He took his hand off the file.
“What’s my second mistake?” I said.
“I moved you out of Panama,” he said. “Not the Vice-Chief. He knew nothing about it. I selected twenty men personally and put them where I thought I needed them. I spread them around, because in my judgment it was fifty-fifty as to who was going to blink first. The light units, or the heavy units? It was impossible to predict. Once their commanders started thinking, they would all realize they have everything to lose. I sent you to Fort Bird, for instance, because I was a little worried about David Brubaker. He was a very proactive type.”
“But it was Armored who blinked first,” I said.
He nodded.
“Apparently,” he said. “If you say so. It was always going to be a fifty-fifty chance. And I guess I’m a little disappointed. Those were my boys. But I’m not defensive about them. I moved onward and upward. I left them behind. I’m perfectly happy to let the chips fall where they may.”
“So why did you move Garber?”
“I didn’t.”
“So who did?”
“Who outranks me?”
“Nobody,” I said.
“I wish,” he said.
I said nothing.
“What does an M16 rifle cost?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Not a lot, I guess.”
“We get them for about four hundred dollars,” he said. “What does an Abrams M1A1 main battle tank cost?”
“About four million.”
“So think about the big defense contractors,” he said. “Whose side are they on? The light units, or the heavy units?”
I didn’t answer. I figured the question was rhetorical.
“Who outranks me?” he asked again.
“The Secretary of Defense,” I said.
He nodded. “A nasty little man. A politician. Political parties take campaign contributions. And defense contractors can see the future the same as anyone else.”
I said nothing.
“A lot for you to think about,” the Chief of Staff said. He hefted the big Transformation file back into his drawer. Replaced it on his desktop with a slimmer jacket. It was marked: Argon.
“You know what argon is?” he asked.
“It’s an inert gas,” I said. “They use it in fire extinguishers. It spreads a layer low down over a fire and prevents it from taking hold.”
“That’s why I chose the name. Operation Argon was the plan that moved you people at the end of December.”
“Why did you use Garber’s signature?”
“Like you suggested in another context, I wanted to let nature take its course. MP orders signed by the Chief of Staff would have raised a lot of eyebrows. Everyone would have switched to best behavior. Or smelled a rat and gone deeper underground. It would have made your job harder. It would have defeated my purpose.”
“Your purpose?”
“I wanted prevention, of course. That was the main priority. But I was also curious, Major. I wanted to see who would blink first.”
He handed me the file.
“You’re a special unit investigator,” he said. “By statute the 110th has extraordinary powers. You are authorized to arrest any soldier anywhere, including me, here in my office, if you so choose. So read the Argon file. I think you’ll find it clears me. If you agree, go about your business elsewhere.”
He got up from behind his desk. We shook hands again. Then he walked out of the room. Left me all alone in his office, in the heart of the Pentagon, in the middle of the night.
Thirty minutes later I got back in the car with Summer. She had kept the motor off to save gas and it was cold inside.
“Well?” she said.
“One crucial error,” I said. “The tug-of-war wasn’t the Vice-Chief and the Chief. It was the Chief himself and the Secretary of Defense.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I saw the file. There were memos and orders going back nine months. Different papers, different typewriters, different pens, no way to fake all that in four hours. It was the Chief of Staff’s initiative all along, and he was always kosher.”
“So how did he take it?”
“Pretty well,” I said. “Considering. But I don’t think he’ll feel like helping me.”
“With what?”
“With the trouble I’m in.”
“Which is?”
“Wait and see.”
She just looked at me.
“Where now?” she said.
“California,” I said.
twenty-two
The Chevy was running on fumes by the time we got to National Airport. We put it in the long-term lot and hiked back to the terminal. It was about a mile. There were no shuttle buses running. It was the middle of the night and the place was practically deserted. Inside the terminal we had to roust a clerk out of a back office. I gave him the last of our stolen vouchers and he booked us on the first morning flight to LAX. We were looking at a long wait.
“What’s the mission?” Summer said.
“Three arrests,” I said. “Vassell, Coomer, and Marshall.”
“Charge?”
“Serial homicide,” I said. “Mrs. Kramer, Carbone, and Brubaker.”
She stared at me. “Can you prove it?”
I shook my head. “I know exactly what happened. I know when, and how, and where, and why. But I can’t prove a damn thing. We’re going to have to rely on confessions.”
“We won’t get them.”
“I’ve gotten them before,” I said. “There are ways.”
She flinched.
“This is the army, Summer,” I said. “It ain’t a quilting bee.”
“Tell me about Carbone and Brubaker.”
“I need to eat,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“We don’t have any money,” Summer said.
Most places had metal grilles down over their doors anyway. Maybe they would feed us on the plane. We carried our bags over to a seating area next to a twenty-foot window that had nothing but black night outside. The seats were long vinyl benches with fixed armrests every two feet to stop people from lying down and sleeping.
“Tell me,” she said.
“It’s still a series of crazy long shots, one after the other.”
“Try me.”
“OK, start over with Mrs. Kramer. Why did Marshall go to Green Valley?”
