Decker's Dilemma Read Free Page A

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CHAPTER THREE
    0800, Thursday, December 26

    The search continued into its third day. No sign of Kippen. An agent from the Naval Security and Investigative Command arrived on board the Harvey late Wednesday evening. Unwilling to pull into port, Captain Girard had requested that the investigator fly to the ship. He wasn’t about to give up the search and, just as important, one lost day at sea meant the crew would fall behind in its training schedule, a day that the captain was unwilling to forego because of an accident.
    Interviews began early Thursday morning. Decker waited his turn, sitting on the mess decks with the others and writing in his Book of Dates. No one talked much. When they did have a conversation, it was in hushed tones. When did you last see Kippen? When did you last talk with him? How could he have fallen overboard? How rough was the sea that night?
    Decker drifted in and out of the conversations, thinking about Monday night. He noticed Hack fidgeting with his watch. “Nervous?”
    Hack dropped his hands to his sides. “A little.”
    â€œNo need to worry. You should get over your fear of authority figures.”
    â€œThere’s a death. And an investigation. I didn’t sign up for this stuff.”
    â€œNot a death yet,” Decker corrected him. “They could still find Kippen, if he’s been able to stay afloat.”
    â€œThen why do they want to talk with me?”
    â€œYou work with Kippen. It’s a routine procedure they have to follow. Just answer the questions. It’s as simple as that.”
    â€œWhat questions?” Hack mumbled.
    â€œWhatever they ask,” said Decker, sitting back in his chair. “I’m sure it’ll be a breeze.”
    â€œYou’re about to find out,” Hack said, pointing to the ladder leading down from the wardroom.
    Decker turned and saw Commander Doerr slowly coming down the ladder from his interview with the investigators. Suppo walked over to Decker and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re next.”
    Decker nodded in the affirmative, walked across the mess decks, and ambled up the ladder to the wardroom. He knocked and stepped into the room. A man in his early 30s, wearing a blue sport coat and tan slacks, stood near a sofa. No tie. His short brown hair, Marine style, shaved at the sides, made him look younger than his true age. Decker noticed his service record on a table beside the investigator’s chair.
    â€œPetty Officer Decker, thank you for coming up here,” the man said. “I’m Agent Bogen. Call me Scott.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” Decker smiled, extending his hand.
    â€œOkay then,” Bogen said. “I won’t take much of your time. This is a routine investigation we perform when there’s a missing person. A few questions and you’ll be on your way. How about something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
    Decker surveyed the wardroom, noticing with envy the formal dining table and plush furniture. First-class accommodations compared to junior enlisted quarters. “Coffee if there’s some made. I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to use officer china.”
    â€œYou’re my kinda guy,” Bogen laughed. “I like the way you think. Sit down and I’ll get you some. Might have some myself, now that you mention it.”
    Decker sat on a leather sofa and watched as Bogen found cups and saucers.
    â€œLet’s get some background out of the way,” Bogen said as he poured coffee. “When did you report on board?”
    â€œA year ago this past Monday, sir.”
    â€œNo need for the ‘sir’,” Bogen said. “How do you like it?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind the endless days at sea and the long workdays in port, I guess I like it okay,” Decker said. “Overnight duty every four days makes up for the bad times,” he added, sarcastically.
    â€œI mean your coffee,”