by C. R. Asay
Major Jamie Kuntz stayed in the doorway, her eyes on me. Unreadable, blue ice. A shiver traveled up my spine.
“What’s going on here?” The commander’s lips thinned against her teeth. “Lieutenant?”
Soldiers parted to let Justet through. A towel matching mine was pressed against his mouth. His eyelid twitched.
“She hit me,” Justet said, his voice muted by the towel.
I narrowed my eyes, willing him to shut up.
“Is this true, Specialist?”
“Ma’am,” Thurmond broke in, “this isn’t just—”
“Quiet, Corporal!” the commander snapped. “Specialist Rose?”
“Yes, I hit him.” I shot Justet a sour look. “But, in my defense—”
“That’s enough.” The commander straightened. “I’ll speak with you both outside. The rest of you, carry on.”
The chatter and music resumed, chairs scraped. Everyone watched us as we exited the club. Pieces of the story would be told, retold and put into a thrilling tale of military disobedience and action-packed drama. By tomorrow I’d either be a pariah or a hero. I was looking forward to seeing which way rumor swayed.
I followed the commander outside, pulling my cap from my pocket and straightening it on my head. Laughter and music stalked after Justet as he joined us. The door clacked shut muting the noise.
The base sagged in silence, the hot air and the late hour having driven everyone indoors. Prickles of sweat stood out on my forehead. The commander halted out on the road and turned on us. I snapped to parade rest. Justet lifted the towel from his mouth, revealing a cut splitting his upper and lower lip in a straight line. The skin was already puffing around the injury. He wiggled a tooth with his tongue and covered his mouth with a clean corner of the towel.
“Ma’am—” I said.
“Lieutenant.” The commander touched Justet’s shoulder, her eyebrows high. “I believe there’s something you need to be doing right now.”
Justet jerked his arm up to check his watch. He flicked a smug look in my direction, smiled at the commander, and quick-stepped down the road toward the barracks.
I followed him with my eyes, my mouth hanging open. What was so important that the commander didn’t want to hash this out right here and right now? Either I was in trouble or he was. And since I was the last one standing here, I guess it was me. I rubbed my tags beneath my shirt, wishing Justet a staph infection and an early medical discharge.
When I turned back, the commander was watching me from under her scarred brow. The streetlamp cast an orange glow on the top of her head making her eyes black holes of shadow. She laced her fingers behind her back and planted her feet apart in parade rest.
“Ma’am, I swear—” I started.
“That’s enough.” Her tone was cold. Whatever kindness she had toward Justet clearly didn’t extend to me.
“But he was completely out of line. It wasn’t just tonight either. This has been going on for—”
“I said enough, Specialist.”
The rest of my defense evaporated in an angry exhalation. I wanted to pound my forehead and shout at her to listen, as a human being, to my very reasonable explanation. She took a single step closer. I retreated, wary.
“Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?” Her voice was a soft rattle. “That I don’t see you hiding there with your passive face and quiet words. That I don’t know what’s deep inside you?”
Sweat trickled down my neck. “Ma’am?”
“But you outed yourself tonight, didn’t you?” The commander’s smile didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. A shiver traveled up my arms like a warning shot across the bow. “I knew you couldn’t hide forever. You’re good, but you always show your hand in the end. I caught you early this time. How’d it feel? No, don’t answer that.” She chuckled.
I blinked my bewilderment, wishing I was on a fifty mile ruck march with a thirty-plus pound pack rather then standing under this streetlamp with my commander wondering if my next meal would be in a military prison.
Did she know I’d stolen Justet’s coin? Or was she accusing me of something else. Like something to do with what was hidden in my wall locker.
I had a sudden desperate need to hightail it back to the barracks and relocate the stash of information I’d collected about Dad.
“Ma’am, if there’s nothing else, could I just—?” I jabbed my thumb in the general direction of the barracks.
“No.”
The door to the NCO club opened, spilling light and sound across the road. Two sergeants wandered out, gave the commander a tipsy salute with a mumbled, “Good evening, ma’am,” and stumbled down the road toward the barracks. She watched them go and then turned, beckoning me to follow. I heaved a sigh and obeyed.
Her long legs took us at a brisk pace past the officer’s quarters, the darkened Post Exchange, and several unmarked structures, before coming to a stop in front of a redbrick building across from the parade field. It was the Special Forces Armory—my home base.
The commander placed her hands behind her back and turned on me. I snapped to attention, my gut wrenching.
“Did Justet talk to you about the security briefing I need you to give tomorrow?”
“The . . . what?” My mind did a massive shift from the drama of the club and the fear that my military career was over, all the way back to the meeting I’d had with Justet earlier that evening. Come to think of it, he had mentioned something about a security briefing. I’d been too preoccupied at the time, what with discovering the RETHA coin just lying on his desk. Why on earth did he have that coin?
The commander raised her eyebrows. I nodded, pretending I wasn’t playing catch-up. “Right, yes. Of course, ma’am.”
“You are our resident counterintelligence Agent, aren’t you?”
