. 02

Adventures in Swinging Chapter 29 Pt 2

January 29

At Sea Shiptime 1015hrs CST

Main Bridge

Distance from Galveston: 270 miles

Course 220 degrees, Speed 12 knots

The ship's stabilizers had taken the roll from the increasingly rougher seas. The vessel plowed smoothly through the swells, but occasional surges in the waves created a bit of green over the bow. It wasn't a good time for anyone to be anywhere on the forecastle. Warm rain was pelting down hard. All the passengers were indoors, and the sexual games were underway. As the afternoon approached, scantily clad men and women began moving between cabins. The traffic throughout the ship's passageways slowed it for anyone headed shopping or off for a casual bite.

Geoffrey Crossthwaite had been pacing the bridge from the port to starboard wings. The First Officer looked at the bridge clock, which read 1120 hrs. The ship's owner had yet to utter a word to anyone, and from the look in Crossthwaite's eyes, no one dared approach him. Crossthwaite had repeated his steps, back and forth, since 0900 hrs.

Terrance Wellman, the Third Officer, entered the bridge from the starboard wing. He was covered in wet weather gear, and the hood over his cap dripped with water as he quickly closed out the wind and rain by securing the hatch. The officer shook himself, and a pool of water formed beneath him. He carefully removed his gear, noting that Crossthwaite was walking away with his back to him. Wellman pressed a panel on the wall, and it opened to a small locker, where he quickly hung his gear. Pausing, he adjusted his uniform, checked his look in the mirror, closed the panel to the locker, and turned quickly toward the weather radar station he knew was directly behind him. Unfortunately, he collided with Crossthwaite and fell backward to the deck on his arse.

"You ridiculous oaf," Crossthwaite barked. "Get your dozy bottom off my bridge, now! You're fired."

The officer sat on his backside, stunned by Crossthwaite's words.

The outraged owner spat more venom, "Before you pack your bags and get your final pay voucher, grab a mop and swab the mess you have made. Get up! Now, you buggering twit."

A pair of hands, covered in pristinely clean white gloves, slid under Wellman's armpits and pulled him to his feet. The gloved hands brushed him down and pulled his jacket straight. "There now, Mr. Wellman. You look a proper gentleman," the Captain said.

Wellman turned, facing his Captain, "Sir, I had no idea."

The Captain's eyes focused and quieted his young officer. The imposing six-foot-four man leaned to Wellman's ear and whispered, "Be British, Mr. Wellman."

Wellman's eyes remained locked on his superior, and he responded accordingly.

The Captain winked, "There now, much better. The Chief Engineer has expressed some concerns about the functioning of the starboard saltwater condensers. Carry on below, determine their status, and report back to me. Off you go."

Wellman snapped to and replied, "Aye, sir." He hurried off the bridge with his self-respect restored.

The Captain turned slowly to the incredulous Crossthwaite, looking down his nose towards his superior. Crossthwaite met his gaze, but the Captain showed no evidence of being intimidated.

The Captain was clearly in command and spoke firmly and deliberately, as one would expect from the ship's master, "Might I have a word with you in private, Sir Geoffrey?"

Crossthwaite fought self-control as he nodded, "After you." He followed the Captain into his office. As he cleared the threshold, the Captain closed the door behind him. After hanging his cap on the wall, the Captain turned and again faced the owner.

"Sir, Geoffrey. Never again discipline or demean one of my officers in my presence or in front of my crew. If you have an issue with any member of my crew's performance, please bring your complaints to me first. I respect you as the owner of this ship. However, until you relieve me, I am the master of this vessel. I alone will administer correction and discipline of the crew under my command. I ask that you respect my position as I do yours."

Crossthwaite's heart was racing. He wanted to fire the Captain on the spot for dressing him down. He saw the Captain's determination and will in his face. He read him and realized the man couldn't give three farts if he fired him. His gut told him that if he did, the Captain would kick his arse clean off the bridge before he stood down.

"He isn't fired," Crossthwaite said, his breathing slowing as he continued, "My apologies for usurping your position as Ship's Master." Crossthwaite paused deliberately, choosing his words carefully and delivering the needed damage control: "It is clear that when I hired you, I chose well. I will be below in my suite. I have a luncheon date. Excuse me, please."

The Captain nodded. "By your leave, sir," he said, watching Crossthwaite turn and exit the cabin without saying another word.

