Which is it?'
'Both, actually, since those are only issued to paratroop units,' Burnham said, his eyes flicking between Heck and me. 'If you were a stickler for those things, that is. Wrongful disposition of any military property belonging to the United States: Any soldier who wrongfully disposes of any horse, arms, ammunition, accoutrements, equipment, clothing, or other property issued for use in military service is in violation of the Articles of War.'
'I don't have a fucking horse,' Heck said, turning on Burnham. 'What are you, some jailhouse lawyer?'
I could see Burnham hold back an answer, bite his lip, and straighten up.
'I'm just saying that if Lieutenant Boyle presses the point, we'd be obliged to look into it. Just as we'd have to look into any disrespect charges if you press the point. Sir.'
'You want us to hold him, Captain?' Patterson asked, offering him a way to change his mind. I could tell that Heck and these fellows weren't in cahoots. They looked practiced at calming the captain down and keeping him from being his own worst enemy. Much as I appreciated their efforts, I didn't need a calm Heck. I needed Holy Heck so he would spill the beans.
'You want provoking speech, Captain? How about this: I'll bet you don't have a single lead yet. I bet you don't have the contacts around here to know what goes on outside your base. I bet you don't know squat.'
'Contacts? How do you think I knew you were landing in Dundrum Bay today? How many people on this island even know you're here, Boyle? Four people, and you're looking at three of them.'
'Don't forget Grady O'Brick.'
'That crazy old coot? He doesn't even know what day it is, and half of what he says is gibberish. Him and a general out in the desert-that's not much backup, Boyle. You better watch yourself. The IRA or the Red Hand boys might put a bullet in your head.' I tried to ignore the heavy-handed threat, and wondered what kind of local contacts Heck might really have.
'So who's the fourth guy?' Silence settled into the space between us as Heck took in two deep breaths, his eyes boring into mine as his frustration rose. He was used to threats and bullying working to his advantage. When they didn't, or when a guy like me was too dumb to be scared by them, he didn't know what to do.
'Get out of my way,' Heck said, shoving me as he strode for the door. He opened it and rain slashed at him, drenching his face. The sky beyond him was dark, heavy with clouds, and he looked pleased. 'You two remain here. Do not leave your post, do not call for transport for this man. That is an order.'
The door slammed behind him. Petty, vindictive orders from a superior officer are a lot easier to take when you've talked your way out of an arrest and a cold cell.
'Looks like I won't be court-martialed,' I said, approaching the stove and rubbing my hands to warm up.
'Yet,' amended Burnham.
'One or two years of law school?'
'One and a half,' he said. 'It shows?'
Patterson laughed. 'I think he's memorized half of the Articles of War. Have a seat, Lieutenant.' We sat around the fire, the cold ebbing as we drew closer, the tension faded from the room.
'You guys not fans of Captain Heck?' I offered.
'He's OK,' Burnham said. 'Doesn't get in our way too much. This is the 5th Division MP Platoon, not one of his headquarters MP companies. We don't cross paths too often.'
'My dad didn't like MPs much in the last war. Always told me they were too damn busy keeping the doughboys from a drink and some fun with the ladies. But then he'd add, every time he said it, that his division MPs were different. They went into the trenches like everyone else, and when a divisional MP spoke, they listened.'
'Wise man, your daddy,' Patterson said. 'Question is, did he raise a wise son?'
'Sometimes I do wonder,' I said.
'You made an enemy out of Heck,' Burnham said. 'You could have let him chew you out and been done with it.'
'He already was an enemy,' I said. 'Otherwise he wouldn't have brought me here. Someone from your division HQ was supposed to meet me, not you guys. I'd bet Heck has someone at headquarters, maybe in the communications section, and they intercepted the message. The real question is, why does Heck give a heck about me?'
'He doesn't tell us his business, Lieutenant Boyle,' said Patterson. 'We were just detailed to bring you in and stand by.'
'Call me Billy. I'm not much for the formalities.'
'OK, Billy, I'm Jack, and the law student is Sam Burnham. Now tell us, did Eisenhower really send you all the way up here to look into the BAR heist?'
'I was invited by some British pals of his, and he agreed. They want to be sure the IRA doesn't stir up too much trouble.'
'Why you? Are you CID?'
'No. I used to be a cop back in Boston. And I'm Irish. I think a certain British major enjoyed the irony.'
'Can't say I've heard much about the IRA around here but we're pretty cut off from the locals. Except for leave and passes off the base, which usually lead straight to a pub, we don't mix much. Not a lot to do around here but drink warm beer,' Jack said.
'We know some workers,' Sam said. 'Carpenters and other trades. Plus manual laborers like Grady. He's a jack-of-all-trades; everyone knows him. Friendly guy, more apt to stop and talk with you than most. But he is a bit off.'
'What about the local cops, the Royal Ulster Constabulary?'
'I know the village constable up in Clough. Adrian Simms. Young guy, but the locals like him. We've talked a few fellows out of fights, had some drinks together. That's about it.'
'At the Lug o' the Tub Pub?'
'Yeah,' said Sam. 'You must really be a detective. No wonder Ike sent you.'
'Never underestimate an Irishman's ability to find a pub. Have you or Constable Simms heard anything about the BARs? Or the guy who was shot? Mahoney?'
'I heard he was an informer,' said Jack.
'Simms told me the pound note in his hand was a sign from the IRA. Death to informers,' added Sam.
'Was he from around here?'
'I don't think so,' Sam said. 'Simms did say he wasn't local. But that could mean he was from Belfast or points south.'
'Other than picking me up, has Heck brought your platoon into the investigation?'
'Not at all. Simms asked me the same thing. He was surprised we weren't out searching the countryside the day after it happened.'
'What about Heck's CID investigators?'
'They don't do much other than background checks on the locals we hire to work in sensitive security areas.'
'Like arms depots.'
'Yeah,' said Jack. 'Maybe one of Heck's boys let an IRA man slip through, and he wants to cover it up.'
'Maybe. So who's in charge of the investigation?'
'Major Thomas Thornton, 5th Division executive officer. I've waited for orders, but so far he's been handling it himself, along with some RUC inspector.'
'Hugh Carrick?'
'That's him,' Jack said. 'I met him at HQ a couple of days ago. I asked if we could be of any help, and he said we could, possibly, if we stayed out of his way.'
'Sounds like he and I will get along like the Katzenjammer Kids and the Inspector. Now how can I get to 5th Division HQ?'
'What were those orders Heck gave us?' Jack asked.
'Not to leave our post, and not to call for transport,' Sam answered.
'We could let you steal a jeep,' Jack said, 'or you could wait about twenty minutes for the chow wagon to show up. The cooks bring dinner for us and our guests back in the cells. They'll give you a ride into Newcastle. Be a lot less trouble for us.'
'Plus, you can grab some Spam and beans before you go,' said Sam. 'Washed down with our local product,
