Full Dress Gray

by Lucian K. Truscott

  When Wasserstein walked into his private office, Congressman Thrunstone didn’t look up.

  “Did you bring the file on Slaight?”

  “Yes sir.” He handed the congressman a thin manila folder.

  Thrunstone fingered it suspiciously. “This is it?”

  “Yes sir. I put out feelers all over town. I got our people to turn the Pentagon inside out, and Gibson called in every IOU he had. There just isn’t that much on Slaight, sir. He’s been below the radar so long, he almost doesn’t exist.”

  “Then how the hell did he get to be Superintendent?”

  “Meuller, sir. He and Slaight were close as far back as Vietnam. I think you’ll find in there that Meuller was Slaight’s commander over there. The word is, Slaight pulled him out of a hot spot during the war. Meuller’s term as Chief of Staff is up next year. He’s paying off some old debts, and he owes Slaight.”

  Thrunstone quickly leafed through the file’s pages. “Goddammit, this doesn’t even show his political affiliation.”

  “He doesn’t have one, sir.”

  “You mean to tell me this son of a bitch isn’t even a registered Independent?”

  “That’s right, sir. As far as I could determine, he hasn’t voted in the last twenty years. That’s as far back as I could track him, sir.”

  Wasserstein was still standing in front of Thrunstone. The congressman flipped a thumb in the direction of a chair, and his aide gratefully took it. He scanned the last page of the file, then tossed it on the table next to him and checked his watch.

  “I thought you told me Gibson would be here at one.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then where the hell is he?”

  “Avery just called from his car. They’re on the way. Uh, sir, I think your watch is still on Illinois time.”

  Thrunstone looked at his watch. “You’re right.” He reset his watch. “When did you say Meuller’s term as Chief of Staff is up?”

  “Next June, sir.”

  “We can’t wait to get him out of there. We’re going to have to put a shot across their bow and do it in this Congress, or Meuller is going to put some stuff in place that will take a decade to correct.”

  “Yes sir. I agree, sir.”

  Thrunstone leaned back in his chair and loosened his belt a notch. “Why is it this business never gets any easier? Tell me that, will you, Wasserstein? I mean, you read the Duke study. Generals and admirals are something like seventy percent Republican at this point, and still we’ve got to get down in the trenches and fight those bastards every day. Don’t they realize we’re all on the same side?”

  “They don’t exactly see things that way, sir.”

  “What’s their goddamned problem?”

  There was a soft knock at the door. A secretary stepped inside. “Sir, Mr. Avery and General Gibson are here.”

  “Send them in,” said Thrunstone.

  Gibson followed Avery into the congressman’s private office. The four men exchanged warm greetings and Thrunstone invited them to sit down.

  “Cecil tells me you’ve been a great help with Meuller, Jack. We appreciate it. I’ve got to admit we’ve had our hands full with him and his crowd over there.”

  “Glad to be of service, sir,” said Gibson.

  “We’ve got a real fight on our hands. Cecil, why don’t you tell us how it’s shaping up.”

  For such a small man, Avery’s voice was surprisingly powerful, and he knew how to command the attention of the men in the room. “I think we all know we’ve got a shrinking pot of defense dollars, and the battle is over how those dollars will be divided up between low-tech warm military bodies and high-tech weapons systems. I know all of us sitting here realize that the future of our national defense lies in the technological advances we make in hardware. The problem we’ve got with General Meuller is that he’s fighting a rear-guard action, seeking to shore up his manpower resources at the expense of developing new hardware. And there’s the rub. Manpower has not produced military returns commensurate with its costs. Even Meuller knows we get more bang for the buck with modern-day weapons systems. But he’s got the political problem of heading up a service that is heavy with warm bodies and light on weapons systems. The Army has always had more political power because they have been better at playing the political game. The problem with the Army has also been one of its greatest strengths: There are lots of them, and they spend most of their time sitting around and waiting for conventional wars that are few and far between. Yet while they sit around and wait, they keep busy. They’ve got Reserve and National Guard units in every congressional district. There are major Army posts in nearly half of the states, and they provide tens of thousands of civilian jobs. There are more Army bands marching in parades every summer than there are days in the year. They’re better at public relations than they are at drill these days. General Meuller presents a problem because right now, he’s got a good piece of the defense budget and he’s not going to let go without a fight.”

