Phil listened to it all patiently and attentively, asking a question here and there, but letting Rob go on as long as he wanted to. The pastor's expression was one of acceptance and understanding, and it did much to make Rob feel comfortable as he spoke. But when Rob mentioned genetics, Phil’s expression changed to one of concern.
When Rob finished, Phil was quiet as he organized his thoughts. Rob began to wonder if he should say something else, but decided against it. He had given the man a lot of information in the thirty or so minutes that they had been together, so he waited.
Finally, the pastor spoke. “Well Rob, I really appreciate your openness and honesty. I can only imagine what it was like for you in your earlier job. I'm glad that you had the opportunity to get into something more suited to your education and that it gave you the opportunity to move to Summerville and join us here at SCA.” He stopped and thought for a moment longer, swiveling back and forth in his chair a few times. He turned around and plucked a New International Version of the Bible from one of the shelves behind him and turned back to face Rob before he continued. “I'd like to read a passage or two, if it's alright.”
Rob shrugged. “Please.”
“The first one is from Psalm one thirty-nine.” He looked at Rob and back at the Bible as he flipped through the pages. “I'm assuming the problem you're having is with the experiment with genetics that your captain mentioned. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Before I read this to you, I want to advise you to prayerfully consider what you've been asked to do. I mean, you didn't give me much to go on, so I'm not quite sure that I'm gonna be able to help you much. But, I will try.”
Rob understood. With the limited information he had given the pastor, it was going to be difficult for him to give advice on what he should do. But maybe that's not actually what Rob needed out of this meeting. Maybe he really needed to know how to approach God with it so he would handle it the right way.
Phil went on as he continued flipping pages. “And, I also know that you don't have much time to decide so … ah, here it is. Psalm one thirty-nine, verse thirteen. 'For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.'” He looked back at Rob compassionately. “See, God created us. And he is the one who is in control, ultimately. For man to try to manipulate the terms of our existence, well, that's a no-no from a Christian point of view. Unless it's to heal someone's illness or injury. Then, maybe it's debatable. There are some gray areas there.” Phil cocked his head to one side. “But it doesn't seem to me that you know even that much about the project you've been asked to get involved in, do you?”
“Only what I've told you,” Rob said. After a brief pause, he added, “Well, the paperwork I received had a few things I was asked to start right away, in case I accept the assignment. A certain diet, an exercise regimen, things like that. But no specific details.
“I see.” Phil thought for another moment. “I like to use the analogy, 'the runway lights of life'. You see, if we don't follow the signs we've been given, then we will crash and burn like a pilot who ignores the lights of a runway. I guess the best advice that I give you, besides praying of course, is to consider what you know about your captain. Combine that with how you feel in your gut about what he's asked you to do, and listen to what God says to you through your faith in him.” He smiled. “Wouldn't it be great if he would just speak to us verbally? Then it would be easy.”
“That would sure work for me.”
Phil started flipping pages again and Rob looked at his watch. It was almost noon. He hadn't realized that so much time had passed, and he had a lunch date with his dad. He was going to be late. “Well Brother Phil, I really appreciate your time and your advice, but I don't want to take up too much of your day.” Rob was speaking honestly. He had found some peace that morning and the pastor had been a big part of it. He had a good idea of what he needed to do to prepare himself for the task at hand.
“Just one more second, if you don't mind.” Phil was still flipping pages. “There's one more verse that I want to leave you with. “It's from the book of Matthew, chapter seven, and verse twelve. 'So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.'”
The Golden Rule, Rob thought. And oddly enough, it fit the situation perfectly.
Brother Phil closed out their session in prayer, and the men stood and shook hands. “I hope our meeting has helped, Rob.”
“Well, you've given me a new perspective to look at this situation from. That just might be a good thing … I think.”
Phil smiled. “Trust God. He won't steer you wrong.”
