we'll need drones in the air in the morning.” He took a swig of beer. “We'll need to coordinate real-time communication between me and Pax River. If that sucker takes the bait, NCIS will be ready.”

Paul nodded, grateful that Victoria had stepped up to the plate, and grateful that Caroline might be spared, at least for another day. “Sounds like we've got some work to do.”

“Gentlemen, there is one thing,” Victoria said.

“What is it?” Mark said.

“I hate to put any kind of a spoiler on this, but you know if this gets out, they may accuse us of violating
posse comitatus
, don't you?”

They all looked at one another.

“Look, it's okay if you change your mind,” Mark said. “We understand. This will be a dangerous operation. Nobody's asking this of you.”