Duty and Dishonor

by Merline Lovelace

  Marsh vetoed her participation with a quick chop of one hand. “It’s too risky. We don’t know he had anything to do with Gabe Hunter’s murder. We don’t know if he got nervous after we questioned him about his departure date from Vietnam and subsequently tried to take you out of the picture with drugs or worse. We do know how much he’d have to lose if we discredit his DaNang story and link him to Hunter’s death.”

  “He doesn’t have any more to lose than I did,” Julia replied tightly.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Julia and Marsh argued vehemently about who should confront Lassiter.

  Barbara Lyles said nothing. Like Marsh, she initially opposed Julia’s involvement. She quieted, however, when the colonel reminded her pointedly that the OSI had no jurisdiction over the journalist. To question him officially as a possible suspect in a murder case, they’d have to work through their civilian counterparts. Given the purely speculative nature of their suspicions and Lassiter’s high-level connections, a civilian inquiry could take weeks...if it happened at all.

  Conceding the point, Lyles suggested that they wouldn’t gain anything by arguing more tonight. With a gracious goodnight to Dr. Moreton, she led the exodus.

  Julia and Marsh returned to her townhouse well after midnight, each lost in their own thoughts. Only after Julia had pulled into the alleyway that led to her garage did she begin to wonder whether Ted had meant what he’d said about not leaving her alone again.

  He did, as she discovered when they walked into the kitchen and found a decidedly irritated Henry the Cat waiting beside his empty dish. Slitted yellow eyes telegraphed baleful signals. The bent tail whipped right and left like a lash.

  “What’s the matter?” Marsh asked, going down on one knee to knuckle the cat’s head.

  “You’d better watch your hand,” Julia warned. “He’s probably upset because he didn’t get fed tonight.”

  She bridled at the two accusing stares directed her way.

  “Hey, I was on my way downstairs to do just that when someone kicked down my front door.”

  Dragging out a can of sardines, she plopped them on the counter. Her nose wrinkled at the first whiff of Henry’s dinner.

  “God, I hate these things.”

  “You go on upstairs,” Marsh said, relieving her of her smelly chore. “I’ll feed him.”

  Julia carried the confirmation that she wouldn’t be spending the next hours alone with her up the stairs and into the bathroom. As late as it was, she turned on the taps to the tub and dumped a whole handful of bath oil into the water. Something told her she was in for a long night.

  She was right. She and Marsh spent the next hours alternately making love and arguing. Morning found them physically spent and still at odds. In the cold chill of the new day, they drove to the Pentagon to meet Barbara Lyles.

  Strange, Julia mused as she threw her coat over the back of a chair in the small conference room. A few weeks ago, Ted Marsh had escorted her to this same room to interrogate her for the first time. Then, his face had remained carefully neutral as he faced her across the conference table. Now, he didn’t try to hide the disapproval that cut deep grooves on either side of his mouth.

  “I don’t like the idea of you confronting Lassiter,” he repeated for the umpteenth time. “I don’t like tipping our hand, and I sure as hell don’t like the idea of you setting yourself up as bait.”

  “I’m going to do this,” Julia insisted stubbornly. “Gabe and Dean and I have come almost full circle. I want to close the loop and get on with my life.”

  “And what if Lassiter decides he wants to keep the loop open?”

  “Then I have to convince him otherwise.”

  Despite her utter determination, the phone felt slick and hot in her palm. She clutched it in a tight fist and tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as she punched in the number Barbara Lyles supplied. It rang twice before a female voice answered.

  “This is Colonel Endicott. I’d like to speak to Mr. Lassiter.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman replied, sounding anything but. “Mr. Lassiter’s working his final notes for this week’s commentary. Give me your number and I’ll see that he...”

  “Interrupt him.”

  A distinct huff came over the line. “He left express instructions not to disturb him.”

  “Tell him Julia Endicott is on the line, and I’m offering him an exclusive on Gabe Hunter’s murder. He takes my call now, or not at all.”

  Julia wasn’t about to be put off by an underling. She knew damn well Dean would talk to her. He was too much of a newsman not to. The woman on the other end of the line evidently thought so, too.