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January 29

At Sea Shiptime 1145hrs CST

Geoffrey Crossthwaite's Private Suite

Distance from Galveston: 230 miles

Course 220 degrees, Speed 12 knots

Crossthwaite listened as the Butler opened the door and announced, "Doctor Hansen has arrived to luncheon with you, sir." Crossthwaite rose from the recliner, set the book he was reading down, and moved to greet Ellie.

Annie entered the suite dressed in the same sarong her Mother had been assaulted in while aboard on that day, now months past. The garment still bore the marks of her vicious attack. Mended tears in the fabric were obvious. Annie had sewn and made repairs after sneaking it from her parents' bedroom without her Father knowing. She wanted it for this moment. She wanted Crossthwaite to remember what his pigs had done to her Mother and that while playing 'Ellie,' she hadn't forgotten either.

Crossthwaite grasped Annie's extended hand, drew it to his lips, and presented a soft, dry kiss.

"Good morning, Geoffrey," Annie said, smiling. "I apologize for taking ill early this morning and missing breakfast. Please allow me to make it up to you this afternoon."

The moment the Butler announced her, Crossthwaite's personality changed almost instantly. His anger, impatience, and the thin veneer of self-control he displayed earlier on the ship's bridge and with the Captain were swept away and replaced with an aristocratic gentleman's polished, practiced refinement. "Ellie, I am gratified that you are feeling better. Are you certain you are feeling up to having lunch with me?"

"That is quite alright, Geoffrey. I am not feeling one hundred percent, but I couldn't bear to miss the chance to spend time with you. I mentioned to Seth that after all the years I spent working with Jared thanklessly for the government while being a mother and raising our daughters, I never felt appreciated, much less rewarded. It was always giving and never receiving anything to fulfill me."

Crosstwaite motioned for Ellie to enter a parlor/sitting room, "Please sit with me at the setee in the breakfast nook. I regret that the storm prevented us from going onto the balcony." Crossthwaite buzzed for the Butler and planted a probing thought, "I would have thought your work in Artificial Intelligence for NASA had achieved success and recognition. Your Doctorate in Cybernetics is a testament to that, is it not?"

Annie sighed, "Perhaps so. Yet, for all the dedication and toiling away over the years, Jared and I had little to show for it. Once the girls left home, I faced a loveless marriage, a fading career, and damned little financial security to show for it."

The Butler entered and brought a cart with all manner of liquid refreshments. Servers from First Class Dining wheeled in a small seafood buffet perfect for a light luncheon.

Annie noted that Crossthwaite's eyes never left hers. He nodded in response to her comments, "Ellie, let's talk about that over lunch. I have a proposition I wish to offer to you."

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January 29, 1225hrs CST

Site E- Main Companionway

Jason Hendrix Quarters

Heather approached Jason's quarters, where he was confined and under armed guard by two of Colonel Reardon's Military Police (MP). Heather noted that both were well over six feet. They wore body armor with the latest Kevlar tactical helmets. Over the body armor, they wore tactical vests covered with spare magazine slots. The vest also carried a cross-draw holstered sidearm to match the handgun strapped in a quick-release velcro holster on their gun-hand thigh.

Heather walked towards them. She held back a gasp as the closest MP placed his hand on the cross-draw pistol while the more distant went for the gun on his right thigh. Heather smiled, and her delicate right hand displayed her CIA badge for the first time since she and Seth had been activated. Heather likely had only this one opportunity to get Hendrix to admit who his contacts were before he was taken into custody by the justice department.

Heather smiled and greeted the MPs with, "Good afternoon, gentlemen." Heather felt like the center of attention in the passageway, devoid of people's traffic. She thought, 'Can I be any more exposed?' For the record, she was right. The companionway had no traffic but her. With the exception of the Evangeline Project, the rest of Site-E was on lockdown. The last twelve hours had hastened the tempo of this mission.

The furthest MP held his left hand, motioning for Heather to hand over the CIA CAC she held. As the MP examined the CAC, his gun hand moved to a MOLLE slot in his gear, where he produced a small scan gun. He held the card to the weapon, and the scanner beeped, flashing green. It was to Heather's benefit that the MP had seen her with Ellie on several occasions.

"State your business, Ms. Barksdale," he said.

"I am here on the Directors' orders to further question Mr. Hendrix. If his answers to my questions are truthful and cooperative, I shouldn't take more than 30 minutes," Heather offered.

The MP nodded to Heather and told her, "Stand by, Ma'am." Turning to his partner, he directed, "Call for confirmation."

