Backblast by Candace Irving (brene brown rising strong .TXT) 📗

by her side. She didn't need anyone questioning the impartiality of the results, including this man…whose scowl had returned.

What the devil had she done to incur suspicion now?

"Agent Chase?"

Regan spun around to find the master-at-arms chief in question standing three feet away with a sheet of paper in her left hand. She returned the chief's salute.

"Yes?"

"You have message traffic, ma'am. It's from USASOC."

"Thank you." Regan accepted the sheet of paper, tilting it so she could take advantage of the flood lamps that were still lighting up the flight deck as she scanned the block headers.

While the message was from USASOC, it wasn't from General Palisade. But it did concern the name Durrani had provided as his Russian bioweapons contact: Aleksi Skulachev, whose father supposedly worked at the Bioprepart facility. Regan kept scanning until she reached the body of the message.

Both Skulachevs checked out. Her deal with Durrani was a go.

Yes.

She was about to turn to share the message's content and subsequent mission directive with Riyad when she realized he'd deftly skirted around her while she was reading. The spook was already halfway across the flight deck, passing the V22 Osprey that was neatly nested up and chained to the deck off her left.

Within seconds, Riyad had reached the portside aft door in the ship's superstructure. And locked within the fingers of his right hand?

The handle to the microTLC's case.

Son of a bitch. He really did not trust her with that thing.

She forced herself to let the irritation go. As a spook, Riyad wasn't signed off to run the tests. And with his reaction to Hachemi's brain being removed during the autopsy, she seriously doubted he'd logged time with the machine while assisting on a homicide case. Like it or not, he needed her skills, too.

But with the mood he'd left her in, she'd take her sweet time getting her ass down to the master-at-arms shack…while he waited.

"Ma'am? Is everything okay?"

Regan returned her attention to the chief. To the growing list of investigative chores that still needed to be checked off her list.

In light of those chores, she motioned Yrle toward the nested Osprey to create a bit of distance between the two of them and the sailors who'd begun lashing the Super Stallion to the flight deck. "Everything's fine." Or it would be. Just as soon as the answers on this case started outnumbering her questions. "Chief, did you manage to locate the ship's rat bait?"

"I did. We have two containers on board, both plastic, industrial tubs. According to the supply chief, the bait was manufactured in the United States and is in block form, not pellets. The main ingredient is bromadiolone. Since the containers were sealed, I simply logged them into evidence."

"Excellent."

She'd test the bait anyway, but the fact that it was US made, bromadiolone based and factory sealed all but foreshadowed the results.

As for the container that had actually held the strychnine that killed Tamir Hachemi, she suspected it had been of the glass-bottle variety and was long gone by now, most likely a hundred-plus nautical miles behind the Griffith's frothing wake and permanently settled into its new home on the ocean floor.

Regan folded up the USASOC message traffic and tucked the resulting square into the right breast pocket on her camouflaged blouse.

"Chief, do you know if any of the diplomats made a round trip from the Griffith to any other ship after they were informed that Durrani and the translator were coming aboard?"

"I don't think so. I do know that today's the first day we've had flight ops since Major Garrison joined us. But I can check on the diplomats."

"Please do. While you're at it, I'd like to know if anyone received an official, physical pouch from their respective governments via air during the same time frame."

"Anyone? You want me to check on the communications of the Afghan and Pakistani diplomats too?"

Regan nodded. "Will that be problem?"

"No, ma'am. But the ops boss might want to speak to you about the request, possibly the XO too."

Fine by her. She'd simply direct the lieutenant in charge of operations and his executive officer toward the captain's cabin.

As for the remainder of her needs, checking those off her list was going to be a bit dicier—for the chief. As Army CID, she'd be leaving the Griffith as soon as she wrapped up her case. Yrle would be staying behind for the rest of the woman's shipboard rotation, to live and work with her fellow sailors…and ship's-company Marines.

Regan waved her hand toward the behemoth nesting in front of them, then the one behind. "I see two Ospreys on this flight deck in addition to the CH-53E. Major Garrison, his men and I arrested Durrani and his cohort in Charikar on December twenty-eighth. Find out if any of those birds have been in the air since then, including the CH-53E I don't see." She'd noted two Super Stallions upon her departure for the postmortem. The other CH-53E must still be in the air, since the Griffith didn't possess a hanger. "I want a list of the names of all the pilots and crew members who were aboard each flight. Especially those who flew to Al Dhafra. You and I will be searching their quarters first thing in the morning. When we're done, I'll need to interview each Marine pilot and crew member separately. You'll be there as well. I'll also need to reinterview Corporal Vetter and Staff Sergeant Brandt. We'll be searching the guards' quarters too. Naturally, you will keep all taskings, as well as our conversations, to yourself."

The woman nodded crisply. "Yes, ma'am."

"Did you get a chance to search both prisoner cells in the brig?"

"Yes. There was nothing suspicious in either of them. Just the usual items, along with the prayer rugs and the copies of the Qur'an that we provided upon their arrival."

Regan widened her stance to maintain her balance as the ship rode out a particularly daunting wave. She could hear the ship's bosun shouting behind them, egging on his