Streamline (14 page)

She hesitated. Leo’s secret had weighed heavily on her for days.

He’d be upset if she said anything, but she also knew there wasn’t much her father could do from prison. “I think there’s a lot you don’t know about the commander, Dad.”

Aware of the MP monitoring their conversation, Audrey tried to figure out a clandestine way to communicate. “Have you, um, studied the verb
golpear
?”

Her father shook his head.

She hit her right fist into her palm and then tapped her right fist against her jaw, and her father nodded. “
El padre de Leo…él lo golpea
.” His eyes opened wide. “That can’t be right, Audrey. I’ve known
su padre
for years, and he’d never do that.” Audrey shook her head. “
Es la verdad
. I saw it, Dad. He almost, he almost…” Her voice trailed off. She pointed at her chest and drew her fist close to her jaw. “
Casi me golpea a
mí.” Her father’s eyes narrowed, and Audrey quickly added, “But Leo stopped him.”

His hand clenched into a fist on the counter in front of him.

“You have to tell somebody! Child Protective Services, a teacher, a counselor — ”

“I can’t. Leo made me promise. He’s thinks
su padre
won’t do it again.”

“That’s what they all say.” He slumped in his chair. “How’d this go on and I had no idea? Did it happen to Jason too?” Audrey felt tears well up. “I think so. He,
su padre
, made Jason leave and promise to never come back.”

Her father just stared.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Audrey said. “But it’s been killing me, and I didn’t know who else to tell.” Her father cleared his throat. “I’m glad you told me, honey. I’m so sorry for you, and for Leo. Nobody should have to go through that. I hope he’s right that
su padre
won’t
golpear
him anymore.” He forced a smile. “See? You taught me a new word.” Audrey nodded sadly, and they sat for a few moments. “I miss you, Dad.”

He swallowed, blinking quickly. “I miss you so much, Audrey girl.”

“It won’t be the same at state without you.”

“Well, I’ll be there in spirit, honey. You’ll do an awesome job as long as you keep working hard.”

Audrey mustered a wan smile. “Yes, sir.”
 

Lt. Commander Roland Drake waited in the Jeep for his CO.

Now thirty-nine, Roland had been part of Air Department V4 for less than two years, but it was by far the toughest assignment of his military career. He’d never served under a more demanding boss. Unfortunately that boss had just returned to Miramar after a mystery trip to Florida.

Commander Scott stepped off the plane and practically marched down the metal stairway onto the tarmac. Roland scrambled out of the vehicle to exchange a brisk salute. Scott was in his seat and ready to go before Roland could even get the door open. He fumbled for a moment, then began to maneuver the car through the base.

“How was your time in Florida, sir?”

“Excellent. How’s the review of the maintenance quality issues?”

“Fine, sir,” Roland lied, feeling the heat of his boss’s eyes.

“Are we finished with the testing?”

“Not quite, sir. We had a holdup on the C-Forty Clippers. The air boss hasn’t cleared them for flight.”

“And how is that
our
problem, Mr. Drake?”

“I’m sure we’ll get it figured out today, sir.”

“Good. I want to get back home ASAP.” The commander gazed off in the distance, seemingly at nothing.

“Are you okay, sir? It looks like you got in a fight.” Commander Scott glared at him, and Roland instantly regretted the question.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was mugged last night.”

“Mugged?
Did they catch the guy?”

“I didn’t file a report. I make my own justice.” Roland hesitated. “I’m sure the other guy looks much worse, sir.” Commander Scott nodded, his fury evident in his voice. “He won’t be trying
that
again anytime soon.” They drove in silence to their assigned hangar and spent the next few hours consulting on safety measures. The EA-6B Prowler’s electronic circuitry had problems, and it took most of the morning to run system diagnostics.

