Finally I walked back into the office and fell into my chair. I took one or two leisurely sips from my cup, just to remind them who was boss. I always hated bosses who lollygagged while I waited. It’s such a naked display of power. Heh-heh-heh.
I stared icily. “Think this investigation’s over?”
Morrow, thinking she’d defuse this with smooth gallantry, said, “Sir, we apologize if we’ve caused an inconvenience.”
I coldly said, “I didn’t ask that, Captain. I asked if you think this investigation’s over.”
Delbert gulped and took his turn. “Sir, well, uh, after this morning, uh…”
“What about this morning?” I asked with a nasty scowl.
This brought another round of panicky glances between Delbert and Morrow. You could almost read their minds. Wasn’t this dork listening during this morning’s session? What is he, dense?
Delbert finally blurted, “Well, uh… yes, frankly.”
“So everything’s wrapped up?”
Morrow’s brow was furrowed and she was studying my desktop as though maybe the answer to my question was lurking inside my inbox, or maybe lying on my blotter.
I said, “Captain Morrow, what was the exact chronology of events between the fourteenth and the eighteenth of June?”
“Chronology, sir?”
“Don’t they teach chronologies at Harvard? You didn’t think we were going to turn in our report without a detailed chronology?”
“Uh, no, Major.” She nodded like, woops, yeah, gee, you’re right. A chronology; what kind of a half-assed packet would it be without one of those?
See, that’s another of those silly little things about the Army. When a senior officer comes up with a perfectly insipid suggestion, the rules dictate that it be treated like Einstein’s theory of relativity.
“And Delbert,” I yapped, “isn’t something else missing?”
“I… uh-”
“Don’t be hasty, Delbert. Think, now. What else?”
“You mean aside from the chronology?” he asked, trying to buy time.
I said, “Duh!” I couldn’t believe I said that. I detest that phrase. It’s so infantile, so obnoxious.
He blushed. “Perhaps a few more interviews wouldn’t hurt.”
“Of course we need more interviews. Thick is always good in government work. Shows we worked hard. Shows we’re diligent. We do want the powers that be to know we worked hard and we’re diligent, don’t we?”
“Uh, yes, sir, of course. And I suppose we could check around and see if any other teams had to use force,” he said, getting into the spirit of this thing.
“You’re grabbing at straws, Delbert. What about the rules of engagement?”
“Rules of engagement?”
“Right. Shouldn’t someone fly to Bragg and find out what the inventors of this operation intended? See if an ambush was a permissible act of self-defense.”
“Why, yes, I see what you mean,” he said, stroking his chin like I was the smartest guy on earth.
Of course he saw what I meant. In addition to all his other flaws, this boy was so sycophantic he could suck the bark right off a tree.
“Good, we’re all in agreement,” I announced. “Morrow, get your ass back to Aviano. Build a chronology. Delbert, your butt better be on an airplane to Bragg tonight. Don’t come back without an answer to my question.”
They both reeled back in shock. But which of them was most in shock, I asked myself. Tough call there. Morrow’s eyes grew wide, and Delbert looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. I still couldn’t tell which one was assigned to watch me.
“Move fast,” I barked. “Only three days left.”
“What are you going to do?” Morrow asked. It was either a very nervy question or she was the one who had to report back to her superiors on my activities. Hmmm.
Either way, she’d asked for it. “I’m writing the closing summary,” I announced, mustering as much arrogance into my tone as I could manage. “I considered letting one of you two write it. The only problem is, it has to be perfect. Can’t risk any amateur mistakes, can we?”
Morrow clearly wanted to howl at that one, but she bit her tongue. “And what position are you going to take?” she asked.
“Isn’t that obvious? Now move it, damn it! Both of you! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass!”
That was another timeworn statement, but it served its purpose admirably. They were gone in less than two seconds. Both of them would be gone from Tuzla before the cock crowed, or fell asleep or whatever cocks do when it gets dark. Right now, they’d both be dawdling on the street outside this building, scratching their heads and trying to decide what just happened. They’d figure I was a sorehead about being proved wrong. That much was true, only I hadn’t been proved wrong. I’d had my pocket picked. They’d figure that like every other typical senior officer, I was taking out my bitchy, foul mood on them. They’d figure that now I wanted to cover my ass by polishing the packet and writing the summary myself, as though I had believed in innocence all along. These were all things your average senior officer would do.
And whichever of the two was the mole would report back to Mr. Jones or General Clapper that I’d caved in, that we were just wrapping things up. Then the mole would climb on an airplane and be out of my hair for at least a day or two. I felt pretty proud of myself. What a smart guy you are, Sean Drummond. See how easily I could forget about being the biggest sucker at Tuzla Air Base?
I picked up the phone and called my old buddy Wolky. I thanked him for lending me his guards. I told him they were no longer needed. He was profusely happy. Ever since Berkowitz’s murder, he was being required to provide guards for every journalist in the guest quarters. To make matters worse, the murder of one of their brethren had drawn them like flies. A whole flock of fresh, inquisitive reporters were now in Tuzla, which, Wolky complained, was stretching his meager resources to the breaking point. Only too glad I could be of service, I told him.
I walked out of my office and nodded at Imelda. She left her desk and followed me out into the street. I looked around a few times, then indicated for her to walk with me a while.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I’d like you to go to my tent and get one of my uniforms. Remove all the patches and sew on sergeant’s stripes. Then get a nametag from one of your assistants and sew that on.”
Imelda said, “What’s this about?”
I said, “Imelda, I’m over my head. I need your help.”
Her tiny brown eyes got tinier, and I laid it all out. I didn’t like dragging her into this, but I couldn’t see that I had any other choice. For one thing I couldn’t sew. For another, I was going to need a great deal of assistance and a worthy co-conspirator. She listened attentively, nodded occasionally, blew bubbles with her lips a few times, but did not seem the least surprised.
“One of those two legal aces has been rattin’ on you, huh?”
“At least one. Maybe one or two of your girls as well. Every move I’ve made has been watched and reported from the second I got off the plane. I’d guess our phones are bugged. Maybe the office also.”
She considered that a moment. “I can get that checked.”
“Please don’t. Let whoever’s listening think everything’s normal. They have to believe they won.”
She agreed in her characteristic way, mumbling something under her breath, which could have been “Great idea. You’re really one hell of a smart guy” or “Friggin’ A.” Whichever.
I went to the mess hall for a belated lunch. Any long-serving veteran will tell you there’s a trick to eating in Army mess halls. You have to be very, very imaginative.
The mess hall was a long, narrow wooden building, jammed with blocklike wooden tables and chairs. The extent of interior decoration was a few plastic plants someone had sprinkled around and a bunch of Army recruiting posters on the walls. The recruiting posters mystified me. I mean, who exactly did they expect to recruit in an Army mess hall in Tuzla? At any rate, this would not work at all. I decided the recruiting posters were actually Rembrandts and a few Degas, because the mess sergeant-I mean the Paris-trained chef-was a man of eclectic tastes. The plastic plants became towering tropical ferns that wound their way along the walls, with long, winding