  Thrunstone turned to Gibson. “Is that about the way you see it, Jack?”

  “Yes sir. Cecil nailed it.”

  “What do you think of Meuller?”

  “He’s smart, he’s popular with the troops, and he knows his way around the Pentagon better than any other two service chiefs combined, sir.”

  “Every time we hit the ball over there, he hits it back,” said Thrunstone. “I’m tired of playing budgetary paddleball with Meuller.”

  “Chuck, Meuller’s got an Achilles’ heel I think we can exploit,” said Avery.

  “Tell me he’s got a mistress. Make it easy for me.”

  Avery laughed, joined by the others. “He’s a West Pointer. That’s his Achilles’ heel. A piece of real estate up there on the Hudson.”

  “What do you think of Cecil’s idea, Jack? You think we ought to go after West Point?”

  “It’s a good idea, sir. It’ll put the fear of god in Meuller. I think you can count on that.”

  Thrunstone turned to Wasserstein. “Where do we stand with the bills on the service academies?”

  “The senate bill would close down the academies and turn over their commissioning quotas to ROTC on civilian college campuses. The other bill is yours, sir. It would consolidate the three major academies—Army, Navy, and Air Force—into a single Defense Academy, located close to the Capitol, where we could keep an eye on it.”

  Thrunstone tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “I see only one problem with the scenario you’re suggesting, Cecil. In order to make this thing work, we’ve got to make the threat credible. The fact is, there isn’t much support in the Congress for closing down or consolidating the service academies. West Point in particular has a strong base of support on the Hill.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about actually passing the bill, Chuck. All you have to do is call hearings and put them on the spot. They’ll jump like you stuck them with a cattle prod.”

  “You really think it’s that easy?”

  “The academies are sacred cows. The only time they’re supposed to get in the newspapers is when they win football games or serve as a backdrop for presidential speech-making at graduation. I guarantee that if you put West Point under a microscope at a hearing of the National Security Committee, Meuller will come crawling across the Fourteenth Street Bridge on his hands and knees begging your indulgence.”

  “What reason does he have to be threatened by hearings? From everything I saw when I was up there for the Southern Illinois game, West Point is in excellent shape. The cadets look good, their graduation rates are up, and they’ve never had so many applications for admissions. My own office is swamped. We have over a hundred applicants for two congressional appointments to West Point.”

  “I think Jack might have some ideas for you,” said Avery with a thin smile.

  Thrunstone turned to Gibson. “What do you think, Jack? Do you think hearings would bring Meuller to heel?”

  “Yes sir, I do.”

&
nbsp; “What makes you think that?”

  “Go after Slaight,” said Avery, jumping in. “He’s Meuller’s star pupil. Put Slaight in the hot seat and fry him. Meuller will sue for peace.”

  “I can’t believe it’ll be that easy,” said Thrunstone.

  Avery nudged Gibson. “Tell him why Slaight’s vulnerable.”

  “That female cadet who died recently, sir? Slaight is covering up the cause of her death because he’s afraid it will hamper Meuller’s plans to increase the number of females in the Army from fifteen to twenty percent.”

  “Tell him how she died,” prodded Avery.

  “She dropped dead at a parade. She couldn’t cut it. Neither can most of the rest of the females. It’s West Point’s dirty little secret. They’ve reduced standards and softened training and done away with blood-and-guts stuff like bayonet drills and twenty-mile forced marches. Slaight and Meuller know the score, and even so, they are in full stride turning the place over to the women. Slaight has announced he will appoint a female brigadier general as Dean. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he didn’t replace me with a woman when I leave next year. They’re feminizing the warrior culture. I have to tell you this, Congressman Thrunstone. As much as I love my alma mater, I would rather see West Point shut down than stand by and watch it being transformed by the reductive and politically correct vision of General Slaight and General Meuller.”

