38
When Talia and Stone walked into the small glass and brick building on the edge of the cemetery, a Naval officer wearing service khakis stood from behind a small desk. “Sir, Ma’am,” he said. “How can I help you?”
It was Talia who spoke first. “I’m looking for my uncle. He was interred here.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” the officer said as he sat. “What was his name and date of passing?”
“Golan Stiel, 5 December 1965.”
With his fingers hovering above a keyboard, he stopped and glared at her. “Ma’am?”
“I said his name was—”
He stood. “Did you say Golan Stiel?”
Talia seemed to have lost her words.
Stone said, “Yes, Golan Stiel. 5 December 1965. Is there a problem?”
The officer said, “I’m sorry. Lieutenant Stiel’s remains were disinterred. I was just looking at the paperwork.”
“When did