  “Hold on.”

  Lassiter picked up a few moments later. “Julia?”

  She hadn’t talked to Dean in almost a year, but she recognized his resonant, well-modulated voice immediately.

  “What’s this about an exclusive?”

  “I thought that might get your attention. I need to talk to you, Dean. Today.”

  “About Gabe?”

  “About Gabe.” She dragged in a steadying breath. “They’re going to do an Article 32 inquiry. The evidence against me will mostly like lead to charges being filed. Once they are, the Air Force will do a public release. You and I both know that I’ll be tried and convicted by the media before I ever reach a courtroom...unless I sway their opinion first.”

  “How do you intend to do that?”

  “I’m going to tell what happened at DaNang.”

  The sudden silence lasted only a second or two. Julia hadn’t realized that mere seconds could stretch into infinity.

  “What Gabe Hunter did that night was unconscionable,” she said softly. “I didn’t shoot him, but whoever did deserves a medal.”

  “Julia...”

  “Look, I can’t talk about this over the phone. I’m at work. Meet for lunch.”

  “Not lunch," he countered swiftly. "Dinner."

  All right. I'll be at Celine’s, on Wisconsin Avenue. Seven-thirty.”

  She hung up, taking care that her shaking hand didn’t rattle the phone in the cradle. A half second later, Marsh replaced the extension handset. His mouth hard and tight, he shook his head.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I’m not real thrilled about it, either,” Barbara Lyles drawled. “But at least we’ve got some time to get Colonel Endicott wired and give her some range time. Do you have a weapon of choice?” she asked Julia.

  “Yes.” She curled her hands into fists. “A Smith & Wesson .357 magnum. And I won’t need any range time.

  Rain drizzled down the windshield as Julia navigated the pre-theater traffic clogging Georgetown's streets. Turning right onto Wisconsin, she drove the few blocks to the restaurant she and a still reluctant Marsh had chosen for her confrontation with Lassiter.

  Celine's high-backed booths would provide the privacy she'd need to draw the journalist out. All the while they would be watched and listened to by the team of agents Marsh had assembled. Julia managed a smile at the mental image of Barbara Lyles in the severe uniform required of Celine's wait staff. Black tuxedo jacket, white shirt, and long skirt or trousers. Not a chunky bracelet or flamboyant scarf allowed. The autocratic French restaurant owner believed the help should blend in with the dimly lit background and allow the customers to focus only on food, wine and conversation.

  Barbara was already in place. She'd gone early to check the restaurant's physical layout. Two other agents would occupy the booth next to Julia's. Marsh, who now followed a short distance behind, would remain in the next room. Out of sight, but well within shouting or screaming range. He, like the others, would listen to every word.

  Julia lifted a hand from the steering wheel and tapped the tiny, wireless receiver in her right ear. She'd worn her hair down in a smooth sweep to cover the flesh-colored device. Barbara had assured her it was invisible, but it felt huge and intrusive to Julia.

  "What's wrong?"

  She jumped
at the voice that barked in her ear. Resting her left hand atop the steering wheel, she spoke directly into the jeweled watch Marsh had provided her just an hour earlier.

  "Nothing. I was just adjusting the ear piece."

  "Leave it alone. It's working fine."

  "Your handy-dandy transponder worked fine last night, too...when Henry sat on it. I just want to make sure I don't have to sit on my ear tonight."

  Marsh didn't appreciate her feeble attempt at humor. "Leave it alone," he ordered again. "Isn't that Celine's up ahead?"

  She peered through the swishing windshield wipers at gold lettering on the awning that stretched across a curved entrance.

  "That's it."

  "Remember the drill. Pull up and let the valet park your car. Walk slowly into the restaurant. Give me time to go in through the back and get in place."

  "Got it."

  The patter of rain on the Mercedes' roof cut off abruptly as she drove under the awning. Her nerves tingling, Julia put the car in neutral and reached for her purse. She caught a brief glimpse of Marsh's Camaro as he drove past and pulled into the alley beside the restaurant.

