Thin Air by George Simpson, Neal Burger Read Free Book Online

staring at the last group of numbers on page four;
     
    DE 162 Levy
    DE 163 McConnell
    DE 164 Osterhaus  
    DE 165 Parks  
    DE 166 Sturman  
    DE 167 Acree
     
    Something seemed to jump right out at him. At first he wasn't sure, then he was excited. He whipped out the red card he had liberated from BUPERS and looked at the code number again.
    9805CGN-166.
    166. Could the last three digits refer to DE-166, the USS Sturman, stationed in Philadelphia in—he checked the date—1953?       
    He felt adrenaline" pumping as he frantically called the chief he had spoken to at NAVSEACOM. "DE-166, USS Sturman ," he said. "Can you tell me where she is now?"
    "The last page in that group I sent you shows current disposition on all those numbers—"
    Hammond threw the other sheets aside and ran a finger down the last page, stopping at DE-166 and moving across. "Struck from the registry as of 1957," he said.
    "Then that's where she is."
    "Well, yeah, but was she sunk, scrapped, sold—what?"
    "Don't know, sir. It's likely she was sunk for target practice."       
    "Okay...thanks."
    He didn't need the Sturman anyway. He just needed the name and number. He hung up and stared at the scant information on the Sturman. She was an escort ship of the "Cannon" class, constructed at Federal Shipbuilding and Drydock Company, Kearny, New Jersey, contract awarded 18 January 1942. She was commissioned on July 4th of the following year.       
    Could she be the ship Fletcher was dreaming about?
    If so, the connection was held together by the flimsiest of threads—from the man's dream to his contradictory files to the code number on the red flag to a destroyer escort built over thirty years ago.
    Hammond was just about to reach for the phone again to dial the Watergate when it rang. He blinked in surprise, picking it up, half-expecting to hear Fletcher's voice on the other end.
    It wasn't Fletcher. It was Jan.
    She was hysterical. Hammond was immediately exasperated. Now what? Then, in the jumble of words mixed with sobs, he managed to comprehend that she had just received a call from the Washington office of Tri-State Insurance. Hammond's eyes widened as the rest of what she was saying registered.
    Harold Fletcher was dead.
     
     

 
    4
     
    "He missed a meeting this morning. Tri-State couldn't reach him by phone, so they sent someone over to the Watergate. He was already..." She stumbled over the words. "It was a heart attack."
    "Jan...I'm sorry..."
    "I can't believe it!" She covered the phone and he heard a muffled sob. He waited patiently until she came back, breathing hard, barely able to speak. "He wasn't...wasn't that old...."
    "Where are you calling from?"
    "My mother's house in New York."
    "Is there anything I can do?" He heard her cover the phone again. "Jan?" he repeated.
    "Yes..." she finally replied. "Would you go to the Watergate...and take care of...?" She broke off in a choke and he heard another muffled outburst of crying. This was getting impossible. He swore under his breath. He was jealous; she had never shown him this kind of emotion.
    "Nicky?" She was back on the line.
    "Yes, I'll go over there, if that's what you want. But shouldn't Tri-State handle it? They know him a lot better."
    "Nicky," she said haltingly, "if you could just be there..."
    "I'll do what I can," he found himself saying. "Are you coming back to Washington?"
    "Yes. The company is making arrangements..."
    "What flight? I can meet you."
    "I don't know yet. Not even sure...where I'll be staying." Her voice quavered. "If I can't reach you at your office...is your home number still the same?"
    "Everything's the same," he said. He was immediately sorry—she might take that the wrong way. Everything is different, he wanted to say. Don't come! For God's sake, don't come. "Try the office first. There's always someone on duty."
    There was a long silence, then, "Thank you, Nicky."
    The connection was broken before Hammond could answer. He returned the