Breaking Protocol

by Michelle Witvliet

  “How long?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he said, “Look, Piper, I intend on getting to the bottom of this right now. So you either tell me or make yourself comfortable because I’m not moving until I get some answers.”

  “Twenty years,” she replied.

  “Twenty years?” Carter was dumbfounded. “You were what, ten or eleven at the time?”

  “I’d just turned ten. Our parents had flown me to Germany for my birthday so I could spend time with Kevin before he started his next tour of duty.”

  “What happened that long ago that still haunts you today?”

  Her next answer came in the form of another question. “Do you remember hearing in the news about an army lieutenant murdered while he was on leave in Germany?”

  Carter didn’t need to search his memory for long. “Of course I remember,” he replied. “The case drew a lot of media attention. From what I can remember, though, they never arrested anyone.”

  “That’s because once they decided his death was connected to a smuggling ring working out of the base where he was stationed, they never bothered to look into the incident any further. The real story of Kevin’s involvement died with him, but the innuendo of his guilt destroyed his family.

  “Our father died six months later in what was officially classified as a hunting accident.”

  “Do you have reason to believe it wasn’t?”

  “Just a bad feeling that I’ve never been able to shake.

  “We moved to Austin later that same year, where we lived until my mother married a man from my hometown. We moved back right before I started high school.”

  “It was your mother’s idea to change your name, wasn’t it?”

  Piper nodded. “She thought it would make things easier for me, and it did in many ways, but it didn’t ease the guilt I felt about doing it.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself. You were just a kid trying to please a mother who was doing her best to cope with a horrible situation.”

  “The horrible part was watching Kevin die. He was stabbed to death right in front of me.”

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about there being an eyewitness.”

  “I ran away and hid behind a row of houses in an overgrown garden. I was found days later by one of the residents, filthy and dehydrated and practically catatonic. Because of my age and fearing for my safety, the German government and the army played down my involvement since there wasn’t anything I would tell them anyway.”

  “Would tell them or could tell them?”

  “I was so terrified that the man would come after me if I told anyone about what happened, I did the only thing I could, I said I didn’t see anything and hoped I’d forget.”

  “I’m no expert on kids, but that doesn’t sound like the normal thought process of a ten-year-old.”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, there’s nothing normal about me. Never has been.”

  Carter gazed at her from over his sunglasses with an assessing glance. “So what you’re saying is you’ve repressed those memories for twenty years?”

  “I’ve never spoken them aloud...until today.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “That might explain your nightmares, but not why Pritchard has you in his sights now.”

  “I might be able to answer that, too.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “About a month before I was sent to Colombia, I submitted a formal request to have my brother’s case reopened with some new information I’d uncovered.”

  “That’s about the same time I was deciding who to send on the mission.” Intrigued, Carter whipped off his sunglasses and asked, “What kind of information are we talking about?” He rested his wrist across the steering wheel, the Ray-Bans dangling loosely from his fingers.

  “Well, for one, the chain of events didn’t jibe with any of the records I’d found. Kevin’s involvement in the smuggling operation was only brought to light after he was murdered, and yet I never found a shred of evidence that showed he’d been under investigation prior to his death. The weird part was, nobody ever questioned how that incriminating evidence showed up in his file or who supplied it. The investigation was sloppy, rushed to an unsubstantiated conclusion and closed with a lot of questions left unanswered.”

  “It looks like somebody is using that same ploy to destroy your credibility and reputation so your request to reopen Kevin’s case won’t be taken seriously.”

  “If Pritchard had anything to do with Kevin’s death or the botched investigation, he’d have a lot of reasons to silence me. I need to know if he was ever stationed in Germany, and when. We need to get ahold of his service record.”

  Carter decided to play a hunch. “Is there anything you can remember about the man who killed your brother? Like maybe the color of his eyes?”

  She shook her head. “I never saw his eyes. It was a sunny morning. He wore mirrored aviator glasses.”

  “How about hair color?”

  “Impossible to tell. It was buzzed, like a recruit.”

  “You think he was another soldier?”

  Piper shrugged. “I don’t know...maybe...” Frustrated by her lack of recollection, she exclaimed, “This line of questioning isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ve gone over everything a million times. There was nothing remotely exceptional about him. He was a nondescript, medium-built white guy who couldn’t run very well.”

  “That’s an odd thing to remember,” Carter remarked. “Why do you suppose he couldn’t run? Was he handicapped in some way?”

  “No, he seemed fine until I stomped on his foot.”

  Riggs tossed the Ray-Bans on the dashboard. He leaned toward her and gripped the back of her seat. “Close your eyes...think back...envision the scene.”

  Piper did as he instructed and tried to picture the day.

  “Tell me what you see,” Carter urged. “Were there any other physical oddities about him? Scars, maybe? Or his smell?”

  “Mold...” she said.

  “He smelled like mold?” he questioned.

