Chapter 6 - The Political Call
At sixteen hundred hours, Captain Sterling called me back into his office. On his desk, the secure red landline was blinking with an insistent, rhythmic pulse. The digital caller ID read: OFFICE OF CONGRESSMAN RICHARD MORRISON.
Sterling looked at the phone, then looked at me, a dark, cynical smile playing on his lips. "The congressman has called four times in the last two hours, Eleanor. The Chief of Naval Personnel’s office just sent an inquiry asking why a prospective Tier-One candidate was placed in base confinement without thirty days of administrative notice."
"Are you going to answer it, Robert?" I asked, leaning against the leather sofa with a fresh cup of black coffee—properly served in a ceramic mug this time.
"I’m putting it on speaker," Sterling said, hitting the button.
The voice that exploded through the console was deep, booming, and accustomed to commanding lobbyists and committee hearings. "Captain Sterling! What the hell is going on out there in Coronado? My son just called me from base quarters claiming he was assaulted and stripped of his security clearances over a galley dispute with an enlisted inspector! Do you know how much federal funding my committee allocated to your command's maritime drone testing facility last month?!"
Captain Sterling didn't flinch. "Good afternoon, Congressman Morrison. I am well aware of your committee's appropriations work."
"Then you are also aware that Jake is slated for Tier-One selection next week!" the congressman barked, his voice rising in irritation. "This entire incident sounds like an overzealous administrative hatchet job! I want the charges dismissed immediately, I want his sidearm returned, and I want that enlisted woman transferred off the base before the evening news cycle!"
I leaned forward toward the desk microphone, keeping my tone perfectly measured and lethal. "Good afternoon, Congressman Morrison. This is Command Master Chief Eleanor Carter."
A sudden, sharp intake of air hissed across the speakerphone. The booming arrogance from Capitol Hill vanished into an eerie, suffocating pause.
"Master... Master Chief Carter?" the congressman stammered, his polished tone instantly evaporating. "Eleanor? You're the evaluator on site?"
"I am, Richard," I said, calling the powerful politician by his first name without an ounce of hesitation. "And unlike your son, you know exactly who I am. You were the deputy undersecretary of defense who signed off on my third Purple Heart citation after the Sangin ambush."
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The line went completely dead for five seconds. When Congressman Morrison spoke again, the politician's bluster was entirely gone, replaced by the hoarse, desperate voice of a defeated father. "Eleanor... my God. Jake didn't tell me it was you."
"Your son didn't care who it was, Richard," I said plainly. "He saw an older woman in a faded uniform sitting alone, and he decided to kick her food across the deck to show off for his subordinates. He laid hands on my jacket. He disgraced the uniform, he disgraced this command, and he disgraced you."
