When Coleman asked if they’d checked the messages, he actually meant, have you checked the office and phones for bugs? They knew that eventually the FBI would put them under surveillance. They needed an alibi that would explain all of the time they’d spent together while planning for their mission, so with some seed money from Seamus they had started the SEAL Demolition and Salvage Corporation. They weren’t the only retired SEALS living in D.C. who were working with each other.
Coleman knew of two others a little older than him who ran a charter fishing operation out of Annapolis and had a sneaking suspicion that they did a little work for the
CIA on the side. There were also several other groups of SEALS that ran security firms, providing bodyguards for diplomats and corporate executives. Coleman and Seamus had agreed that the key to not getting caught was making sure they afforded the FBI no hard evidence. That meant no fingerprints, no eyewitnesses, and no ballistics that would link them to the killings.
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They wore gloves during every phase of the operation and kept their faces concealed.
The rifles used to kill Koslowski and Basset and the pistol used to kill Downs were now rusting at the bottom of the Chesapeake. No real evidence linked them to the murders. If the FBI came, all they would find would be three former SEALS trying to launch a new business venture. Coleman went into the office and came back out saying, “Let’s get the gear together. I want to take the boat down to Annapolis and do a bid on a project. If the weather stays nice, we might be able to get some fishing in on the way back. Let’s pack up and shove off in about thirty minutes.” While Stroble and Hackett gathered up the diving gear, Coleman topped off the tanks on the boat.
Within thirty minutes they were under way and headed for the Bay. They centered their conversation on inconsequential small talk until Stroble finished going over the boat with a sensor. Coleman stood behind the wheel on the flybridge and watched the movements of the ships and small vessels around them. He feared that the FBI might try to bug the office, his apartment, or his car, but that didn’t scare him.
Those could be detected, and if they were dumb enough to bug him, they would tip their hand. What he feared most was the use of directional microphones. The CIA had been using them for years, and the technology was getting better and better. A person could stand over three hundred feet away and eavesdrop on someone’s conversation by merely pointing a microphone at them. The CIA had developed the technology to listen through walls and other hard materials where it was difficult to place a bug. As they reached the open water of the Bay, Stroble and Hackett huddled next to Coleman on the flybridge. With the engines roaring, the wind rushing past, and not another ship within a mile, Coleman started to fill them in on the details of Seamus and Michael’s meeting with
Augie. Neither Stroble nor Hackett was surprised by the story.
They’d heard the rumors about Higgins before, and it seemed well within the realm of possibilities that he was responsible for the murders of Olson, Turnquist, and their bodyguards. By the time they reached Annapolis, Coleman had given them all of the details regarding the meeting he’d had with the O’Rourkes. They cruised south past
Annapolis to Tolly Point, and Coleman headed for shore. He told Stroble and Hackett to stay below until they were back out in the Bay. The sun was setting in the west, and patches of gray clouds were moving in off the Atlantic. Rain would be welcomed but not crucial. Still atop the bridge, Coleman maneuvered his boat into the marina at the end of
Tolly Point. He saw someone standing next to the gas pumps on the dock and raised his hand to block the low sun. Coleman swung the boat in and came up alongside the dock.
Michael jumped on board holding a fishing pole and tackle box.
“Welcome aboard, Congressman. It looks like we’re going to have a nice night for fishing. Stow your gear and grab us a couple of beers out of the cooler.” Spinning the wheel around, Coleman headed back through the channel. Michael set his gear down and flipped open a red cooler.
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Grabbing two beers, he climbed the ladder to the bridge and handed one to Coleman.
Coleman smiled and nodded. A second later they passed the no-wake buoys, and
Coleman pushed the throttles down, gunning the engines. As the noise increased, Michael whispered, “Are Dan and Kevin here?”
“Yeah, they’re below. I told them to stay there until we were out of sight. Did you have any trouble getting here?”
“No, as far as I could tell, no one followed me.” Coleman looked at his watch. It was
5:21 P.M. “The sun should be down in another fifteen minutes, and then we have to stop and pick up some equipment …. We should get there around seven P.M.” Coleman hugged the coast as they headed south toward Thomas Point.
The Bay was calm. A light breeze was coming in from the east, and the boat traffic was light. Most of the recreational boaters on the Chesapeake were done until next spring. The temperature was around fifty-eight degrees and dropping. He continued past
Thomas Point for exactly 1.3 miles and turned due east, cutting across the main shipping channel of the Bay. Stroble and Hackett, in the meantime, had changed out of their clothes and put on wet suits. Michael stood on the flybridge with a pair of binoculars and scanned their path for any ships. When they reached the other side of the channel, Coleman pulled the boat up next to one of the large red buoys that marked the shipping channel and dropped anchor. Stroble and Hackett had their diving gear on and were giving each other one last safety check, going over each other’s equipment like pilots doing a preflight instrument check.
Coleman and Michael stayed atop the flybridge and kept a lookout for the Coast
Guard while Stroble and Hackett went over the side. About five minutes later, they came back up with a large trunk. Michael and Coleman lifted the heavy container into the boat.
It was five by four feet and about three feet high and was made out of dark green fiberglass. Coleman popped the hermetically sealed clasps and opened the trunk. Set in foam cutouts on the top section were six pairs of night- vision goggles.
