Crossbones Read Free

visitor’s space in front of the base administration building, then grabbed the cat carrier from the front seat. On the way up the steps, she returned the salutes of two enlisted men exiting the building. Once inside, she immediately tucked her ball cap into a cargo pocket and headed up the main corridor, boots thumping the tile in a measured cadence, the pet carrier hanging in her left hand.
    Down another corridor she stopped before a door with
James Whelan, Rear Admiral
stenciled in black letters on frosted glass. She smoothed her uniform blouse and went in. Beverly, the base commander’s secretary, was at her desk in the outer office.
    â€œGood morning, Liz,” the woman said brightly. She was a few years younger than Liz, thicker and wearing a yellow dress, eyeglasses hung around her neck on a chain. “I see you brought a friend.”
    Liz set the pet carrier down on a chair. “I’m going to leave Blackbeard with Dottie Carr over at the Base Exchange to watch him while I’m out. Is it okay if I leave him with you while I talk to the skipper?” She jerked a thumb at the door to the inner office.
    The secretary smiled. “He’s no trouble at all,” she said, coming around the desk and crouching in front of the pet carrier. “Are you, Blackbeard?”
    The cat began to purr and rub his head against the grille. He knew Beverly.
    â€œThey’re waiting for you,” Beverly said, rising.
    Liz frowned. “Who is
they
? It’s not just Whelan?”
    Beverly shook her head. “You didn’t know there was a meeting?” She seemed flustered. “I just assumed . . .”
    Liz gave her a smile. “Not to worry, Bev.” She rapped hard on the door frame twice, then let herself in.
    The office of Base Seattle’s ranking officer was carpeted and done in rich, dark wood paneling and bookcases. The admiral’s desk sat before blinds that were mostly closed and was flanked by the American flag on one side and the Coast Guard colors, known as the Service Mark, on the other. Photos, awards, and framed certificates covered the walls. A conference table lined with padded leather chairs dominated the room. Liz caught the scent of the admiral’s aftershave at once.
Too much Old Spice.
His grandchildren insisted on giving it to him every Christmas, he had once told her.
    The admiral rose from his desk as she entered. He was thickening around the middle, wearing a light blue tropical uniform shirt, the breast heavy with ribbons, and he smiled when he saw her, but Liz noticed at once that it was forced. Standing near the conference table, a stack of manila file folders on the polished surface before them, were a male Coast Guard officer and a thirty-something woman in a tailored gray business suit.
    Liz came to attention. “Captain Elizabeth Kidd, reporting as ordered.”
    The admiral came from behind the desk and shook her hand. His grip and his eyes were warm, but he looked tired. “Good to see you, Liz.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face the two others, who had stopped talking and now stared at her.
    â€œThis is Lieutenant Commander Chamberlain of Coast Guard Investigation Services,” the admiral said, “and this is Special Agent Ramsey of the FBI’s Seattle field office.”
    The visitors did not offer to shake hands.
    Liz’s radar was up, and the lines around her mouth deepened. The two investigators appeared to be waiting for Liz to ask,
What’s this all about?
She hadn’t risen to command by being predictable, and remained quiet.
    â€œLet’s take a seat.” Admiral Whelan took the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Liz to sit beside him. The two investigators sat down across from her.
    Whelan cleared his throat. “Liz, Lieutenant Commander Chamberlain and Agent Ramsey are here because of a situation involving Charlie. This is going to be difficult,