* * * * *
LATER THAT EVENING, Rob found himself staring at the blank email on his laptop sitting on his desk in the den. The address line read:
[email protected]. The subject line he had left blank. The cursor was beckoning him to type the single word that would answer the captain's very cryptic question. Rob was leaning back in his chair in the darkened room illuminated only by the computer. He was chewing on a pen that he had taken from the World's Greatest Dad coffee mug next to the computer. The children had been put to bed and Carol was watching the news in their bedroom upstairs. She had been giving him a wide berth for the past few days. On one hand, Rob appreciated her for understanding the difficulties he had been placed under. She hadn't asked any more about the subject since the ride home from the airport. On the other hand, he hated having to make this decision without her input. Since he had left the SEALs, she had been involved in all of their important decision-making, and Rob wanted her to be involved in this one, too. But he knew that if he told her any more, she would have told him that she trusted his judgment when it came to his career, while secretly dreading the fact that Rob might be getting involved in anything that was remotely connected with genetics.
On the other hand, his long time friend, Captain Benny Walsh, had asked him to be a part of something that Rob thought might be a good thing for the Navy and for his country. Even if he only knew it by what he knew of the captain. Why else would Benny have asked him to participate in the project? Surely the captain hadn't pulled his name from a hat. No, there was a process of elimination involved here. Benny hadn't arbitrarily chosen him because of his good looks and sparkling personality. If the captain had chosen him to be a part of an important project that involved the defense of his nation, his countrymen, and his family, it was because he, Commander Robert Orson Tyler, was the best, most qualified candidate for the task.
But still … Benny had also made it clear that a “no” answer was completely acceptable.
His eyes were growing weary and he longed for the embrace of his wife. He stared at the cursor, blinking, waiting patiently for his entry, for his answer.
Reaching for the keyboard, he typed one word and then he clicked “Send.”
13 The Truck
12 July 2010
2345 hours
SPECIAL AGENT EDDIE Perez of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service sat next to the forward wall of the transport vehicle, which was nothing more than a converted semi truck trailer. Its dimly lit interior vaguely resembled that of a C-130 Hercules aircraft with a row of eight jump seats on either side, each with its own five-point harness, situated along the forward half of the trailer. In the back were shrink-wrapped pallets of goods stacked two wide and four deep, leaving the center of the trailer free of obstacles. In the middle of the floor was a six by ten hatch split down the middle. The scent mixture of freshly cut wood, fruit, and diesel fumes assailed Eddie’s nostrils, and was beginning to turn his stomach. He was dressed in his normal slacks, white button-down shirt, and herringbone sports jacket.
Seated around him were the members of his team. The Major Case Response Team, or MCRT, had been dispatched on special request from the Secretary of the Navy for this most unusual assignment. They were ordered to travel to Robins Air Force Base in central Georgia from their home base at Naval Station
Mayport on the east side of Jacksonville, Florida just that morning.
Jo Turner, Eddie's second, was seated directly across from him. She wore a gray pants suit and a yellow blouse. The butt of her Sig Sauer P220 Compact forty-five caliber pistol, which she preferred over the Beretta model 96 forty caliber the rest of the team carried, could be seen on her right hip under her jacket which was unbuttoned in the front. She claimed she didn't need ten rounds to hit her target, and had proven it time and again on the firing range. Her short curly blonde locks were in disarray after the long car ride followed by the hour-long briefing that amounted to not much more than a refresher course in national security policy and the consequences of revealing anything to the outside world about what they would soon see. Her green eyes were closed. Maybe she was trying to get some rest as they traveled, but it seemed more likely to Eddie that she was feeling the same effects of the hideous potpourri. The thirty-seven-year old had been with NCIS for five years after being recruited from the Miami Police Department where she had worked vice for twelve years. She was quite attractive, with delicate features and a deceptively small five-foot-seven-inch frame. Eddie had doubted that she would last through her probation, but she had surprised the veteran who, at that time, was forming his first team. Early on, she’d made every effort to show Eddie up with her extensive knowledge and skills. After making special agent a little over a year ago, however, she had mellowed a bit toward him, preferring to take the newer members of the team to task.