  Show time, she thought, her heart hammering. Dragging in a deep breath, she reached for the door handle just as the passenger door opened and a trench-coated figure slid in the bucket seat.

  "We can't talk here. Too many people inside who know me."

  Julia froze, staring at Dean's carefully styled gray hair and taut face.

  "Drive," he instructed tersely. "Head south, toward the river."

  "Get out of the car!" Marsh's voice came low and fast in her ear. "Now!"

  She made her decision in a single heartbeat. Iron Man Endicott had never run from anything in his life. Neither would his daughter. Nor would she allow Dean Lassiter to haunt her, as Gabe Hunter had for so many years.

  "All right. We'll go to River Park."

  "Dammit, Julia! Get out of the car!"

  Her hand shaking, she slid her purse to the floor mat and put the Mercedes in gear. As she eased into traffic, she kept her left hand high on the steering wheel and the right lower, a short grab from her leather purse.

  Marsh cursed viciously and barked a series of commands to the listening agents. Julia blanked her mind to the voice in her ear. Her entire concentration had focused on the man beside her.

  Neither she nor Lassiter spoke during three-block drive to the deserted park at the foot of Wisconsin Avenue. On a summer day, the tiny patch of greenery bordering the Potomac provided a shady spot to watch Georgetown University's rowers slicing through the waters. On a winter night, the river flowed dark and silent,

  "Not here," Lassiter growled when she pulled into one of the parking slots at the west end of the lot. "Someone might see us. Drive to the other end."

  "Stay in the goddamned light!"

  Julia nosed the Mercedes halfway down the empty lot, out of the circles of light from the overhead spot but not so far into the shadows that she couldn't see Lassiter's expression when he turned to face her.

  "All right, Julia. I cancelled my dinner with the White House Chief of Staff to meet you tonight. What do you have to tell me about Gabe Hunter that the rest of the world doesn't already know?"

  "The world doesn't know Gabe raped me," she replied with more calm than she was feeling, "Or tried to."

  Dean's mouth twisted. "From where the rest of us stood, it didn't look as though he'd have to resort to rape to get you in his bed."

  "We both know appearances can be deceiving."

  "Is that why you killed him?"

  "Julia!" Marsh's voice filled her head. "I've got him in my line of fire. Get the hell out of the car. Barbara, where are you?"

  Trying desperately to keep the man in her head separate from the one staring at her with narrowed eyes, she yanked on the door handle.

  "It's too hot in here. I'm sweating. I need air."

  She shouldered her door open. Lassiter did the same on his side. The brief distraction gave Julia just enough time to transfer the Smith and Wesson from her purse to her coat pocket. Keeping her hands thrust in her pockets, she walked to the front of the Mercedes and faced Dean.

  Strangely unafraid, Julia faced the reporter. He 'd aged well, she saw in the glare of the headlights. Still handsome, still smooth, his wore an expensive overcoat instead of the multi-pocketed safari shirt he'd adopted in Vietnam. But she wasn't the only one sweating, Julia noted with a stab of fierce satisfaction. The harsh light picked up the perspiration filming the journalist's forehead. She wasn't surprised. He had to know they'd come full circle. She and Dean. It was time to lay the ghost hovering between them to rest.

  "I didn't kill Gabe Hunter, Dean. You did."

  For several seconds no one spoke. Not Julia. Not Lassiter. Not Marsh.

  "Interesting theory," the reporter said at last. "Care to tell me how I accomplished that deed when I left Saigon the day before Captain Hunter disappeared."

  "You were supposed to leave on the 10th. You didn't leave until the 11th."

  "I left on the 10th as scheduled," he countered. "My plane had mechanical difficulty and had to RON in Korea."

  "So you say."

  "Can you prove differently?"

  "Not yet," she admitted with unflinching honesty. Then, just as unflinchingly, she lied. "But I still have a few friends. One of them works for the FAA. He's located a box of microfiche records that include PanAm's flight data for the years 1970 to 1975. He called me this afternoon. He thinks he can trace your flight.

