Word of Honor

by Nelson DeMille

  “I certainly know how you feel.”

  “And I don’t think either of us likes being pawns in a game that we know nothing about.”

  “No, we do not. Listen, Major, if you thought this was a straight case of seeing that justice was done, then you were naive in the extreme. This case has gone beyond anything we said to one another and any evidence you may have gathered. Don’t be surprised if someone approaches you and recommends to you what you should recommend to the Army.”

  She turned toward the glass wall and stared off into the distance. Tyson, too, looked out the windows. An ocean liner, the Rotterdam, cut through the Narrows and slid beneath the central span of the bridge, rocking the small pleasure craft in its wake. A jetliner approached from the south, making its descent into Kennedy Airport. Tyson recalled the vacations he’d taken with Marcy, the places where they’d been happy together. And it struck him with full force that that life was gone, that the life to come was shrouded with images of jail, divorce, financial troubles, and the stigma of criminality, proven or unproven.

  Karen Harper broke into his thoughts. “I must tell you, Lieutenant, and you already know, that I’ve found sufficient facts to recommend that a grand jury consider the charge of murder.”

  “Then do it.”

  “But I’ve also begun to . . . suspect that the government is tampering with this case. And if that is true, then your rights may have been violated somewhere in this process—”

  “Oh, look, Major, my rights were violated from the day the obstetrician slapped my ass without provocation. But sometimes the authorities have to do certain things for the general good of society and even for the good of the individual they are slapping around. Where did you get your legal training? In a convent?”

  “You sound as though you’re defending the government.”

  “I’m certainly not doing that. But I do understand that they’re engaged in damage control.”

  “Did you make some sort of deal with the Army or the Justice Department?”

  “No.”

  “Would you consider any sort of deal?”

  “Depends on the deal. You never take the first one.”

  “So someone did approach you? That’s illegal during an Article 31 investigation. Only I may approach you and only with your permission.”

  “You may stand on ceremony. I’m trying to stay out of Leavenworth.”

  “How were you approached? What were the circumstances?”

  “Is this still off the record?”

  She replied, “No. I can’t hear anything like that off the record. I would have to report that.”

  “Then drop it.”

  She nodded reluctantly, then said, “Can I give you some basic advice?”

  “You’ll have to take a number.”

  She ignored this and said, “Get a qualified lawyer. Not Sloan. I’ve spoken to him, and he’s out of his league on this. Get a good JAG lawyer or a certified military lawyer.”

  “That’s excellent advice, Major. A little odd coming from my investigator but excellent nonetheless. I assume that means you’re through with me.”

  “Yes. I’m going back to Washington tomorrow to finalize my report. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you. To see if you want to include a written or oral statement in the report.”

  Tyson thought she could have asked that over the telephone. “I’ll think about it.” He inquired, “Aren’t you due to be released from active duty?”

  “I was. But I’m not being released. After I submit my report I am officially through with this case. However, if they need any clarifications they’d rather not have to subpoena me from civilian life. So I’m being held until the final disposition of this case.”

  “Tough break. I suspect, also, that the Army doesn’t want you making any clarifications to the press, which is the real reason they’re holding on to you. In other words, you’ve seen and heard too much to be allowed to go free. That should have occurred to you when you accepted this case. Well, they’ll let you out eventually.”

  “I’m not upset about being held on duty . . . it changes my civilian plans a bit though. I was supposed to join a law firm . . . here in New York.”

  “I’ll look you up if I need a new will.”

  “But my problems are insignificant compared to yours.”

  “Your problems will be a lot more significant if you pursue your theory or suspicions that the government is tampering with this case. They’ll eat you alive, Major. So take some advice from an older man who’s survived many corporate jungles as well as the Asian jungle. Don’t try to be a hero. Let me worry about what the government is up to.”

  “I’m not concerned about you personally, you understand. I’m only concerned that justice—”

  “Please. That word stimulates my gag reflex these days. Look, just play the game, keep your back to a solid object, and watch out for anyone heading for the door or the light switch.”

  She snorted. “That’s nonsense.”

  “There are times, Karen, I wish you were a man and other times I’m glad you’re not.”

  “That’s sexist and entirely too personal. You may not use my first name.”

  They both stayed silent, then Tyson asked, “Other than the trouble you had with your friend, was there any official trouble?”

  She rubbed her lower lip, then replied, “Well, yes. That’s why they wanted me to wrap it up.”

  He laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Men and women are funny.” He added, “Who’s giving you a hard time? That stuffed shirt, Van Arken? I’ve heard and read a few things about that character.”

  She didn’t respond but said, “I think they may have you under some sort of surveillance.”

  “That’s all right. I’m not skipping the country, meeting with foreign agents, or sleeping around.”

  “Good. May I have a cigarette?”

  “Another one? You had one last week.” He took out his pack and shook one loose. She took it, and he lit it. She drew on it and exhaled, then coughed. She caught her breath and said, “You should quit.”

  “You’re the one who coughed.”