  “That’s a pretty strong statement, General Gibson,” said Thrunstone. “Would you be willing to tell the National Security Committee how you feel?”

  “I would be honored to, sir.”

  Thrunstone turned to Wasserstein. “Very well. Notify the committee members and call a meeting of committee staff. Prepare a letter for my signature to General Meuller. The National Security Committee will hold hearings on the future of the nation’s service academies, and we will start the hearings with West Point.”

  GIBSON STRODE quickly across Washington Avenue to a waiting limousine and heard a soft click as the door was unlocked from inside. Helen Messick was holding an icy glass of Absolut vodka.

  “How did it go?” she asked, as he took a sip of his Absolut.

  “Very well. Thrunstone is going to call hearings and put Slaight on the spot.” Gibson took another sip of his vodka and chuckled. “Slaight will never know what hit him.”

  She reached for the overhead console and pressed the intercom button. “You can take us to Boonsboro, driver.”

  The limousine pulled away from the curb into traffic and took the first turn onto the Southwest Freeway. Soon they could see the Jefferson Memorial on their right and the Fourteenth Street Bridge just ahead. “This place in Bluemont, you’re sure it’s far enough away? We’re not going to run into any familiar faces?”

  She giggled. “First of all, it’s a Motel Six. Secondly, it’s two hours from here in the foothills of the Catoctin Mountains. Not a chance, in the middle of the week. We stayed there last April, remember?”

  “I thought that was Berryville.”

  “We stayed in Berryville right after June Week, when you came down here for that conference on promotion boards, and I was able to get away because my sister was sick.”

  “Right. I remember now. What was your excuse this time?”

  “My sister relapsed.” They both laughed as he felt her fingers pulling at the zipper of his trousers. “What time is your flight tomorrow?” she whispered hotly in his ear.

  “Eleven.”

  “Good. We can have breakfast in bed.”

  “So what do you call this?” he asked, sliding his hand under her thin sweater and cupping her breast, fingering her erect nipple.

  “A late lunch?”

  He leaned back against the rich leather of the limousine’s seat and took a healthy swig of Absolut. This was turning into one of the better days he had spent as Commandant of Cadets at West Point.

  CHAPTER 36

  * * *

  THE CALL from Agent Kerry came just before supper. Rose was to report to the Provost Marshal’s office at seven P.M. Immediately he called Favro and Ivar and asked them if Kerry had called them, too. He had. They were to report at the same time.

  The three of them left the mess hall and walked to the Provost Marshal’s office together.

  “What’s this about, man?” asked Ivar. “I thought this shit was over.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Rose.

  “I don’t like this, man,” said Ivar.

  “Me either,” echoed Favro.

  “All you’ve got to do is keep your head on straight. He shot his wad the last time he questioned us. If they had anything more than the DNA evidence, they would have used it.”

  “What if he starts asking us about the Honor Committee?” asked Favro.

  “That’s not going to happen. Gibson told me Honor has been put off-limits for the CID. Gibson’s the only one who can investigate the Honor Committee, and we all know that’s never going to happen.”

  Ivar stopped on the sidewalk outside the Provost Marshal’s office. “How can you be sure we can trust him?”

  “Because if we go down, so does Gibson,” Rose whispered. “Now listen. Gibson told me Slaight justified Kerry questioning us because they’re conducting a cause-of-death investigation. We’re not being charged with anything. If they had anything on us, they’d be reading us our rights and we’d be allowed to call a military lawyer. Gibson said we should cooperate and be friendly and forthcoming. The last thing we want to do is give them the idea we’re uptight or scared.”

  “What if he reads us our rights tonight?” whispered Ivar.

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “But what if he does?”

  “Then keep your mouth shut and demand a lawyer and don’t panic. They can’t do shit to us if we stick by our story.”