To Eddie's left was Cal Warren, the team’s probie. The twenty-five-year old had graduated from Georgia Tech in 2007 with a bachelor’s degree in computer science. He joined NCIS's Internet Technologies department two years before, and was recruited by Eddie after he assisted with a case in which members of a terrorist cell kidnapped a naval captain’s ten-year-old daughter. The terrorists had demanded that the officer assist them with a plot to disable his own ship in the Persian Gulf. The perpetrators used the Internet to throw off their pursuers, and Cal had been instrumental in locating and rescuing the child. He had even risked his own life by chasing down one of the kidnappers who was armed with an AK-47 assault rifle. Seeing the young man's commitment and passion, Eddie couldn't resist. He was a handsome young man, looking more like an athlete than a computer geek. He was dressed in Levis, a black tee shirt, and the herringbone jacket that had become his favorite after seeing Eddie wearing his. The mocha brown skin of his clean-shaven head was covered with sweat. Even with the refrigeration unit in the trailer, it had gotten stuffy in the poorly ventilated space. His hazel eyes, which justly reflected the compassion in his heart, were staring at the wall opposite him. Eddie thought maybe Cal was daydreaming.
Below the spot where Cal was gazing was the last member of the team that Eddie had brought with him. Geri Hughes had been with NCIS for six years since graduating from Florida State with duel degrees in general management and criminology. She was twenty-eight years old and had meticulously planned out her career in great detail by the time she joined Eddie's team three years ago. She intended to become a team leader by the time she was thirty, and she was well on her way. She was a small woman with a pale complexion, but what she lacked in stature she made up for with intelligence. She was almost always serious, and rarely smiled. But she had an attention for detail beyond that of a run-of-the-mill field agent. She was good at putting differing items together and extrapolating scenarios that seemed fanciful at best at first glance, but more often than not turned out to be correct. She had proven to be a valuable asset to the team and a good agent with solid performances all around. She wore a navy blue pants suit, probably the same label Jo was wearing, with a bright red blouse. Eddie believed the bright color choice hinted at another side of her personality that none of them had broken into yet. She was looking at him intently when he locked eyes with her baby blues.
“It stinks in here,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Eddie mimicked her expression. “Well, we ought to be there soon.”
The sudden exchange woke Cal from his reverie. “They said it was only about ten minutes drive.”
Eddie looked at him stoically. “It’s ten minutes from the base, not from where we were at the logistics center.”
Working among young people made Eddie feel old at times, and this was one of those times. Cal and Geri were two of his youngest, least experienced agents. He had selected them for this trip because he wanted to give them some exposure to a not-in-my-comfort-zone experience. He wasn't sure why his team had been sent on this assignment, but since he was informed that there wouldn't be any heavy lifting involved, he thought it would make for a good training opportunity.
He himself had been with NCIS for ten years after serving with the Jacksonville Police Department Homicide unit for twelve. Before that, he had enlisted in the Navy right out of high school, where he spent eight years in the shore patrol. Being in law enforcement for three decades had cost him two marriages and countless relationships. He had been shot twice, both times since joining NCIS. He had given blood, sweat, and tears to the services. He wanted no more promotions, no more responsibilities and he was done job-hopping. He wanted to live out the remainder of his career as a field agent. Nothing more. At forty-eight, he was beginning to show the signs of middle-age spread. No matter how much exercise he did, it seemed to creep back on him. At five foot ten, he weighed a few cookies over 200 pounds. His black hair was beginning to gray at the temples and his sinewy face, scarred by a terrible bout of acne during puberty, was starting to look more and more weathered with age. In stark contrast to the rest of his face, which rarely changed expression, he seemed to smile most of the time. His gravelly voice completed the persona of a cop hardened by years of frustrating, thankless work.
