Sweepers by P. T. Deutermann Page A

advice was that I should tell them.”
    “But?”
    “But I’ve got two problems with that. First, I’m not sure I’m ready to open that can of worms, especially outside the Navy. Or even inside, for that matter. And second, I no longer have the letter.”
    I ” What?’ He got up and started to pace around the office. “When I got home from Galen’s house, I found my front door unlocked-not open, but definitely unlocked. I never leave my door unlocked. In fact, it locks itself when I pull it shut. I thought about calling the cops-you know, maybe somebody in the house. But instead I went in and checked the place out. Nothing was missing. So I secured for the night, then took some paperwork upstairs. Only later, around eleven-thirty, when I was ready to go to sleep, I thought about bringing the letter in. I went back downstairs and discovered that’s what was missing-the letter, the envelope, the whole thing.”
    “Wow. You think somebody, maybe even this Galantz guy, broke into your house and retrieved the letter? After he was sure you had read it?”
    “That’s exactly what I think, yes.”
    Karen thought about that. If that was the case, then the ad imiral had to have been under surveillance.
    “This is stalking, you know,” she said, speaking the thought that had just come to her mind.
    “Stalking?” he asked, frowning.
    “Yes, sir. There’s a whole new area of criminal law covering exactly this kind of thing. Where there’s a persistent threat of a criminal act but nothing’s happened to the stalker’s target yet. There are federal and state laws against it.
    “I’m not sure an ex-SEAL bent on revenge will be worried about breaking the law. Especially this SEAL, since he doesn’t officially exist.”
    “Excuse me?” He sighed and sat down again. “I’ve already told you more than is probably wise, Commander. May I call you Karen?”
    “Of course, sir.” His request was not improper. Most admirals throughout the headquarters called staff subordinates by their first names. In return, subordinates were graciously invited to address the admiral by his first name: Admiral.
    “HMI Galantz was officially listed as MIA. I happen to know personally that a few years later, he was alive and back in the States. But, once again, I can’t reveal how I know’that, and I’m not sure anyone else knows that. Like I said, this is very complicated.” He had said he didn’t want this story to get loose either outside or inside the Navy.
    “At the risk of sounding impertinent,” she said, “why are you concerned about this story getting out inside the Navy?”
    He gave her a long, speculative look. There was some steel in that look, which made her feel she might have overstepped some bounds. But then it receded and he nodded.
    He got up and started pacing around the office again. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve got to keep reminding myself you’re on my side.”
    Remembering Mcnair’s comment earlier that day, she almost replied to that, but he was already going ahead.
    “I’m a fresh-caught rear admiral. To everyone who’s a captain and below, flag rank is the apotheosis of the career ladder. The man with the stars. But the truth is, I’m really not even promoted yet. I’m frocked.
    I can wear the uniform, I have the responsibility, and I can enjoy the title. But until someone who’s currently on the flag registry dies or retires, I have to wait to make my number. I even get paid as a captain.
    People think this is a fluke of the Defense Manpower Act, with its grade quotas. But the truth is, I am, like every other new flag selectee in any of the services, very much on probation.”
    “How long does this go on?”
    “For nearly two years. I probably won’t be promoted to 0-7 until about the time I go off to my second assignment as a flag officer.”
    She nodded thoughtfully. “So the association of your name with a homicide and a long-buried, potentially embarrassing incident back in