  “Listen, Lieutenant . . . to deny . . . well, to pretend that . . . there has not been some . . .” She drew on her cigarette again, then looked at her watch. “I have to go.”

  “Finish the sentence.”

  She nodded. “Well . . . some words and feelings, I guess you would say . . . that have passed between us . . . that were other than professional or germane to the inquiry . . .”

  “I’m losing the subject and object of the sentence. Do you mean that you think we’ve developed a personal rapport?”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

  “An attraction of sorts.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, me too.” He looked at her and reminded her, “You said on our first interview that wouldn’t happen.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes. Well, anyway, I like you very much, and now the air is clear.”

  “Yes.”

  He could see her hand with the cigarette shaking, and he realized his mouth had gone dry. “Well . . . so . . . what should we do about that?”

  “Nothing.” She cleared her throat and threw the cigarette down. “If you want to include a statement in my report, notify me before noon tomorrow.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The guest house. Here.”

  “Can we have dinner tonight?”

  “Certainly not. Not unless you want to get me into more trouble than I’m already in.”

  “Sorry about that. It wasn’t intentional.”

  “If it were anyone but you, I’d say it was an intentional ploy to gain some advantage. Anyway, it was as much my fault as yours.” She extended her hand. “Good-bye, Lieutenant.”

  He took her hand. “I’ll be in my quarters tonight.”

  “And I’ll be in mine.” She turned and walked away. />
  Tyson watched her moving briskly down the bright sunny terrace. He said to himself, Well, there is flesh and blood there after all. He knew that he would see her again, and he knew, too, that nothing would come of it—not in a carnal sense anyway. But he understood, just as she must, that if the circumstances were different, then the outcome would be different. And when the time came that they parted for the last time, they would both be content in the knowledge that they had changed each other’s life for the better.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Ben Tyson lay stretched out on the couch of his darkened living room. The small room was stifling hot, and he wore only a pair of running shorts. A cold bottle of beer dripped onto the coffee table. He sat up and took a deep breath. His two-mile run around the post had left him exhausted. “You smoke too much, you drink too much, and you’re old.” He recalled the grueling infantry training he’d once accomplished with relative ease: thirty-mile forced marches with full combat gear, a hundred push-ups at a time, rock climbing a five-hundred-foot waterfall during jungle training in Panama. “My God, you were tough then.”

  He stood slowly and walked to the small window fan. He didn’t know what the policy was on air conditioners, and he didn’t care because he’d decided to rough it out though his resolve was weakening. “Pussy, Tyson. You’re a pussy.” He did fifty quick jumping jacks, then began a series of bends. As he did he looked around the room. It was freshly painted and judging by the size of it, a half gallon would have done the job. The rest of the ground floor consisted of a small dining area and a kitchen. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a small bathroom. All the units in the row of redbrick attached houses were similar. Families with one and even two children were his neighbors. “Tyson,” he said aloud, “you’ve been out of touch.”

  Cheap maple furniture, government property, was placed here and there, but he could bring his own, he was told. He tried to picture his furniture in this place and decided he’d have to stand it on end to make it fit. He’d have much preferred bachelor officers’ quarters, which were more motel-like and efficient than this pretense of a home. But somewhere in the bowels of the Pentagon some bright half-wit had decided that Ben and Marcy should be given the opportunity to cohabitate. Presumably this decision was made in the spirit of the zookeepers who decide when and where the prize pandas should be allowed to mate.

  There were no rugs or carpets on the wood floors, but in Army tradition the floors were highly polished. There were blinds on the windows but no drapes. His bedroom furniture consisted of a box spring and double mattress on a steel frame, one nightstand, and a mismatched chest of drawers. The second bedroom had a single bed, presumably for David. He’d had to sign for linens and towels but was expected to eventually get his own.

  The kitchen held a stove and refrigerator and little else. There was no dishwasher, but he had no dishes so it worked out well. He wondered if he should get a coffeepot and invite the colonel and his lady for coffee. Medals will be worn. Bring your own cups and spoons.

  Tyson straightened up and took several deep breaths. The sun was fully set now, and the only illumination in the room came from the street lamps casting stripes of light and dark through the blinds. He hadn’t been given a television and hadn’t bothered to buy a radio. American primitive. He understood how fragile and statistically beyond the norm had been his existence in the magic suburb.

  This wasn’t exactly house arrest, he reminded himself. He only had to be here between midnight and 6 A.M. He could conceivably take the subway into Manhattan and have dinner with someone. He could even drive into Garden City and go to his club or to his house and turn on the air conditioner, watch television, or jump into the Jacuzzi. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to stay here, sweat, be bored, be alone, think, suffer, and get tough. “Tough,” he said aloud.

  Tyson ended his exercises and stood in front of the window fan again. A movement outside caught his eye, and he peered between the blinds. On the small lane that cut between the facing row houses he saw a figure approaching: a woman dressed in light slacks and dark top. She was carrying something in each hand, looking at the nameplates on the houses. She stopped in front of his unit, hesitated, then strode up the path. In the light of the porch lamp, Tyson saw it was Karen Harper, carrying a furled umbrella.