They could hear and feel the truck decelerate and then turn sharply into what they hoped was their destination.
“Are we there yet?” It was Jo. She hadn't opened her eyes, but her other powers of observation remained intact.
Eddie unbuckled his harness. “I sure hope so,” he said without looking at her. “That smell is gonna make me puke.”
The truck continued to slow and sway back and forth as it maneuvered into position. Finally, it stopped and they heard the sound of air brakes hissing, finding the perfect spot over the platform that was the entrance to the underground complex. The engine continued to idle as the sound of electric motors could be heard beneath them. They had been told that a black canvass sleeve would be lowered into position from the underside of the truck. It would conceal them as well as the material and foodstuffs that were being delivered.
The rest of the team, save Jo, unbuckled their harnesses, relieved that they would soon be exiting the trailer and breathing some fresh air. They stood and stretched. It had been a long day, and likely, it wouldn't be over for some time.
“I guess so,” Jo answered herself, opening her eyes and looking at the other three.
There was a knock on the floor followed by the sound of the locking mechanism as the hatch's two sides swung away. The sound of diesel engines was nearly deafening in the small space. A welcome cool breeze followed this. A man in his early thirties, wearing the uniform of a technical sergeant in the Air Force, was standing on a six-foot-by-ten-foot elevated platform with a three-foot railing around three sides. His fair face looked even lighter in contrast to his military-buzzed dark brown hair. Slowly, the platform rose until it was flush with the truck's floor, muffling the sound of the engines. Its occupant glanced around at the four of them with dark, deep-set eyes. His gaze stopped when he locked eyes with Eddie. “Special Agent Perez?” He extended his hand. “I'm Sergeant Neil Covington, in command of the security team.”
Eddie noted the sergeant was wearing the military standard-issue Beretta 92 F pistol on his right hip and a radio on his left. He took the sergeant’s hand. “Let me introduce you to my team. Agents Cal Warren and Geri Hughes, and Special Agent Jo Turner.”
Covington shook each of their hands i
n turn and produced four small plastic bags containing earplugs from his pocket. “They always forget to issue these to new arrivals,” he said as he passed them out. “It's a bit loud in the generator room.” As they inserted the plugs, he added, “If you all will step on to the platform, please.”
Eddie watched as Covington spoke into the radio and the platform began to descend. Once down, he ushered them over to the waiting golf carts. Cal and Geri climbed into a cart with an airman in the driver’s seat, while Eddie and Jo rode with the sergeant.
They chose to remain silent for the first half of the fifteen-minute trip through the tunnel. The two youngest team members seemed uncomfortable with their new surroundings, while Eddie and Jo took it all in stride. When they reached the middle of the passage and started across the drain, Eddie spoke. “So, what does the Air Force need with a Navy investigative team, Sergeant? This place is your baby, isn't it?”
Covington smiled. “It could have something to do with the fact that the installation's new commander is a Navy captain.”
Eddie chuckled. Without looking, he held up his hand as Jo slapped a five-dollar bill in it. Eddie had predicted that there would be a Navy man in command of whatever was going on here, but Jo thought it was that the Air Force needed help they couldn't muster from within their own ranks. “What the heck does the Navy have going on in the middle of Georgia? Are there swicks running up and down a river somewhere near here?”
Covington looked at Eddie questioningly. “Swicks?”
Eddie smiled. “The best kept secret in the Navy. Special Warfare Combatant Crewmember. S-W-C-Cs. Swicks.”
From the expression on his face, Eddie could tell that the sergeant still didn't understand. “They're like SEALs, but with boats.”
“Special Agent, all I can tell you is that the work being done here is very important to some very high government officials. The captain wants to meet with you ASAP. I'm sure he'll have the details for you.” After a brief pause, he added, “I guess they don't have much confidence in Air Force security personnel and wanted you guys here.”