I sighed. Yeah. The one and only. Also known as Agent Rose, Spook, or oh-crap-here-she-comes-where’s-the-shredder. Usually, my job meant going through top-secret message traffic in the SCIF—secure compartmented information facility—pestering other members of the company to be careful with what they said and threw away, the whole digging-through-garbage-cans thing while looking for discarded personal and classified information, prisoner interrogations, and of course, the occasional security briefing.
So far I’d been lucky enough to avoid the briefing part. The senior CI agent had always taken the job but within the last month the first sergeant over me transferred out leaving me the temporary senior agent. It hadn’t been a problem until now. In fact it was great. I’d found more time to work on my personal Dad project.
“Yes, ma’am. Uh, tomorrow, you said?” I put a bend in my knees to aid circulation in my tired lower limbs. “I mean, I have to put together the briefing and find evidence that—”
“Yes. Tomorrow.” She folded her arms and leaned toward me. “I’m sorry, do you have something better to do? Drinks with friends? A little hanky-panky? Maybe bust the lip of another of my officers?”
“No, ma’am.” My face flushed hot. “Of course not. That was . . . just an accident, sort of.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I dropped my eyes.
“Tomorrow, oh-six-thirty.” She put her hand in her pocket.
“Oh-six—!” I cut myself off before becoming truly belligerent. I couldn’t keep the surliness out of my voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You do this, and I’ll talk to Lieutenant Justet about letting the incident slide.” The commander released a huff of animosity. She pressed her lips tight, narrowed her eyes, and studied me.
“At ease, Specialist Rose.”
I widened my feet and clasped my hands behind my back. My shoulders slumped.
She retrieved a small notebook from her pocket and flipped through several pages before jerking out a page and handing it to me. I reached for it. Our pinkies touched. A tiny shock of electricity jumped between.
The flash of blue light back in the club. The bulb exploding over my head. I je
rked my hand away.
“There’re a few names of our worst offenders when it comes to information leakage,” the commander said as though nothing had happened. “As you can see, they’re officers and some of our older noncommissioned officers. Now, I understand why calling them on the carpet might be uncomfortable for you, but I think with the right kind of evidence your security briefing will set fire to this company.” The commander jabbed her finger at the armory. “Get in, dig through a few garbage cans, and get out. I think it’s time to bring a few of our troops out of hiding.” She tossed me two keys on a ring, which I fumbled and then caught. “Don’t worry about Lieutenant Justet, Specialist Rose. I’ll take care of him.” She brushed past me. “Lock up when you’re done and bring me the keys. I’m in room one-twenty-three in the officer’s quarters.”
Without a backward glance, she marched briskly away. A lonesome truck rumbled across the parade field and quietly muttered out of sight around a corner.
I squeezed my hand, sending pain shooting through my knuckles. I looked down, surprised to find the towel still clenched in my fist. I relaxed my fingers and looked under the towel. The cut didn’t look as bad as I’d thought. Not worth bothering a medic about.
I absently toyed with the keys. Six names graced the commander’s list, but there were eight offices. Of course the commander wouldn’t be on the list, and the other missing name was none other than Lieutenant Justet—who until very recently had a coin in his office with the word RETHA printed on it.
I trotted up the stairs to the armory doors, a single thought on my mind.
What else was Justet hiding in his office?
CHAPTER 3
The armory door emitted a tortured squeal as I opened it, startling me out of thought. I inhaled the stale coffee, gunpowder, weapons lubricant, and the hint of stagnant sweat that still hadn’t crept from the building. All the comforting scents of home. I pulled off my cap, folded it, and placed it in my pocket along with the keys. I didn’t bother with the lights, taking instead a red-lens penlight from my cargo pocket.
I wadded up the list the commander had given me and chucked it in the nearest can.
The CTA’s stillness made everything surreal. The hollow, echoing room usually sounded of squeaking boots, shouted commands, and the ordered mayhem of a functioning company.
High ceilings and cinderblock walls resonated my lonely steps as I crossed to the second office on the right of a narrow hallway on the far side. Staff Sergeant Wichman’s name had been the first on the trashed list. With his nearly bald head, bushy mustache, and fatherly vibe, I confided in him a lot more than I probably should. My fingers brushed across his door but I kept walking.
I finally stopped at the next to last office. My flashlight highlighted the nameplate on the door: Justet’s lair. Was it really just a couple of hours ago that I’d taken the coin from his desk? Funny how everything looked so different in the dark.
I rattled the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. It turned. I released the trapped air from my cheeks and glanced back at the hallway. Empty. It was almost too easy. My towel-wrapped hand ached on the doorknob. I really needed to go patch the gash and probably take that security briefing a little more seriously. But when else would I get an opportunity like this?
I hesitated for another second and shoved the door open.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. A file marked “The Kidnapping Conspiracy of Officer Benjamin Rose”? Or perhaps a secret map pointing to Dad’s location? I still couldn’t help the drop of disappointment at the stark, whitewashed, cinderblock room.
I tried the handles of the filing cabinet, finding the bottom one unlocked but filled only with office supplies. I rattled the other drawers for good measure before turning my attention to the trash.
