Delroy gazed at the man, understanding more about what drove him. “You’re afraid.”
A nervous tic started in Donaldson’s left eye. “Shut up,” he snarled.
“You’ve been through battles and wars.” Delroy discovered he couldn’t shut up. The truth seemed to course in his veins. “But all of that hasn’t prepared you for something like this.”
“Shut. Up.” A slight tremble shook the M9 in Donaldson’s grip.
“You feel it, don’t you, Colonel?” Delroy asked. “You know that I’m telling you the truth. You know.”
Donaldson’s hand shook more, and his knuckle whitened over the trigger.
“Colonel Donaldson!” The voice whip-cracked through the C&C. Without turning, Delroy knew Captain Mark Falkirk had stepped out of the Combat Information Center only a short distance away. The CIC held all the computers and information systems the ship’s captain needed to run operations aboard Wasp while she was active on a mission.
“Holster that sidearm, Colonel Donaldson,” Falkirk ordered. “Operations aboard my ship are going to go by my orders.”
With obvious reluctance, Donaldson holstered his weapon. Beads of perspiration covered his pale face. “This man is spouting nonsense, Captain Falkirk. And he’s inciting unrest and demoralizing the crew.”
Delroy glanced at Falkirk.
The captain was in his early thirties, one of the youngest men to have been appointed to that rank, and the youngest to command Wasp. He had a slender build but carried an air of readiness and moved with the fluid grace of a trained athlete. His eyes and hair were dark, complementing the easygoing nature he maintained unless he was irritated or on task.
“Sergeant,” Donaldson went on, “take the chaplain into custody and escort him down to the brig.”
“Belay that order,” Falkirk commanded before the sergeant could get under way. Four Navy security men filed into the hallway, flanking their commander.
“Captain,” Donaldson objected.
“My ship, Colonel,” Falkirk replied, “and she’ll run the way I have her run.” He paused. “Are we clear?”
Donaldson clearly didn’t like the idea, but he said, “Yes.”
Falkirk’s eyes flashed. “My ready room, gentlemen. Now.”
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2:41 A.M.
“Mrs. Gander?”
Megan lifted her head from her arms, startled to find that she had gone to sleep. She’d been sitting uncomfortably at the small conference table in the interview room at MP headquarters and trying very quietly not to go out of her mind with worry. She automatically checked the time, afraid that she had slept past dawn and that Chris would be waking up in the emergency child-care services. When she saw the time, she relaxed a little and prayed that Joey had picked up Chris and they were both now at home.
The MPs had taken her cell phone from her when they’d taken her into custody. She didn’t know if Joey had gotten to his younger brother, and she didn’t know if Joey was aware that she’d been taken by the MPs. The MPs hadn’t called her forced detention an arrest, only that she had been detained for questioning.
The man who stood on the other side of the table was dressed in a fresh Army uniform and wore a lieutenant’s bars. He was blond and pale, much too serious for his age, which Megan didn’t put much over his mid-twenties. He carried an imitation leather briefcase.
“I’m Megan Gander,” Megan said. “Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Doug Benbow, ma’am.” He offered his hand.
Megan took his hand and shook briefly. “Are you an MP, Lieutenant Benbow?”
“No, ma’am. I’m with the military justice system. I’ve been assigned to be your legal representative.”
“My attorney?” Megan struggled against the fatigue that filled her mind. “Why would I need an attorney?”
“We can talk about that.” Benbow touched the back of the chair across the table from her. “May I sit?”
“Of course.” Megan leaned back in her chair and tried to gather her errant thoughts. She was fatigued. Her thoughts swam like fat koi in a deep pond, not quite reaching the surface.
Benbow sat, placing his briefcase on the table, then flipping it open. He took out a tape recorder. “Would you mind if I record our conversation?”
“Why are you recording our conversation?”
The question caused the young lieutenant to hesitate. “I’ll be taking notes, of course, but I much prefer to work from a recording. That way I get every word, and I don’t miss the nuances a person may use as he or she explains himself or herself.” He took out a lined yellow legal pad.
Fear crept in on Megan and the chill in the room seemed like it deepened by the second. “I don’t understand.”
Benbow clicked the tape recorder on. “I just need to go over tonight’s events, Mrs. Gander.”
“I’ve already told the MPs what happened. This doesn’t make any sense.”
Reaching into an inside jacket pocket, Benbow took out a mechanical pencil and clicked the plunger to expose the lead. “I need to know about the boy, Mrs. Gander.”
“Gerry?”
Benbow flipped through pages of notes. His eyes scanned the material rapidly. “Gerry Fletcher. Yes, that’s right, Mrs. Gander. You were his counselor?”
Were? Icy jaws seemed to clamp on to Megan’s thoughts. “I am Gerry’s counselor.” Those were clothes I saw at the bottom of that building. Empty clothes. Gerry fell, but he didn’t hit. Thank You, God, he didn’t hit.
“How long were you—have you been—Gerry Fletcher’s counselor?”
“About a year.” Megan thought furiously, trying to catch up with whatever the young lieutenant was doing.
“Fourteen months?” Benbow’s pencil hung expectantly over a clean sheet in the legal pad.
“I’d have to check my notes if you want a definite answer.” Megan didn’t know why she couldn’t remember.
“I have checked your records regarding Gerry,” Benbow said. “You’ve been seeing him for fourteen months.”
“You’ve seen my records regarding Gerry’s case?”
Benbow sat up straighter, if that was possible, and regarded her. “I haven’t looked through the boy’s file, Mrs. Gander. Only your appointments. I found that you first saw Gerry on December 27 two years ago.”
The first meeting had been after Christmas. Megan remembered that clearly now. “That sounds right.”
“And Gerry has been in your care since that time?”
“Yes.”
Benbow scribbled