When they’d finished, Commander Scott left for lunch, and after a safe amount of time had passed, Roland moved in on a female lieutenant. He was just about to brush his fingers down her thigh when he found his CO screaming in his face.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out the C-Forty Clippers are already in the air?” he bellowed. “I was at lunch with Commander Branson, and I looked like a freaking idiot!” Roland stood at attention alongside the lieutenant, his palms moist with sweat. “I thought Commander Branson deployed this morning, sir?”

“His deployment was delayed!” Commander Scott began to pace.

“You thought you could pull a fast one just because the air boss would be gone? What’s going on here?”

Roland’s heart thumped. “I screwed up, sir. I haven’t had time to study the C-Forty design blueprints yet. It’s my fault the review’s not complete.”

“Why haven’t you had time?”

“We were here till twenty-three-hundred last night, and you arrived at oh-eight-hundred this morning, sir.”

“And what’s occupied your time the past forty-five minutes? It appears you’ve chosen to flirt with your subordinate here instead of doing your duty, Mr. Drake.”

Roland’s face burned, furious at being chewed out in public.

“No excuse, sir.”

Commander Scott closed in once again, his voice soft, yet menacing. “You will
not
lie to me, Mr. Drake. Walsh and Rose were hardly adequate lieutenant commanders, but they knew damn well never to lie to me. This will go in your performance report, and you can kiss one week’s salary goodbye.”

Roland’s face remained neutral, despite his nausea. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, get outta my sight, and
do your job
so we can go home.”

“Right away, sir.” Roland did an about face and jogged into the hangar.

As he dashed to one of the offices, Roland’s eyes tapered into slits. How dare the commander embarrass him like that? A superior hadn’t dressed him down that way since the time Bill Walsh had caught him in a lie. Now Walsh was six feet under.

Slouched on the bench in the shadows of the holding cell, his clothes now hopelessly wrinkled and his person in desperate need of a shower, Jason fought to hide his fear. A smattering of whistles and catcalls broke the silence, and he looked up to see Detective Easton approaching. She squelched the noise with a glare.

“Mr. Scott.” She beckoned, and Jason couldn’t conceal his relief as he stepped up to the bars. Her voice lowered. “You have a visitor.

Place your hands through the slot so I can cuff them.” Confused, he complied.

As the detective led Jason down the hall, he noticed the T-shirt under her jacket. “Is that an R.E.M. shirt?”
And was that a blush?

“Yes it is — from their Monster tour.” Jason chuckled. “My sponsor has that same shirt.”

“Mr. Scott, I’m sorry you’ve been in that holding cell for two days. There’s a backup on the docket, but they should get to your bail hearing this afternoon. We’re also short-staffed with guards, so I offered to escort you to your visitor.”

“And who might that be?”

“I believe it’s your father.”

Jason stopped short. “Why’s
he
here?” The detective shrugged.

“Do I have to see him?”

“You don’t want to see your own father?”

Jason paused. He didn’t know how to answer.

“Listen, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to,” she said.

“But you might want to find out why he’s here. Have you even met with an attorney yet?”

He shook his head.

“Maybe your father can help you get a good attorney, not some overworked, court-appointed one.”

“That’s not likely.” Jason exhaled. “I don’t really want to see him, but I don’t want to go back to that cell either. Let’s go.” As they neared the visiting room, Jason hesitated again.

“Wait — what’s the set-up? Any barriers?”

“There are tables in the room. No barrier.” Once they entered the visiting room, she unclasped his handcuffs.

Jason immediately felt his father’s harsh gaze emanating from across the room. Jason took a deep breath and willed himself to walk forward.

His father’s crisp khaki uniform stood in stark contrast to Jason’s crumpled, half-unbuttoned shirt and jeans. They stared at each other until Jason took a seat, and his father reluctantly followed suit.

“How’d you know I was here?” Jason asked.

“I have my sources. MPs and police officers like to talk.” Jason couldn’t believe it, but as he watched, Cold Stone fidgeted a little on the bench.