“Because it was the obvious first place to try.”
“But it wasn’t. It was almost the obvious last place to try. Kramer had hardly been there in five years. His staff must have known that. They’d traveled with him many times before. Yet they made a fast decision and Marshall went straight there. Why?”
“Because Kramer had told them that’s where he was going?”
“Correct,” I said. “He told them he was with his wife to conceal the fact he was actually with Carbone. But then, why would he have to tell them anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because there’s a category of person you have to tell something.”
“Who?”
“Suppose you’re a rich guy traveling with your mistress. You spend one night apart, you have to tell her something. And if you tell her you’re dropping in on your wife purely to keep up appearances, she has to buy it. Maybe she doesn’t like it, but she has to buy it. Because it’s expected occasionally. It’s all part of the deal.”
“Kramer didn’t have a mistress. He was gay.”
“He had Marshall.”
“No,” she said. “No way.”
I nodded. “Kramer was two-timing Marshall. Marshall was his main squeeze. They were in a relationship. Marshall wasn’t an intelligence officer but Kramer appointed him one anyway to keep him close. They were an item. But Kramer had a wandering eye. He met Carbone somewhere and started seeing him on the side. So on New Year’s Eve Kramer told Marshall he was going to see his wife and Marshall believed him. Like the rich guy’s mistress would. That�
��s why Marshall went to Green Valley. In his heart he knew for sure Kramer had gone there. He was the one person in the world who felt he would know for sure. It was Marshall who told Vassell and Coomer where Kramer was. But Kramer was lying to him. Like people do in relationships.”
Summer was quiet for a long moment. She just stared out at the night.
“Does this affect what happened there?” she said.
“I think it does, slightly,” I said. “I think Mrs. Kramer talked to Marshall. She must have recognized him from her time on-post in Germany. She probably knew all about him and her husband. Generals’ wives are usually pretty smart. Maybe she even knew there was a second guy in the picture. Maybe she was pissed off and taunted Marshall about it. Like, You can’t keep your man either, right? Maybe Marshall got mad and lashed out. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell Vassell and Coomer right away. Because the collateral damage wasn’t just about the burglary itself. It was also about an argument. That’s why I said Mrs. Kramer wasn’t killed just for the briefcase. I think partly she was killed because she taunted a jealous guy who lost his temper.”
“This is all just guesswork.”
“Mrs. Kramer is dead. That isn’t a guess.”
“The rest of it is.”
“Marshall is thirty-one, never been married.”
“That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“I know,” I said. “I know. There’s no proof anywhere. Proof is a scarce commodity right now.”
Summer was quiet for a beat. “Then what happened?”
“Then Vassell and Coomer and Marshall started the hunt for the briefcase in earnest. They had an advantage over us because they knew they were looking for a man, not a woman. Marshall flew back to Germany on the second and searched Kramer’s office and his quarters. He found something that led to Carbone. Maybe a diary, or a letter, or a photograph. Or a name or a number in an address book. Whatever. He flew back on the third and they made a plan and they called Carbone. They blackmailed him. They set up a swap for the next night. The briefcase for the letter or the photograph or whatever it was. Carbone accepted the deal. He was happy to because he didn’t want exposure and anyway he had already called Brubaker with the details of the agenda. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Maybe he’d been through the process before. Maybe more than once. Poor guy had been gay in the army for sixteen years. But this time it didn’t work out for him. Because Marshall killed him during the exchange.”
“Marshall? Marshall wasn’t even there.”
“He was,” I said. “You figured it out yourself. You told me about it when we were leaving the post to go see Detective Clark about the crowbar. Remember? When Willard was chasing me on the phone? You made a suggestion.”
“What suggestion?”
“Marshall was in the trunk of the car, Summer. Coomer was driving, Vassell was in the passenger seat, and Marshall was in the trunk. That’s how they got past the gate. Then they backed in at the far end of the O Club lot. Backed in, because Coomer popped the trunk before he got out. Marshall held the lid down low, but they still needed concealment. Then Vassell and Coomer went inside and started to build their cast-iron alibis. Meanwhile Marshall waits almost two hours in the trunk, holding the lid, until it’s all quiet. Then he climbs out and he drives off. That’s why the first night patrol remembers the car and the second patrol doesn’t. The car was there, and then it wasn’t. So Marshall picks Carbone up at some prearranged spot and they drive out to the woods together. Carbone is holding the briefcase. Marshall opens the trunk and gives Carbone an envelope or something. Carbone turns away into the moonlight to check it’s what he’s been promised. Even a guy as cautious as a Delta soldier would do that. His whole career is on the line. Behind him Marshall comes out with the crowbar and hits him. Not just because of the briefcase. He’s going to get the briefcase anyway. The exchange is working. And Carbone can’t afford to talk afterward. Marshall hits him partly because he’s furious at him. He’s jealous of his time with Kramer. That’s part of why he kills him. Then he retrieves the envelope and grabs the briefcase. Throws them both in the trunk. We know the rest. He’s known all along what he was going to do and he’s come equipped for the misdirection. Then he drives back to the post buildings and ditches the crowbar on the way. He parks the car in the original slot and gets back in the trunk. Vassell and Coomer come out of the O Club and they drive away.”