  Rose opened the door and they went inside. An MP sergeant led them to an office at the end of the hall. He knocked on the door and Agent Kerry appeared.

  “Mr. Favro, you are first. Mr. Rose, Mr. Ivar, have a seat.” He pointed to chairs just down the hall.

  Favro followed Kerry into the office. Ivar and Rose walked down the hall and sat down, their eyes fixed on the door at the end of the hall.

  “What is this shit, man?” whined Ivar.

  “Quiet. We don’t know who’s listening.”

  After about ten minutes, the MP sergeant reappeared and stood outside Kerry’s door. A few more minutes passed, and then the door opened. Kerry stood in the doorway.

  “Sergeant, give Mr. Favro a ride back to the barracks in your squad car, will you?” Kerry stepped aside, and Favro walked through the door. He traded glances with Rose as he passed the two cadets in the hall, followed by the MP sergeant. Agent Kerry pointed to Ivar. “You’re next, Mr. Ivar. Step inside, please.”

  The door closed, and Rose sat alone in the hallway. He checked his watch, trying to gauge how many minutes it would take for Favro to reach his room in the barracks. He kept his eyes on the door as the moments ticked by. Finally, he stood up and walked down the hall to a secretary’s desk. He picked up the phone and dialed Favro’s room. The phone rang once, twice. On the third ring, Favro picked up.

  “It’s me,” Rose whispered. “What did he ask you?”

  “It was strange. He asked me some of the same questions he asked before, you know, about Dorothy, when I met her, stuff like that. Then right at the end he asked me where I was between eight and nine on Monday night, October third.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him the truth. I was at the library.”

  “Listen to me. If he calls you in again, tell him you saw me there.”

  “All . . . all right,” Favro replied uncertainly.

  “I’ll tell you why later.” He hung up the phone and hurried back down the hall and took his seat. He checked his watch. Ivar had been in there about fifteen minutes. He heard footsteps and turned as the MP sergeant walked down the hall and took up his position out
side Kerry’s door. It was obvious to Rose that Kerry was questioning them one by one and preventing them from comparing notes. He smiled a secret smile. Kerry had no way of knowing that he had checked with Favro and was ready for his questions. The door opened and Ivar passed him on his way out.

  “Mr. Rose?” Kerry crooked his finger. Rose followed him into the office and stood at parade rest in front of Kerry’s desk. “Have a seat, please.” Rose unzipped his dress gray coat at the bottom and sat down.

  “You know what’s ironic, Mr. Rose? We’ve been trying to get our phone system updated down here at the Provost Marshal’s office for about two years, and it was only last week they finally came around and installed a whole new system.” Kerry turned the multiline phone on his desk around so it faced Rose. “You see this little light right here? It’s the one for the phone on my secretary’s desk down the hall. It came on a few moments ago, when I had Ivar in here. And you know what’s funny? My secretary went home early tonight, around four-thirty. Her daughter twisted her ankle at soccer practice.” Kerry ran his fingernail down the row of buttons on the phone and stopped at the bottom button. “You know what’s neat about our new phones? We’ve got auto-redial. If I press this button right here, the one for my secretary’s phone, and I hit this button right here"—he tapped his finger on the bottom button—"this phone will call the last number dialed. Tell you what. Just for fun, let’s give it a try and see if it works. I’ll put the speakerphone on, so you can hear, too.”

  Kerry pressed the speakerphone button, and the hum of the dial tone filled the room. He pressed the auto-redial button, and the phone dialed. It rang once, twice, and a voice answered. “Second Regiment, sir.”

  Kerry spoke slowly and clearly: “Mr. Favro, please.”

  “Speaking, sir.”

  Kerry pressed the speakerphone button and the hum of the dial tone filled the room again. He turned the phone around and leaned back in his chair. “I think it’s a safe assumption that you and Mr. Favro spoke on the phone while I was questioning Mr. Ivar and that you got your stories straight. Am I right, Mr. Rose?”