A person should only have to go through a garbage can like this once in their life. Candy wrappers, banana peels, coffee grounds, no idea. Ick. I wiped the sticky residue onto my cargo pocket and pulled a handful of papers from the bottom. I held my penlight between my teeth and unfolded the first paper from the crinkly wad. A memo about the forthcoming Independence Day parade, then junk mail, junk mail, junk mail, and a coupon for half off an entrée at some restaurant in Arizona. Weird, but not interesting or incriminating.
Although, now that I thought about it, there were those two disappearances around Fort Huachuca in Arizona . . .
Among the information hidden in my wall locker there was a list of message traffic printed from an old dot matrix printer. This particular paper had only been relevant to me.
The DLA has identified RETHA activity on the outskirts of Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Advise military personnel to avoid the north-western ranges for the following dates:
The dates listed had been twelve random days during the summer months one year ago. But now on the same day, in the same office, I’d found the RETHA coin and a coupon for half off an entrée in an Arizona restaurant.
I rolled my neck and rubbed at the ache in my head. I’d been to Fort Huachuca several times now, and could picture the small, pink diner belonging to the coupon. It was just north of the base, and famous for its home-cooked meals. Was there a connection?
It was a bit of a stretch. I swallowed back my frustration.
The penlight bobbed in my mouth. The red glow flashed across the walls and floors—and several dozen ammo cans stacked behind the door.
They weren’t here earlier. Empty, no doubt. They had to be empty, or filled with ear plugs, or baseball cards, or chewing gun, or . . . ammo.
The flashlight fell from my mouth and buried itself in the trash, plunging me into darkness. I sat back on my heels and stared unseeing in the direction of the door, my heart hammering. This was far from what I’d expected. In fact, it would hinder any momentum I’d already gained.
I felt through the revolting contents of the trash to find the penlight, muttering under my breath about Justet and his biohazard-of-a-garbage-can. When I found it, I aimed the red light back at the stack of cans.
Silence stretched before me. The cans sat in all their solid glory, taunting me to do something about them.
My hands were numb and I kept clenching them in an attempt to return feeling. I could scarcely snap open the can on top. The mystery guck from the garbage made me fumble with the lid and the whole container capsized with a thundering crash.
A strike of energy scorched across my nerves, returning feeling to my fingers. I shook out my hands while staring at the contents of the can. Small brown boxes, no larger than a deck of cards, spilled from the open mouth and littered the floor at my feet.
I picked up a box, pulled out a line of M-16 rounds, and plucked one from the clip. Even in the red light, I could see the tip was painted—orange if I were to guess—making it a tracer round.
I shouldn’t have been surprised at the contents. How many of these boxes had I held in my military career? Hundreds? Thousands? They were about as common as a sandwich. However, unlike sandwiches, they were usually in a heavily secured, armored room; or taken from a strongbox directly to the firing range or ammo dump site. They were never stacked behind a door in an unlocked office of a young lieutenant.
I counted twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six other cans.
What was Justet doing with twenty-seven cans full of live ammunition?
The main armory door opened with a paralyzing squeal, slightly muffled considering the distance. An electrical charge jolted down my spine. I crammed the line of rounds back into the box with shaking fingers and then tried to shove the whole thing into my pocket. My fingers refused to work right. The box fell onto the spilled ammo can with a loud thunk.
I pressed the crook of my arm to my mouth and held my breath. The single pilfered round bit into my palm. After another brief, nerve-rending second, I stuffed the round into my pocket and moved.
Behind the desk? I took a step in that direction. No. I needed to get out of this office. I took a deep breath. Calm down, I told myself, willing the p
anic to fade.
If only Justet’s name was on the commander’s list, I would at least have an excuse to be here. But it wasn’t, and here I was in his office, with a bunch of stolen ammunition, in the middle of the night. Authorization or no, what would happen if the thief found out I’d discovered his little—okay, whopping—secret? Especially since I’d just popped him in the mouth in front of a room full of soldiers.
I tripped over one of the boxes of ammunition on my way to the door. Rounds rattled across the floor.
“Who’s there?”
The voice bounced against the walls in the hall, trying to flush me out. It worked.
In two steps I was in the hall. Light from the streetlamp backlit a figure facing me. I couldn’t take another step. He’d already seen me, what was the point of trying to hide? Perhaps it was just another soldier from the company with a lame-o mission like me—
“Luginbeel, is that you? Lewis? Did you get that ammo back to the Deuce?”
—or not.
I didn’t speak or move. The moment I moved, the moment I opened my mouth, we would stop being strangers staring at each other in the dark.
“Sanderford?”
Now I recognized the voice. The spot above my ear throbbed so badly blue spots popped across my vision. I pressed two fingers to my head.
Lieutenant Justet took a step. “What the hell?”
He reached toward the light switch at the end of the hall. A current of energy raised the hair on my arms. I braced myself for the hallway to be flooded with light. Instead he seemed to change his mind, because his arms disappeared behind his back.
If the cans of ammunition in Justet’s office didn’t imply guilt, the sound of him racking the slide of a pistol screamed it. Adrenaline flooded my veins. I turned and raced down the hall in the opposite direction, my boots squeaking on the polished floor.