I said, “Did you learn anything else about him?”
“He’s got a good rep. A can-do guy. Also, he went to West Point. Guess he did his few years, then got out and went to the Agency.”
I said, “Very interesting. By the way, I read about Operation Phoenix.”
“Don’t believe the half of it. Believe the other half, though. That really happened.”
He was in Vietnam then, and was wearing a green beret, so I assumed he probably had firsthand knowledge about the whole thing. He may even have been part of Operation Phoenix. I didn’t like the thought of Bill Tingle, who was something of a personal hero of mine, assassinating folks, so I did what I always do when confronted with unpalatable facts. I instantly decided he didn’t do it.
I said, “Any chance that’s what’s going on here?”
“How the hell do I know, Drummond? I’m here, and you’re there.”
“I just thought there must be some reason you wanted me to look it up.”
“Look, son, I’ve been in the Army since 1950. You have no idea how stupid we can be.”
“Okay,” I said, “I can’t thank you enough, sir.”
“Right. Hey, another thing. You see that Williams asshole again, tell ’em I said to get fucked.”
“Will do, Colonel.”
“One more thing. Think before you act, boy. Sometimes what looks bad is really good.”
“Right,” I said, then he hung up.
Bill Tingle was a coarse, crusty old fart, but you don’t get to be old in his line of work by being stupid. “Think before you act” was always good advice. Of course, that required that you have time to think, which was something I didn’t.
Chapter 23
I went back to the office and exchanged my battle dress for the uniform Imelda had sewed new insignia on. My new nametag and rank declared me to be Sergeant Hufnagel. Harold, I decided; I would be Sergeant Harold Hufnagel. Say that ten times real fast and see what happens.
Specialist Hufnagel was the legal clerk who looked a bit like a saber-toothed tiger. I figured I couldn’t get her or me into any trouble by borrowing her name. If someone took undue interest in me, they could turn this base inside out looking for a male sergeant named Harold Hufnagel, and we’d both be safe and clear.
I left and walked over to the supply room Imelda had staked out as her unofficial communications center. I asked if I could borrow the phone. The private on duty said sure. I called the Tenth Group’s information office. A sergeant named Jarvis answered.
I said, “Sergeant, this is Barry McCloud at the day desk of the Washington Herald. You got any of my reporters out there?”
“Right, sir,” he very politely said. “Two to be exact.”
“I’m trying to get hold of them. We had their numbers here, but some dumbshit on the night shift misplaced them. Would you do me the kindness of telling me where they’re staying, and what number I need to use to get hold of them?”
“Uh, sure,” he said. I heard him tapping some computer keys, and assumed he was accessing some file. “Got ’em right here,” he announced.
“Great, I’m ready to copy,” I said.
“Gee”-he chuckled-“that’s exactly how we say it in the Army. Ready to copy.”
I wanted to kick myself. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’m an old vet myself.”
“Oh really? Who were you with?” he asked. He was a really friendly sort of guy.
“You know, here and there. You got those numbers yet?”
“Yeah, sure. Okay, Clyde Sterner’s in room 201. You can reach him at 232-6440. Janice Warner’s in room 106, same number, only put a three at the end. Dial the same extension you used to get Tuzla.”
“Great, thanks,” I said, then hung up.
Let’s see, which one should I call? Sterner or Warner? I flipped a coin and it came down heads. Clyde Sterner it was. Then I dialed the number for Janice Warner’s room. Like I was going to call a Clyde over a Janice.
An intriguingly soft voice answered, “Janice Warner.”
“Hi, Miss… uh, is that Miss or Mrs. Warner?” I very slickly asked.
“It’s Miss. What can I do for you?”
“Name’s Sergeant Harold Hufnagel. Harry, to my friends. I knew Jeremy Berkowitz.”
“That’s nice, Sergeant. I knew Jeremy, too.”
“Yeah, well, he was a swell guy. A real sweet guy. Damn shame what happened.”
“No, Jeremy was not a swell guy. Nor was he a sweet guy. He was a rotten prick, but you’re right about it being a damned shame what happened. Is there some reason you called?”
I liked this girl. “Yeah, actually. I might know something about what got him killed.”
There was this long pause before she finally said, “It sounds like you and I should get together.”
“Yeah, I’d like to,” I said, “I really would. But there’s complications.”
“I’m sure we can find some way to work around them.”
The hook was in. “See, Miss Warner, the thing is, the Army doesn’t like buck sergeants talking to reporters. Especially about sensitive stuff like murder.”
“I see your point,” she said.
“We’d have to meet in secret.”
“Why don’t you just come to the Visiting Journalists’ Quarters? I’ll sneak you in.”
“Uh-uh. They got guards on your building. They might catch us. Then they’ll take my name and I’ll be in front of the colonel’s desk within an hour.”
“Okay, then, what’s your idea?”
“Meet me tonight. Nine o’clock, by the entrance of the mess hall. And come alone, or you’ll never see me.”
She said, “Okay. Oh, and Sergeant Hufnagel, I’ll be armed. I’m a really good shot, too. Get my drift?”
“Yes, ma’am. Farthest thing from my mind.”
Her voice might’ve sounded soft and pleasant, but she sure as hell didn’t sound soft. I had this sense that Miss Warner was going to be an interesting package. If she showed up wearing one of those duck-shooting vests, I was going to blow my brains out.
There were two more hours before we were supposed to meet. For want of anything better to do, I returned to my hiding place across from the NSA building. I stood there and watched for over an hour. A few of the nerds I’d seen earlier in the conference room passed in and out, but there was no sign of Mr. Tretorne or Miss Smith.
I was just getting ready to call it quits, when who should walk out of the entrance but that unmistakably tall and handsome hero, General Murphy. A Special Forces captain held the door, then fell in to walk beside him. His aide-de-camp, I guessed. Murphy had to have been inside the building at least an hour and a half. Now what would draw him to this facility, much less keep him inside that long?
Maybe he was there to view satellite films and radio transcripts. Not likely, though. Lieutenants and captains do that kind of scut work, not brigadier generals. Much more likely, that bastard was in there meeting with Tretorne. Maybe he was there picking up new lists of people to be sanctioned. Or maybe they were talking about me. Hell, maybe I was on the list to be sanctioned.
But that would really be stupid. I mean, how would the Army and CIA explain the murder of the chief investigating officer of the Kosovo massacre? Were they that stupid? Worse, were they that desperate? No, I decided. Right now they thought they had me right where they wanted me. Well, except for the threats I’d made to Jones. But would they try to kill me for that? Anyway, there was no more time to ponder those lofty questions because it was time to go meet Janice and see if her voice was the only interesting thing about her.
I jogged and got there twenty minutes before nine. I found a spot about three buildings away, where I could safely observe. I watched the cooks file out and lock up the mess hall at 8:45 P.M. as they did every night. This left the building entirely abandoned, which was precisely why I chose this time and place. It made it easier to see if