  “Not mold,” she amended. “Mole. He had a mole on the inside of his right arm—a big, ugly, black-speckled thing about the size of a quarter. I saw it when I bit him.” Her eyes flew open as the wretched memory surfaced, and she gave a little shudder.

  “It’s not a mole,” Carter stated. “It’s a tattoo. Pritchard has a black circular tattoo on the inside of his forearm.” Riggs pointed to a place on his own arm about halfway between his wrist and elbow. “It could have been mistaken for a mole by a frightened kid.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve seen it. We were in his office after hours and he’d taken off his suit coat and rolled back his shirtsleeves. When he saw me staring at it, he boasted about how he and a bunch of his Vietnam buddies had the image of the Greek god of war tattooed on their arms to show their support of Johnson and the war.”

  “Great,” she said without enthusiasm. “That narrows the field down to a group of Vietnam-era vets. It still doesn’t make Jackson Pritchard the grand prize winner.”

  “But it sure as hell puts him in the finalists as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Let’s assume for the moment it is Pritchard or one of his cronies,” she said, sounding remarkably rational. “I’m the only one who could possibly identify the murderer.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that. You’ve kept this secret for twenty years. For all anybody knows, you really can’t remember. There has to be something else, something bigger than just a twenty-year-old murder. If we can figure that out, I think everything else will fall into place.”

  Piper tapped her fingers on her thighs. She was itching to get her hands on a computer so she could start her search into Pritchard’s past. Casting a g
lance over her shoulder at the one lying so close and yet so far, she wondered if it was worth taking the risk. She didn’t think so. There was another option.

  Piper cast a sideward glance at Riggs. The throbbing pressure of a sinus headache was building behind her eyes. Massaging the tender place between her eye and cheekbone, she said, “I need some sinus meds.”

  “You still get those?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded gingerly. “Sudden changes in climates or altitudes will do it every time,” she said.

  Forty-five minutes later Piper was almost asleep, lulled by the hum of the Jeep’s heavy-duty tires and the extra-strength sinus med. Every time her head bobbed and dropped forward, she jerked upright and blinked rapidly in an effort to focus on doing what she thought she was expected to do—ride shotgun.

  “Don’t fight it,” said Carter, half-chuckling. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Take a nap if you want.”

  Breathing deeply and blinking again, she stretched and flexed her travel-weary muscles. “I’m not used to sitting idle for so long. How about letting me drive for a while?”

  “So you can fall asleep at the wheel? I don’t think so,” he added on a final note.

  “I only get sleepy when I’m the passenger,” Piper told him as a way of explaining her nodding off. “So how about it?”

  “Sorry, no can do. Do I need to remind you that you don’t have a driver’s license or any other form of ID with you?”

  “Must you always be so infuriatingly logical?” She crossed her arms and sank deeper into the leather seat. “How far is it to D.C.?”

  “It’s about a thousand miles from Miami.”

  “Do you plan on driving straight through?”

  “No, but we don’t have time for sightseeing. Pritchard expects me in the office first thing Monday morning.”

  That didn’t give her much time. “How much further to Atlanta?”

  “We’re not going anywhere near Atlanta.”

  “We’re not? I thought we had to pass through Atlanta.”

  “Not unless Georgia’s moved it a couple of hundred miles east.”

  If she wanted him to make a detour she needed to present her argument now and make it convincing. “I really need to go to Atlanta,” she blurted.

  “Any particular reason?” Carter questioned. “Or were you suddenly struck with a hankering to see a Braves game?”

  “I’m asking you to trust me on this.”

  “Fair enough. Atlanta, here we come.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Just north of Orlando, Piper gave a long, bored sigh and delved into the white plastic sack of snacks in search of another candy bar. Her fingers found nothing but crumpled cardboard and hollow cellophane wrappers. She dragged the bag onto her lap and rooted through it with both hands, certain that there had to be something left.

  She couldn’t believe it. Apart from one pack of peanut butter crackers and a single serving—sized bag of corn chips Riggs had eaten hours earlier, she’d scarfed down everything else—all the chips, all the candy, all the snack cakes—and all without ever realizing she’d done it. She’d been stuffing her face on autopilot.

  She gnawed her lower lip, feeling a little ashamed and a whole lot embarrassed. “I’m such a little piggy. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Carter responded with a deep, rumbling chuckle. “Now how would you suggest I’d have done that?” he questioned. “Without risking you taking a bite out of me in the process?”

  “Not funny, Riggs,” she said, socking him in the arm. “But as long as we’re on the subject, isn’t it almost dinnertime? I could really use some protein and veggies to counteract all the garbage I’ve consumed today.”

  “We’ll stop soon,” Carter promised.

  Piper gave another bored sigh and peered out the bug-splattered windshield at the darkening sky. “Looks like rain,” she said.

  “Before it starts, do me a favor and try to get the plate number off that van behind us.” Carter glanced from side to rearview mirrors and signaled to change lanes.

  Piper released her seat belt and twisted around to look out the back window. “Which one?” she questioned.

