him. Bright orange, like a carrot. That was Mahoney.'
'OK, that's something.'
'I told Heck and Inspector Carrick about it, you can check with them.'
'Yeah, I will. Anything else you remember?'
'Nope. Now tell me what you need to find my BARs.'
'Transport. I'll need a jeep. And if I need some muscle, can I call on your MPs? I met Burnham and Patterson yesterday. They seem pretty capable.'
'They're good men. I'll let them know you may be in touch. But go through me. I need to be kept up to date. Check in with me every day.' He scribbled out an order for a jeep and a pass to all 5th Division installations and handed them to me. 'Motor pool is out and to the left. Follow the lane through the trees, about a quarter mile. Need a ride?'
'No, sir. But one more thing. Can you tell me who received the radio dispatch about my arrival?'
'I never saw one. Northern Ireland Command told me to expect you any day now but I never heard when or how you were coming.'
'Then I'd like to start at your Signals Company, talk to whoever was on duty yesterday.'
'Is there a problem?'
'No, strictly routine.'
He eyed me for a few seconds, then lifted his telephone and made a call.
Ten minutes later I was in a Quonset hut crammed with radios and noisy with the static and tinny crackling sounds of communications gear. A technical sergeant named Lasner leafed through clipboards of dispatch sheets, all the documentation for signals sent and received. Below his sergeant's stripes were two service stripes, meaning he'd been in more than six years. A regular, and it showed in everything from the shine on his boots to the gleaming brass Signal Corps emblem on his tunic's lapels. There were six clipboards, all neatly arranged on a table with wire baskets where the forms were deposited when received.
'Nothing here with your name on it, Lieutenant Boyle,' he said as he finished with the last clipboard.
'It wasn't for me, Sarge.'
'I understand that, Lieutenant. I mean there are no messages here that include your name. Anywhere.'
'Got it. Looks like you run a tight ship.'
'Yes, sir. Anything else, Lieutenant?' I could tell he was eager to get rid of me but then again most noncoms would be eager to get a second louie out of their hair, especially if he was from another outfit and was making extra work for them.
'Are all these receipts for messages received? If a message came into Northern Ireland Command HQ to be passed on to you, would they have the same kind of documents?'
'They ought to. And sent, as well. But if I don't have a record of it coming in, they didn't send it.'
'I can believe it, Sarge. Everything looks fine on your end.'
'Is there a problem, if you don't mind me asking?'
'You know Captain Heck, the provost marshal?'
'Know of him,' Lasner said, his tone carefully neutral.
'I think he intercepted a message meant for Major Thornton about my arrival here. Sound likely to you?'
'From what I hear, he'd be careful to cover his tracks. Not that I'm accusing the provost marshal of anything.'
'That would mean he had someone working for him at HQ.'
'Let's just say I've heard Heck will do you a favor if you find yourself at the wrong end of an MP's nightstick. Only problem is, once he's got you over a barrel, the favors have to keep coming.'
'So he'll withhold charges for a price?'
'He doesn't take money, if that's what you mean. He's always looking for an angle, so he'd rather have information. He's smart, Lieutenant. Watch yourself around him.'
'You're not the first to warn me. If that's his game, and he's so slick, how can you be certain it wasn't one of your men here who killed the message to Thornton and gave it to Heck?'
'I know my men. I trained them all, and they know what would happen if they pulled something like that.' There was a hard look in his eyes, a combination of resentment that I'd asked the question and fury at the thought of such betrayal.
'How about your captain?'
'I couldn't imagine it. Besides, he doesn't spend a lot of time here.'
'He lets you run the show?'
'The captain wisely delegates responsibility. I think he's been in Belfast for the last few days.'
'Doing what?'
'Whatever it is that officers do while the work gets done, Lieutenant.'
'Understood, Sarge. One more question, though. You know anything about the BARs stolen from the depot at Ballykinler?'
'Only that Major Thornton is mightily pissed off about it. Heck has been nosing around asking a lot of questions too, looking through stacks of shipping receipts, bills of lading, making himself a real pain. Every time he shows up, it takes us a day to put the place back together. You investigating that?'
'Yeah. And I'm not working for Heck, to answer your next question. Any rumors about who was in on the heist?'
'A million of them, but I won't waste your time. Hang on, there is something here.' He flipped back through the message receipts until he found what he was looking for. 'I guess it's OK to give you this, since Major Thornton said I should help you out. Or did he already tell you?'
'Tell me what?'
'Here. This message came in yesterday morning from some inspector from the Royal Ulster Constabulary. Local flatfoots investigating the heist. Inspector Carrick asked the major for service records for Sergeant Peter Brennan.' He handed me a copy of the message form.
'Who's that?'
'Pete's a buck sergeant at the Ballykinler Depot.'
'You know him? What kind of guy is he?'
'We're not pals but he seems OK. He's been with us about six months now.'
'Thanks, Sarge, you've been a big help. Can I have this?'
'Sure. I've got another, we do them in triplicate.'
'God bless army paperwork.'
'So who do you work for, Lieutenant, if you're not part of the provost marshal's office?'
'I'm here at the request of the British.'
'Well, you know what they say. It takes a thief.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'That the English are pretty savvy, sending an Irishman. Boyle- that's Irish, right?'
'We're not all thieves, Sergeant,' I said in my best stern disciplinarian officer's voice.
'Sorry, sir. No offense intended. It's just a saying.'
It takes a thief to catch a thief. I never believed that saying. In my book, it took a cop to catch a thief, and that's what I was. A cop on loan, courtesy of my Uncle Ike, who even now might be writing love notes to the beautiful Kay Summersby. Another Irish thief, this one out to steal a general's heart. Or was it an inside job?
CHAPTER EIGHT
I thought about asking Thornton why he hadn't mentioned the request for Brennan's files. If Brennan was a suspect in the eyes of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, I shouldn't waste a minute before I talked to him. I could always find Thornton later, but if an Ulster cop was interested in a guy named Brennan, then I figured I had better get to him first.
I drove the jeep out of the headquarters camp, splashing through water in muddy potholes as shafts of