“And then what?”
“They drive, and they drive. They’re excited and uptight. But they know by then what their blue-eyed boy did to Mrs. Kramer. So they’re also nervous and worried. They can’t find anyplace they can stop where they can let a man who may or may not be bloodstained out of the trunk. First really safe place they find is the rest area an hour north. They park far away from other cars again and let Marshall out. Marshall hands over the briefcase. They resume their journey. They spend sixty seconds searching the briefcase and then they sling it out the window a mile farther on.”
Summer sat quiet. She was thinking. Her lower lids were jacking upward a fraction at a time.
“It’s just a theory,” she said.
“Can you explain what we know any other way?”
She thought about it. Then she shook her head.
“What about Brubaker?” she said.
A voice came out of speakers in the ceiling and told us our flight was ready to board. We picked up our bags and shuffled into line. It was still full dark outside. I counted the other passengers. Hoped there would be some spare seats, so there would be some spare breakfasts. I was very hungry. But it didn’t look good. It was going to be a pretty full flight. I guessed LA’s pull was pretty strong, in January, when you lived in D.C. I guessed people didn’t need much of an excuse to schedule meetings out there.
“What about Brubaker?” Summer said again.
We shuffled down the aisle and found our seats. We had a window and a middle. The aisle was already occupied by a nun. She was old. I hoped her hearing was shot. I didn’t want her eavesdropping. She moved and let us in. I made Summer sit next to her. I sat by the window. Buckled my belt. Kept quiet for a moment. Watched the airport scene outside. Busy guys were doing things under floodlights. Then we pushed back from the gate and started taxiing. There was no takeoff queue. We were in the air within two minutes.
“I’m not sure about Brubaker,” I said. “How did he get in the picture? Did they call him or did he call them? He knew about the agenda thirty minutes into New Year’s Day. A proactive guy like that, maybe he tried a little pressure of his own. Or maybe Vassell and Coomer were just assuming a worst-case scenario. They might have figured a senior NCO like Carbone would have called his boss. So I’m not sure who called who first. Maybe they all called each other at the same time. Maybe there were mutual threats or maybe Vassell and Coomer suggested they could all work together to find a way where everybody benefits.”
“Would that be likely?”
“Who knows?” I said. “These integrated units are going to be weird. Brubaker was certainly going to be popular, because he’s already into weird warfare. So maybe Vassell and Coomer conned him into thinking they were looking for a strategic alliance. Whatever, they all set up a rendezvous for late on the fourth. Brubaker must have specified the location. He must have driven past that spot plenty of times, back and forth from Bird to his golf place. And he must have been feeling confident. He wouldn’t have let Marshall sit behind him if he was worried.”
“How do you know it was Marshall behind him?”
“Protocol,” I said. “He’s a colonel talking to a general and another colonel. He’ll have put Vassell in the front seat and Coomer in the backseat on the passenger’s side so he could turn and see them both. Marshall could be out of sight and out of mind. He was only a major. Who needs him?”
“Did they intend to kill him? Or did it just happen?”
“They intended to, for sure. They had a plan ready. A remote place to dump the body, heroin that Marshall picked u
p on his overnight in Germany, a loaded gun. So we were right, after all, but purely by accident. The same people that killed Carbone drove straight out the main gate and killed Brubaker. Hardly touched the brakes.”
“Double misdirection,” Summer said. “The heroin thing, and dumping him to the south, not the north.”
“Amateur hour,” I said. “The Columbia medics must have spotted the lividity thing and the muffler burns immediately. Pure dumb luck for Vassell and Coomer that the medics didn’t tell us immediately. Plus, they left Brubaker’s car up north. That was serious brain fade.”
“They must have been tired. Stress, tension, all that driving. They came down from Arlington Cemetery, went back up to Smithfield, came back down to Columbia, went back up to Dulles. Maybe eighteen hours straight. No wonder they made an occasional mistake. But they’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t ignored Willard.”
I nodded. Said nothing.
“It’s a very weak case,” Summer said. “In fact it’s incredibly weak. It isn’t even circumstantial. It’s just pure speculation.”
“Tell me about it. That’s why we need confessions.”
“You need to think very carefully before you confront anyone. A case as weak as this, it could be you that goes to jail. For harassment.”
I heard activity behind me and the stewardess came into view with the breakfasts. She handed one to the nun, and one to Summer, and one to me. It was a pitiful meal. There was cold juice and a hot ham and cheese sandwich. That was all. Coffee later, I assumed. I hoped. I finished everything in about thirty seconds. Summer took about thirty-one. But the nun didn’t touch her tray. She just left it right there in front of her. I nudged Summer in the ribs.
“Ask her if she’s going to eat that,” I said.
“I can’t,” she said.
“She’s got a charitable obligation,” I said. “It’s what being a nun is all about.”
“I can’t,” she said again.
“You can.”
She sighed. “OK, in a minute.”
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