  “The white panel van coming up on the left. He’s been staying with me since we got on the turnpike.”

  “No front plate, just an empty frame.”

  “Any other distinguishing marks?” Carter signaled again and slipped between two semitrucks riding the center lane. The van maintained its speed and cruised alongside the back trailer. When Piper glanced out the side window, the van eased back and into her blind spot.

  “Looks like somebody doesn’t want you to get a good look at him,” Carter commented.

  At that moment, the skies opened wide and unloaded, prompting Piper to straighten in her seat and refasten her seat belt to watch what was happening in front of them rather than what might be behind.

  The rain poured down like heaven’s floodgates had been flung open. Even on high speed the wipers couldn’t keep up with the sudden deluge, and because of the wave-like backsplash from the semis, Carter found it necessary to move out from between the big rigs. As soon as he did, the van sped up and eased in behind them.

  With a quick glance in the rearview, Carter shifted into four-wheel drive. Piper felt the vehicle hunker down and grab the road. She watched the muscles in Riggs’s thigh tighten as he accelerated, and she didn’t need to ask what he planned on doing next. While every other vehicle on the highway was slowing down because of the downpour, Riggs was steadily speeding up. With every sudden lane change Riggs made, it grew increasingly obvious that the panel van didn’t have anywhere near the maneuverability of the Jeep. Piper watched the top-heavy van fishtail and wobble to keep all four wheels on the flooding pavement.

  Carter weaved in and out of the slower-flowing traffic with race-car driver precision. The four-wheel drive gave the car solid road-hugging stability as the all-weather tires gripped the rain-soaked pavement with amazing traction.

  “Are they still trying to keep up?”

  Piper peered out the back window. The rain was coming down so hard it was impossible for her to tell what was behind them let alone try to spot a specific vehicle. All she could see were dozens of blurred headlights through the relentless downpour.

  She dropped down into her seat. “I think you lost them. Great evasive driving, by the way,” she commented.

  “Thanks,” he said, tossing her a quick grin that quickly disappeared with a glance into the passenger-side mirror. “Better think again,” he said, accelerating with his words.

  “This is ridiculous,” Piper grumbled as she reached into the center console for one of the prepaid cell phones Riggs had picked up so they could stay in contact with one another should they ever get separated. “It’s time to let the professionals take care of these jerks,” she stated, punching nine-one-one.

  “My name is Tiffany Snodgrass and I’m just north of Orlando on the Turnpike,” she said in a desperate, breathy voice. “There’s a white panel van with at least two men in it that’s been following me since the last rest area.

  “No, I can’t see a license number. I’m alone and I’m so scared. Please help me. I’m driving a white Malibu. No, I don’t know what my plate number is, it’s a rental.”

  Piper punched a button on the phone to cause a beep. “Oh, no, my battery is almost dead. Oh my God!” She squealed. “They’re right next to me and the passenger is—” She disconnected and spun around to watch out the back window.

  “Reinforcements are on their way.”

  Minutes later the van was overtaken by two state troopers and encouraged to pull onto the shoulder. The last thing Piper saw as they sped away was the driver pummeling the steering wheel.

  “Pull the battery
and toss the phone,” he told her as he signaled to move into the far right lane to give her access to the grassy slope running along the shoulder.

  She dismantled the phone, wiped it clean and flung it piece by piece out the window.

  Droplets from the roof and windshield spattered Piper’s arm and face. After raising the window, she swiped the water off her skin and flicked it in Riggs’s direction as residual bursts of adrenaline zipped through her veins.

  “Damn, that was fun!” she whooped, reenergized from the moment’s excitement. “Think you can get us to Atlanta without any further mishaps?”

  “What I think is my expert driving deserves at least a clue as to why we’re going to Atlanta.”

  “My laptop is there, and warmer clothes. I forgot how cold it gets around here this time of year.” And she knew the farther north they traveled, the colder it was going to get.

  “Where exactly have you got this stuff?”

  “In a self-storage facility just outside the city limits, but we’ll need to make one other stop first so I can get the key.”

  “Make that two more stops. We’re changing vehicles when we get there, too.”

  * * *

  “As I live and breathe! I don’t believe it.” Shannon Kramer’s eyes grew wide with surprise when she answered her door and saw who stood on her front porch. “Come in, come in,” she urged, pushing open the screen door to let her visitor into her home. The minute Piper stepped across the threshold Shannon hugged her tight.

  Standing a head taller than Shannon, Piper looked over the woman’s shoulder and gazed into the warm and cozy living room where all the wonderfulness of an active family laid stacked and scattered.

  Piper closed her eyes against the painful array of framed family photos. This was supposed to have been her brother’s life, his wife, his home, his children. Instead, his high school sweetheart was forced to bury her future with her fiancé and start all over at the tender age of twenty-two. It had taken Shannon a few years to get on with her life, but eventually she married a nice man, Mark Kramer, and together they’d produced three beautiful little Kramers.