The Jefferson Allegiance

Philosopher

Chapter Seven

Church bells tolled, signaling the end of one day and the start of a new one.  Lily sat in her van, scanning the immediate area, searching for the two black vans that had followed her to Annapolis:  the ‘assistance’ promised to her by Mister Turnbull.  She saw one parked two blocks away.  The other was better hidden.  She hadn’t asked for the assistance, so she wondered briefly why they were really there.  There were two possible conclusions and she knew both were true:  they were support, and they were also control.

She turned on the engine, driving toward the water.  The GPS announced she was within a half-mile of her destination.  She stopped, switched off the GPS and turned it to the computer built into the system.  She accessed the FBI’s secure uplink.  On the screen touchpad, she typed in the first name the Chair had given her:  Admiral Hazard Groves.  

She scrolled down, checking his information and nodded.  Groves was retired and lived a half-mile away, alone.  She accessed his address and then loaded it into the military satellite mapping system.  Within seconds she had his house located, zooming in until she had an excellent picture of the building and the surrounding neighborhood.  She kept the picture on the screen and began driving toward the house as she formulated her plan.  It didn’t take her long:  he was an old man, living alone.  It would be simple and direct. 

* * * * *

From his upstairs window, Admiral Hazard Groves watched the moon come up over Chesapeake Bay, illuminating the water and the Naval Academy on his side of the bay.  Based on the text message he’d received from General LaGrange and the lack of contact from Captain Kevin O’Callaghan, he was fairly certain this was the last night he would ever have.  He was glad that he could see the Academy one last time.  His hands trembled as he brought the old set of Naval binoculars up to his eyes.  The exterior of the glasses was battered and scuffed from decades of shipboard duty.  He scanned the Academy grounds, watching a few midshipmen hurrying across the campus in the late night cold.  He remembered being young like them.  He spotted a middie tucked into the shadows of a building, a cigarette in his hand.  Groves’s hand automatically reached out toward the phone to call the Office of the Day to report the midshipman, but he paused, as the reality of his own current situation washed over him, and a sense of priority interceded.  He almost envied the young man his indiscretion, remembering some of the things he’d done during his years at the Academy.

Already tired, too tired, he thought, he lowered the binoculars to the blanket that covered his lap, helping to protect his frail body from the chill that penetrated even the well-insulated house.  He placed his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, the large Naval Academy ring glittering on his ring finger, just outside the thin wedding band.  His wife had died eight months ago, and ever since, his will to leave the house, to do anything, had diminished.  He knew it was wrong, that he was failing in his duty, that it was a time for action, and he was caught between the pincers of guilt and sorrow, but his fatigue kept them from being very sharp.

He turned his wheelchair to the left and looked at a wall festooned with plaques, photos and certificates.  A lifetime of service.  He turned in the opposite direction and stared at a wall covered with photographs of his family.  Wife.  Two sons.  A daughter.  Eight grandchildren.  And two great-grandchildren.

He smiled.

A low beeping sound came from down the hall.  The motion detectors that surrounded the house.  Normally they were routed to the NCIS detachment at the Academy, and a car would already be rolling out here to check.  But Groves had gone on the computer and shut down the link earlier the previous evening.