Chapter 10 - The Trap
Sloane moved three days later.
Maya's security clearance was suspended. She was removed from the intelligence element and reassigned to the ship's administrative office, where she spent eight hours a day filing paperwork and answering phones and being looked at by everyone who walked through the door.
Her access to the Dunmore's network was revoked. Her access to the ship's safe was revoked. Her access to the cryptologic spaces was revoked.
She was not charged. She was not formally accused. She was just quietly removed from any position where she could be a problem, and told, in a one-page memo signed by a lieutenant commander she had never met, that the matter was "under review."
Ben was relieved of his duties as chief of the cryptologic element and transferred to the ship's weapons department, where he spent eight hours a day counting inventory.
Aisha Patel filed a complaint with the Department of Defense Inspector General on Maya's behalf. She cited 10 U.S.C. § 1034 — the Military Whistleblower Protection Act — and she attached the deck log, the transcript metadata, the recording, the informant file, and a sworn statement from Lieutenant Kevin Ruiz, the former watch officer, who had agreed, after three phone calls from Ben and one from Aisha, to testify.
The complaint was received by the IG's office on a Tuesday. It was assigned to an investigator on a Wednesday. The investigator called Aisha on a Thursday.
He said that the office had "a significant backlog" and that the complaint would be reviewed "in due course." He said he could not give a timeline. He said he was sorry.
Aisha hung up the phone and looked at Maya.
"They're going to slow-walk it," she said.
"How long?"
"Six months. A year. Long enough for you to be transferred to Diego Garcia and for Sloane to retire and for the whole thing to be a footnote in a file nobody reads." Aisha set her phone down. "We need a second front."
"What kind of second front?"
"The Senate Armed Services Committee." Aisha looked at her. "You need a senator."
"I don't know a senator."
"You don't have to know one. You have to find a staffer who is willing to listen." Aisha tapped her pen on the table. "And you need to do it without a single additional unauthorized disclosure. Everything you give them has to be cleared by me and by their staff, and it has to be documents they can lawfully receive."
"How do we do that?"
"We ask them to request the documents from the Navy. And then we wait and see what the Navy sends them." Aisha smiled slightly. "If the Navy sends them the altered transcript, that's one more count of obstruction. If the Navy sends them the original, that's the whole thing in the open."
Maya looked at her.
"You're good at this," she said.
"I'm a JAG officer," Aisha said. "This is what we do."
Two weeks later, Sloane made his second mistake.
He summoned Maya to his office — the same squadron building, a different room, a smaller one, with a window that looked out at the pier — and he told her, in a quiet and almost kind voice, that he was willing to "make this go away."
"What does that mean?" Maya asked.
"It means that if you sign a statement saying your translation was imprecise and that you accept responsibility for the delay, I will recommend that your clearance be reinstated and that you be reassigned to a shore billet in San Diego." Sloane folded his hands on the desk. "You'd be out of Norfolk. You'd be out of this. You'd be able to move on with your career."
"Sir," Maya said, "are you offering to make a false statement go away if I sign another false statement?"
Sloane's face did not change.
"I'm offering you a chance," he said. "You should take it."
Maya stood up.
"Sir," she said, "I'm going to decline. And I'm going to record this conversation."
She took her phone out of her pocket and held it up.
Sloane's face went white.
"Specialist Chen—"
"Sir, it's legal in Virginia to record a conversation to which you are a party. I checked. My JAG officer checked." Maya pocketed the phone. "Have a good day, sir."
She walked out.
She was shaking by the time she got to the parking lot. She sat in her car for twenty minutes before she could turn the key.
But she had the recording. And Ben had the original recorder. And Aisha had the IG. And somewhere in the Senate, a staffer was reading a document that Aisha Patel had sent her.
May you like
It was not enough.
It was almost enough.