From the hallway to the right of Hendrix's quarters, two FBI agents approached and displayed their badges. Both men were of equal height, dressed in dark indigo-colored suits with white shirts sporting brick-red silk ties. The closest spoke to the MPs commandingly, "We are here under orders of Agent Starling to relieve you and observe Ms. Barksdale in her interrogation of Mr. Hendrix."

The MP scanned the badges, frowning until the scanner beeped and displayed green.

The FBI agent Matthew Teller cocked his head, "Are we good to go?"

The MP replied, "You check out Agent Teller."

Teller smiled, "Has our guest given you any difficulties?"

The MP said, "He's been quiet as a churchmouse."

"Well, he is our problem now. The Justice Department is sending a U.S. Marshall to take him into custody. We will conduct the transfer, so he is our challenge now." Teller added, "By the way, Colonel Reardon and Agent Starling asked for you to report immediately and debrief on your shift."

The MPs stood down as the FBI agents took their position on either side of the door. Heather watched, and her stomach became queasy. She fought the feeling down and fell back on her training at Langley. She kept her demeanor and said to the MPs, "Thank you both for your service." She moved to the first MP and went on tiptoe to kiss him. She leaned close for the kiss and whispered, "This isn't right. Stay close."

The MP was disciplined and did not indicate that Heather had done anything but plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiled at her and said, "Ms. Barksdale, that is so kind of you."

Heather moved to kiss the other MP to pass on the same warning. As she lifted her face to move to his cheek and ear, loud booming shots rang out in the companionway. Heather turned her head and was sprayed with blood as the MP she stood alongside was shot in the face by Agent Teller's partner. Meanwhile, Agent Teller had exercised the FBI quick draw and fired at the MP Heather had warned. The MP had instinctively lowered his face using the Kevlar to protect his head as he drew his M18 pistol.

Teller's shot hit the MP dead on the center mass of the kevlar helmet, which absorbed the bullet in its tightly woven aramid fibers. Stronger than steel, the latest tactical helmet did its job and prevented the MP from being killed outright. As he fell backward to the floor, the MP brought his M18 into line with Teller, simultaneously thumbing the safety off and squeezing off three rapid shots.

Teller kept firing after his first shot, but he was stunned by the MP's quick reaction. He hesitated before firing two additional times, striking the MP in the left leg and then missing altogether. The last conscious thought of Agent Teller was astonishment as he was hit and went down. The public address speakers began repeating, "Security Alert, Quarters Section 'Project-E' personnel."

The unwounded Agent watched as Heather went down with the other MP, rolling on top of her, blocking her from his line of fire. The Agent kept his gun on Heather and the dead MP. The wounded MP on the ground now sighted and fired, striking the Agent in his exposed left shoulder. The bullet tore through the brachial artery with a halo of red spray covering the wall directly behind.

The wounded Agent summoned all his focus from the shock of being hit and fired two quick rounds, one of which struck the MP in the chest. Aside from the ear-piercing blasts of both their pistols, Heather, lying beneath the dead MP, heard a distinctive crack as the MP exhaled, "Oooff."

The wounded Agent wasted no more time gaining access to Hendrix's quarters. Against searing pain, the injured man raised his left hand to override the door lock. Meanwhile, Heather grabbed the dead MP's weapon and rolled him off her. She flicked off the safety just as the door was opening. Scrambling to her feet, she fired a shot that struck the Agent in his right butt and spun him off his feet, and he fell into Jason's quarters. Heather closed the distance to the door and could see the Agent firing at a target inside the room from where he lay on the floor. Heather was about to re-engage the Agent when his head exploded from two sharp gunshots originating from the room. Heather's momentum carried her into the room, and she heard another gunshot ring out, immediately feeling a searing pain in her left side. She fell atop the dead Agent and lay still.

Jason Hendrix, unscathed from the exchange of shots with the dead Agent in his quarters, wasted no time worrying about the crumpled form of Heather Barksdale. He gathered his wits about him. Clutching a spare magazine, he swiftly opened the door and entered the companionway. He saw the dead MP on the floor and began to turn his head to the left when he heard, "Drop your weapon."

Jason froze, unsure if he had the jump on whomever had called out to him. He began to turn and heard, "I won't warn you again." Jason summoned his reflexes and spun himself while crouching to reduce his profile. His right arm whipped around fast when he heard two pops and fell forward, beginning his journey into the afterlife.

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