As I read through the documents, I could almost hear the jaws of the alligators snapping in hungry anticipation.
I read each document, then passed them on to Delbert. He read them, then passed them on to Morrow. We were becoming a smoothly oiled team. A regular lawyers’ production line. By the time we landed at Tuzla Air Base a nice tidy pile of papers was stacked on the seat next to Captain Morrow, and all three of the Army’s top legal guns were snoring loudly.
Chapter 3
This time there actually was a vehicle waiting by the ramp to transport us. In fact, there were two humvees; except that one was already filled with this huge brigadier general, in battle dress, with a natty little green beret tucked neatly on top of his head.
He was about six foot five, and anybody in uniform would recognize him instantly. He’d been an All-America tackle at West Point, first in his class, a Rhodes scholar, and was at this moment in time the youngest brigadier general in the United States Army. That’s a hell of a lot of ego-enhancers for any one man, if you ask me. It’s amazing that he could look in the mirror and not faint. The sum of my own lifelong distinctions was that I once got elected treasurer of my third-grade class. Unfortunately, my triumph was short-lived, since the election got overturned by the principal as soon as it was learned I had a D in math. I don’t mention that second part to too many people. I just let them keep thinking I served out my term with honor and distinction.
The guy in the jeep didn’t have to mislead anybody about anything. His name was Charles “Chuck” Murphy, and every few years or so, TIME or Life or Newsweek did a nice little feature article on him so that every American could track the career of their army’s most dazzling boy wonder.
At that moment, though, his face was clouded with anxiety. Or, as my mother would say, he seemed to be “brooding.” I always liked that word. It’s so much better than “anxious” or “unsettled” or “agitated.” When someone broods, it seems to me there’s a bit more inner turmoil, and it sinks a little deeper.
Anyway, anybody with any sense knew why, because the A-team that was in detention worked for him, which meant his fabulous career was now up for grabs.
It was obvious that he was about as happy to see me as he would a big-fingered proctologist, but there was nothing he or I could do about that. I therefore walked right up to him and gave him the same kind of snappy salute I’d given General Partridge, his four-star boss, only twelve hours before back at Fort Bragg.
“Major Drummond, sir.”
He actually returned the salute. “Welcome to Bosnia, Drummond. How many lawyers are with you?”
“Three of us, sir.”
“That’s it? Just three?”
“We’re heavy hitters,” I announced, giving him my most overconfident smirk.
“Okay. Stow your gear in the other humvee and follow me.”
We did, and we peeled out of the airfield about thirty seconds later. We drove past about a mile of large tents built on concrete slabs, large metal containers, and a bunch of prefabricated wooden buildings. Tuzla Air Base had been made the supply and operations center for the Bosnian mission, and, when the situation in Kosovo boiled over, the military decided that it made sense to use it for that purpose as well. And if there’s one thing the military is really good at, it’s creating large, sprawling, impromptu cities out of thin air. Tuzla was a case in point. The place was laid out, dress-right-dress, with long, straight streets and none of that urban clutter or disorder you find in real cities. Lots of soldiers and airmen were walking around or lying around or doing minor chores, and a lot of them stopped and gawked as our procession drove by. Maybe I was imagining things, but I had the feeling we were expected. I had another feeling, too, because the looks we were getting weren’t real warm and friendly.
We finally came to a two-floored wooden building with a couple of flags out front. This was a signal that it was being used as a headquarters of some sort. Our humvees stopped and we all piled out and walked inside, where lots of soldiers were scurrying about frantically, or posting things on maps hung on walls, or jabbering on phones, or doing about anything to look busy, because the general was here and only a damned fool would choose this moment to look bored or idle.
We ended up in a meeting room in the back of the building with a large wooden conference table surrounded by some fancy faux leather chairs. General Murphy told us to sit, so we did.
His eyes marched across our faces and I guessed he was wrestling with how to approach us. Friendly or cold? Informal or stiff? One way or another, his future might well rest in our hands, so this was one of those momentous coin tosses you so often hear about. Should he scare the crap out of us, or make us love him?
He finally broke into what I would call a charmingly disarming smile. “Well, I can’t exactly say I’m happy to meet you, but welcome anyway.”
This struck me as a pretty ingenious compromise. “Thank you, General,” I said on behalf of the group.
“I’ve been told to offer you whatever assistance or resources you need. We’ve arranged a private tent for each of you. I’ve also had a building cleared for your use. Five legal clerks arrived last night from Heidelberg, and they’re busy preparing your facility as we speak. Is there anything else you need at this moment?”
“Nothing I can think of,” I answered. “Although if anything comes to mind, I’ll be sure to contact you.”
That was a wiseass crack, but I’d made my choice on how to approach him. Friendly just wasn’t in the cards.
His lips tensed ever so slightly. He studied my face, made an assessment, then got up and walked to the door. He opened it, and in marched a lieutenant colonel, a tall, lean, handsome sort with a nice little green beret perched on his head as well.
The general said, “Let me introduce Lieutenant Colonel Will Smothers, commander of the First Battalion of the Tenth Special Forces Group. Will’s going to handle your needs from day to day.”
Which was a very slick way of saying that he, General Murphy, wasn’t going to fetch any damned thing for me. It was masterfully done. It almost worked, too.
I said, “Excuse me, General. That won’t be acceptable.”
“I’m sorry?”
“As the battalion commander of the accused A-team, Colonel Smothers is a possible suspect in this case. Please arrange another liaison, so there’s no possibility of polluting our investigation.”
Now here’s where it gets important to understand that Army lawyers aren’t held in particularly high esteem by real soldiers, which is to say those soldiers who serve in combat branches. Warfare is the business of soldiers, and lawyers talk a lot but don’t shoot a lot, so we’re seen as an inconvenience or an annoyance, or an evil, but certainly not as part of the brotherhood. Make that ditto with an exclamation point when it comes to Green Berets, who are a little more clannish and lofty than about anyone else in uniform. It’s a very rare day when you see a couple of lawyers and Green Berets standing at a bar knocking down a few brews and sharing a few yucks. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen that happen.
There were a few coughs and a bit of awkward foot-shuffling because this lieutenant colonel was suddenly being told right to his face that he might be a suspect. He might have been dimly aware of that possibility before that moment, but nobody had actually confirmed it. Nor was it too hard to extrapolate that General Murphy, the walking accolade, also might become a suspect.
This silly, oversize frown instantly erupted on Murphy’s big-jawed, handsome face. He said, “You think that’s necessary?”
“In my legal opinion, absolutely.”
“Then I’ll appoint a new man.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said. It didn’t sound real sincere though. In fact, by the time he said it, he had turned about and was halfway through the door. Actually, he kind of mumbled it. In fact, it might not even have been “You’re welcome.” It was two words though. And there was a “you” in there somewhere. I’ll swear to that. I did have the impression he wasn’t going to invite me over for drinks anytime soon.
My two legal colleagues wore befuddled expressions as a result of this swift display of one-upmanship, but this was neither the time nor the place to make my explanations. We got up and left the building and, after a short
