The Crucible. Joaquin De Torres
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“Sweet Jesus.” Stevenson shook his head.
“On her first cruise, she watched twenty-two shipmates and friends either blow apart or burn to death.”
Stevenson remained silent, his eyes fixed on Antonio.
“Luckily the missile boat fired only once. It disappeared and was later sunk by a Japanese destroyer. Torres and several others were absolutely traumatized. Some were medically discharged with irreversible psychological damage. She survived, but suffers to this day from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Flashbacks?” Stevenson asked.
“That, and hallucinations, nightmares and depression.”
“But she overcame it, right? I mean, she went to the Academy.”
“Ramon insisted that she apply and made sure that no one knew about her condition. I also influenced a few people in this regard. Papers were doctored, Lance; you know the drill. Several documents disappeared from her record, the psych evaluations to be specific. She never knew. We shielded her.”
“Of course.” Stevenson’s tone streamed with understanding. “Such revelations need not leave this room. But it made little difference did it, Tony?”
“Yes, our plan worked out. She was phenomenal. Top of her class at the Academy; awards in physics, mechanical and computer engineering, and mathematics. Now look at her.”
“I’d say,” Stevenson agreed. “Three Master’s degrees and two pending Ph.D.s.”
“She’s been the face of Navy weapons technology and development for years, but Lance, medically she’s not fit to command. No one knows what actual combat would do to her in that condition. Her entire ship could be in danger.” Antonio hated himself as the words rolled from his tongue. “And if word of this ever got out to the media, many people would burn.” He buried his eyes in his palm again in both relief and shame.
“Can we retain her? Can she continue working for the Navy if we keep her where she’s at?”
“I don’t think so. Her condition is getting worse.”
Another goddamn lie! “I checked with her doctor at Bethesda and he believes that the stress is getting too much for her to bear. Still another. She’s taking about four different medications. Another. She personally asked me for permission to resign her commission.” Lie number five, God help me.
“What if we keep her at WEPS-ONE on a modified schedule of her choice?”
“She’s a highly sought-after corporate commodity, and naturally she has had offers on the outside. She’s guaranteed a position at WEPS, but as a civilian.” He paused, struggling to hold back his tears. “Lance, she’s testing the Navy’s new tactical data system and a few of her new weapons within a week or two. They are flawless systems and installation on our ships will begin within months; we can’t ask more of her after that, really.”
Stevenson looked down at his desk in disappointment. He took a pen and scribbled some words on his notepad. He looked back at Antonio, whose shoulders and head hung as if dislocated from his upper body.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Tony?“
Yes, that I’m a bald-faced liar and a son of a bitch! Antonio dragged his head slowly from side to side, full of remorse. Stevenson stood up and extended his hand. Antonio also stood and took the hand.
“Has she mentored anyone? Is there anyone who can carry on her work?”
“One Lieutenant Commander Rebecca Raven. I don’t know her, but she’s reported as Kristina’s disciple and best friend. If Torres transitions as a civilian at WEPS, it will be seamless. No changes. There’s also a Rick Verdasco, civilian, he directs the logistics and production side. Admiral Armocida’s civilian staff are a brilliant team, but Raven is the legitimate military heiress.”
“Thank God.” Stevenson nodded. “And thank you, Tony, for being honest with me.”
If you only knew.
“I’ll make that call to Admiral Schmidt at BUPERS and I’ll see that it’s done silently. Torres has been such a remarkable officer and visionary. I’m saddened, but I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. When is her commission up?”
“In five months.”
“We‘ll be firing missiles at North Korea or China within one month I‘ll wager,” Stevenson sighed. “I’ll have to make that call soon and get her out before the shit starts flying.” Stevenson tightened his grip on Antonio’s hand and smiled slightly. “You’re still taking care of our people, Tony. Although you’ve been shit on by this administration, it’s comforting to know that there’s one person in our circle of crooks who’s still looking out for the men and women in uniform.”
“Thank you, sir.” Their hands fell away. Antonio reached for his briefcase and cap. “Good day, sir.” Stevenson walked him to the door with a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Tony. It’s done already.”
This was a monstrous victory, but Antonio couldn’t stop the flood of guilt that inundated his heart. He walked into the nearest restroom and sought solitude in an empty stall. Putting his hands to his eyes, the tears began to flow.
Kristina, my darling girl. . .what have we done to you?
Chapter 5
Prodigy
WEPS-ONE
Naval Weapons Research Lab-One
White Oak, Maryland
Becca pressed the SAVE button for the research thesis she had completed after five weeks of work. She closed her laptop and switched off her two adjoining flat screens on either side. She sighed with relief and satisfaction. This thesis was a bitch! She sat back in her chair and popped another strawberry into her mouth.
“Oh well, she’ll probably tear it to shreds anyway,” she said as her cell phone chimed. She read the text and smiled.
“Right on time!” Suddenly rejuvenated, she stretched her back. Okay boys, here I come!
At a towering six-foot-two, with honey-blond hair and a stunning athletic body, Rebecca Raven leaving her glass-paneled office was always a treat for the men in the lab. She didn’t mind; she loved their attention and they loved her teasing. Throughout the relentless hours of computer simulations, physics calculations, and chemistry research models that dominated every facet of their lives, the office members needed someone to remind them that they were still human.
She slid a glistening track of gloss over her lips and slipped on her 2-inch black heels. She stood up, now six-foot- four, straightened her uniform, grabbed the cup of strawberries, and headed out the door amidst the stares of countless men who stopped work to look and pick their jaws up off the floor. Her long, confident strides and supermodel body only enhanced their fantasies, especially for the married men. But at the end of the day, which was normally at night, they all knew their places. As hot as she was, Becca was no typical morsel of office eye candy by any stretch. Intellectually, they couldn’t hold a candle to her, and this made their fantasies even more smoldering.
As one of over 385 military and civilian scientists, software engineers and program designers working throughout the WEPS-ONE complex, Raven was considered one of the most brilliant. She had been working for eight months as a software architect when she was reassigned to join the advanced production staff. This was no ordinary in-house transfer. She was promoted to the highest level of development responsibility within the WEPS-ONE universe, working side-by-side with someone who was considered a living legend in the field: Kristina Torres. Within 15 months, Raven had blossomed into Torres’ most prolific protégé.
The Naval Weapons Research Center managed twelve