  Lassiter's eyes narrowed to slits. "You're bluffing. There are no records."

  "How do you know? Have you checked?"

  "Yes, after Special Agent Marsh relayed your wild accusations. I thought I might need back-up." His mouth thinned. "Even I stayed an extra day in Saigon, there's nothing to link me to Gabe's murder."

  Julia had never learned to play poker. Given the stakes, however, she had no difficulty taking her bluff to its final, deadly extreme.

  "I don't have to prove you killed him. I just have to create enough doubt to exonerate myself. In the process, I'll take you down, Dean. I'll tell the world about DaNang and Gabe's one way ticket to Easy Street."

  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

  "Gabe was blackmailing you, wasn't he? Determined to cash in on your glory after you snagged the Pulitzer. A prize he helped you win by setting off a convenient explosion the night of that rocket attack."

  Lassiter leaned against the Mercedes' front fender, his face a study in cynical amusement. "You must really be desperate, Julia, to concoct such a fantastic tale."

  "The rocket that hit inside the compound was a dud," she continued slowly, deliberately. "It buried itself in the mud beside the ammo storage container. Accommodating as always, Gabe put a round into the CONEX and lit up the night sky for you. Just D'Agustino's bad luck he got to close to shoot his pictures and lost an arm."

  "He did get too close. He admitted that himself."

  "He got too close, and you got your story when Sergeant Forbes stumbled out of what was supposed to be an empty hootch."

  She watched his eyes. They never flickered. Never left her face.

  "Not even Gabe would have taken a chance like that if he'd known two men had bunked down there for the night. We both know he could be a bastard at times, but he wouldn't have risked the lives of two men to provide you and D'Agustino with some local color."

  Lassiter's lip curled. "Your story won't play on the nightly news, Julia. It's all speculation and no hard fact."

  "I have facts." Her voice taut, she laid them out. "Definitive information on the trajectory and detonation times for 107mm rockets. Expert opinion debunking the possibility of delayed fuse. Sergeant Forbes' written account of the incident."

  The reporter stiffened, so slightly a casual observer might not have noticed the small movement. Julia was far from a casual observer.

  "What testimony?"

  "Watch his hands," Marsh hissed in her ear. "If he
so much as inches one toward his coat pocket, hit the asphalt."

  "Sergeant Forbes gave a written deposition. In it, he states that he crawled back in his bunk and was sound asleep when the CONEX went up and the explosion threw him across the hootch."

  Her throat raw with suffocating tension, Julia waited for Lassiter to comment. Their eyes locked across the slanting beams of the headlights for endless seconds.

  "Are you wired?" he asked so softly she almost missed the question.

  "What?"

  "Is that what this is all about? You're taping this little conversation, trying to get me to set me up as the villain in this piece to save your own hide?"

  "I don't need to set you up. You did that yourself in DaNang."

  "We're back to square one. Even with this deposition you say you have, you can't prove anything. This is all still pure speculation."

  "I know. But think what fascinating copy it will make. And you know how easily your associates can spin supposition into fact." She leaned forward, every muscle in her body taut. "How many toes have you stepped on to get where you are today, Dean? How many of your peers will grin gleefully when your name appears in print with mine and Gabes?"

  "Get back, Julia! You're in my line of fire."

  "How many reporters will dance in the newsroom aisles when the Pulitzer committee decides to review your award?"

  The skin across his cheekbones whitened as Julia played her last, desperate card.

  "Gabe reached out from the grave and destroyed me, but I'm not going down alone. I'm taking his killer with me, one way or another."

  Lassiter's eyes burned into hers. Suddenly, he jerked up his left hand. "Don't do it, Julia! Don't shoot!"

  "What?"

  Startled, she stared at him stupidly for a second. Only a second. Just long enough for Lassiter to shout a desperate cry as he launched himself at her.

  "Jesus! Don't shoot!"

  She went down under his crushing weight. Her back hit the pavement. The breath slammed out of her lungs. One arm was pinned under her. Lassiter wrestled the other to the pavement while he dug his free hand into her coat pocket.