“I — I can’t believe you turned yourself in.” Was that a hint of admiration in his father’s eyes? “My sponsor told me I should do it, and I agreed,” Jason said. “I’m sick of you lording this over me. It actually felt good to confess.”

“Well, I think it’s the dumbest thing you’ve done yet.” The typical hostility and impossibly high expectations returned. “You’re dragging our family name through the mud.”

“So it’s okay if
you
turn me in, but not if
I
turn myself in? What kind of logic is that?”

His father did not respond. “Your mother tells me you’re an alcoholic,” he said instead.

Bitterness coated Jason’s tongue. “Yes I am, Dad. I’m the family screw-up, just like you predicted.”

“I don’t know how both my sons became addicts. I don’t know where things went wrong.”

He looked off into space, and Jason was amazed yet again to hear self-doubt from his father’s lips.

“At least Leo was clean on his last drug test,” his father added.

“That means squat,” Jason countered. “Leo will keep abusing pills until he gets treatment.”

“He doesn’t need treatment, and he doesn’t need a
sponsor
. He has me to watch over him, to make sure he has a successful Navy career.”

“What about when he goes to school? You can’t watch him every second.”

“His commanding officers will keep close tabs on him at the Academy.”

“Leo’s going to the Naval Academy? Is that what he wants?” CS waved dismissively. “Who cares what he wants? It’s what he needs.”

So Calculating Swine had predetermined the next nine years of Leo’s life. Jason hadn’t had the grades to earn even a consideration at the Academy, which was definitely a blessing. His father had seen it as a betrayal.

“Why are you here, Dad?”

“I honestly don’t know,” his father said, after a long pause. “When I heard you turned yourself in, I was shocked. I guess I had to see it for myself.”

“Well, freak show’s over.” Jason stood. He swallowed hard as his father also rose, and he straightened his spine to access every inch of his height. “When I get out of here, I’ll do everything I can to make you stop hurting my brother.”

His father gave a half-smile. “We’ll see about that. And I’m not hurting Leo. I’m helping him, by the way.” Jason scoffed. “Whatever gets you through the night.” Turning abruptly, he stalked off toward the waiting detective.

“That didn’t look like a happy visit,” Detective Easton said as they walked back to the holding cell.

“I need a drink,” Jason said. He now actually welcomed the return to the holding cell. At least nobody was disappointed with him there.

The water rushed past his ears, obliterating all other noise.

Sensory deprivation was one of swimming’s most appealing qualities for Leo. The worries of the day, the shouted voices around him, the disappointment of authority figures — all were far away once he submerged in the water and focused on swimming as fast as possible.

He did a lot of thinking during practice, sometimes solving problems and sometimes making plans.

They were doing a set of ten one-hundreds, each on a faster interval, which made for a challenging aerobic workout. Eric led the fastest lane, and Leo went second.

He pushed off for his seventh one-hundred, his legs burning from exertion.
Long and smooth
, he told himself, taking the first length out relaxed. As he approached the wall, he whipped his body over in a swift flip turn and exploded off in a tight streamline. For the next three lengths, Leo focused on keeping a long stroke with a lively tempo and closed fast on Eric’s feet. Both swimmers breathed hard at the wall and squinted at the pace clock. Leo only had little rest before he set off to repeat the process three more times.

Before number ten, Matt barked at him: “Make this one your best, Leo!”

Leo gritted his teeth as he pushed off for the last repeat. Lifting his head at the finish, he heard Matt holler “Fifty-two!” Leo grinned as he panted.

“Great set, guys.” Matt nodded. “Fifty easy cool down.” In the lane next to Leo, Audrey still battled through her own set of ten one-hundreds, all breaststroke. Elaine led the lane doing backstroke.

Matt now hovered over their lane. “C’mon, Audrey, get these last two under one-eighteen.”

As Leo finished an easy fifty backstroke, he heard Matt tell Audrey,

“One-twenty-one. You can do better than that!”

“I’m
tired!”
she huffed before she pushed off on the last repeat.