  He saw her lean the umbrella against his door, then the mail slot opened and a folded Army-tan envelope began to appear. Tyson stepped quickly to the front door, knelt, and pushed the envelope back outside. The envelope reappeared, and Tyson pushed it back but this time met with some resistance. Karen Harper called out softly, “What are you doing? Get away from there.”

  He spoke through the mail slot. “Is this a bill?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Take this.”

  He yanked on the envelope and pulled it in through the slot. He stood and opened the door, and the umbrella fell at his feet. He looked up the path and saw Karen Harper halfway to the lane. He picked up the umbrella, noticing it had a PX tag on it, and threw it back into the living room. He pulled the door shut and followed her, the envelope still in his hand. He caught up with her as she turned onto the lane. They walked side by side in silence. She finally said, “Get some clothes on if you intend to walk next to me.”

  “It’s hot. What’s in this envelope?”

  “You’ll see when you open it. When are you going to get a telephone?”

  “When I think of someone I want to call.”

  “You were asked to put in a telephone to facilitate this investigation.”

  “I have telephones in Garden City, Sag Harbor, and my borrowed apartment in Manhattan. I don’t think I can afford another one on my salary.”

  “Well, no one can order you to install a telephone in your quarters, but it would be more convenient for everyone, yourself and your family included, if you did.”

  “I’ll give it some consideration. Come on back. I’ll give you a beer.”

  “I’ve got work to do.”

  “I want to discuss your request for a statement.”

  She slowed her pace. “All right. But we can’t talk in your quarters.”

  “I’ll get some clothes on, and we’ll walk. Come and take a look at my accommodations.”

  She hesitated, then followed him back. He showed her in and turned on the table lamp beside the couch. He looked at her in the light, noticing the simple blue short-sleeve blouse and the light cotton slacks. She wore white tennis shoes.

  Karen Harper glanced at him a few times, keeping her eyes focused on his, taking care not to drop them to his mostly bare body.

  Tyson thought she looked rather good in civilian clothes. He noticed, too, that she was actually thinner than she appeared in uniform—smaller breasts and hips, more lithe, and longer limbed. He waved his arm around the room. “Not bad for an officer and a gentleman.” He added, “I think it needs a mirror to make it look larger.”

  She didn’t reply but looked at him oddly. He said, “Oh yes. Bugs. Not cockroaches, to be sure.” He smiled. “Ben Tyson is wising up. I had a private security firm here this morning, and they pronounced the premises bug-free. Cost me a bundle. I’d have liked for them to have found something. Then you could have seen the stuff hit the fan.”

  “You’re a thorough man.”

  “I’m becoming so. Also, if I had a phone, I wouldn’t discuss anything sensitive on it.” He added, “As for me having a bug here to record you or anyone, you have my word again, as an officer and a gentleman, that there is no recording or transmitting device here.”

  She replied, “You didn’t have to say that.”

  “No, we’re beyond that. But just to be sure, can I check you for recording devices?”

  She smiled. “Certainly not.”

  Tyson shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask. Anyway, this game is getting damned serious, isn’t it? I mean, they’ve lifted my passport, I’m fairly certain I’m being watched, and I’ve been placed on restriction.”

  �
�The restriction is not very onerous.”

  “This house is onerous. Do you want to see the rest of the palace?”

  “No.” She added in a less than cordial tone, “If you think you are a martyr, you need to get some perspective.” She looked around the room. “Most people have never had the kind of house or life you had. I don’t know why anyone is supposed to feel sympathetic when we hear about someone who has lost his manor and now lives in the gatehouse. Half the world would give their left arm for the gatehouse.”

  Tyson did not respond.

  She stayed silent a moment, then said, “You know, your real problem is that you may be charged with murder. Your problem of reduced life-style is minor. I’d advise you to give more thought to the murder charge and less to your creature comforts.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be lecturing you.”

  “But you’re right. And I’ve come to the same conclusion. I mean to spend as much time here as possible until this is resolved. If I wind up in Leavenworth the transition will not be so shocking. If I wind up home I will kiss my garbage compactor.” He smiled.

  She smiled in return. “I admit it is hot as hell in here.”

  “Want a beer?”

  “All right.”

  Tyson went into the kitchen and came back with two opened bottles of beer. He handed her one and said, “I got these glasses at Bloomingdale’s. They look just like Budweiser bottles. Très chic.” He added quickly, “I’m not whining. I like beer out of a bottle.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Tyson hoisted his bottle and gulped down half the beer. She drank from her bottle. Tyson said, “What’s in the envelope?”

  “Just some forms for you to sign.”

  “I don’t sign Army forms.”

  “I heard.”

  “Did you? Word travels fast.”

  “You’re the subject of many people’s attention these days. Don’t let it go to your head. Anyway, these are just forms stating the times and locations of our meetings and confirming that you were read your rights. You can discuss them with your attorney before you sign them, but I’d like to have them before I leave tomorrow.”