State of Lies

by Siri Mitchell

  “Because the general, he was all set before the whole thing started on how important it was to do the job. Just keep doing the job. He didn’t want anyone getting all hung up. Had to keep up the pace, keep going, because of the strategy. There were multiple countries’ forces involved. If we weren’t all where we were supposed to be at the time we were supposed to be there, then the plan wouldn’t work. So we hear half an order and it just doesn’t make sense. Why would the general tell everyone to pull back when he’d been dead set on going ahead full throttle before it all started?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “We talked it over.”

  “You and the captain?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He asked for your opinion?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he do that a lot?” The father I’d grown up with had always had a plan. Had always known what to do. He never asked anyone’s opinion, never asked anyone’s permission. He just stepped out and expected that everyone else would follow along.

  “Ask me what I thought? Sure. And sometimes he’d just talk, work his way around to a decision. That’s part of the job. To be the guy the captain can talk to. The RTO is like a black hole. Lots of stuff goes in through the ears, but none of it’s ever supposed to come out.”

  “So what did he decide?”

  “He decided to just keep going. That’s the only full order we’d received. And that’s when we discovered that minefield and met up with the Iraqis.”

  Minefield? I made a note to ask Sean. “What happened then?”

  “Well . . . turns out, they had us surrounded. But the captain, he went out to talk to them.”

  “And you went with him?”

  “No. In that case I didn’t. He left me behind.”

  “So you don’t know what was said?”

  “Not exactly. But I know the end result. The captain found us a breach. It’s what the general had wanted. Once we got our breach, everyone else could go through.”

  Maybe that’s all there was to this. Maybe my father was just embarrassed that they hadn’t obeyed an order. My relief, however, was short-lived. That didn’t seem like enough to need to kill someone like Sean over. “But it didn’t cause anyone any heartburn that he hadn’t obeyed the order to fall back?”

  “Thing about the captain is, once he decided something, he was all in. I stayed with him for a while as RTO after. Through the desert. Into that mess in Bosnia. After that, they booted me out. Whatever it was I brought back from the desert, I wasn’t any use to the army anymore.”

  I didn’t get it. “What did you bring back?”

  “Nobody knows. Felt like I was an old man at thirty years old. Gulf War Syndrome. That’s what they called it. At least it wasn’t just all in my head. Shame to leave the captain, though. Felt like I was letting him down. He was a major by then. Best officer I ever had the pleasure to serve under. He might not have known exactly where everyone else was out there in the desert, but I can tell you, no matter where we were after that, he always seemed to know where the enemy was. It’s like he had some sixth sense or something.” He coughed again. “Captain Slater? He was good people. That’s about all I know.”

  * * *

  My father had gotten himself way out ahead of the line and then he’d chosen not to obey an order. He’d come across the enemy and gone to talk to them by himself. But what did that signify? I still hadn’t heard anything that was worth killing Sean over.

  But I had heard about Paul Conway, and that bothered me.

  A lot.

  Because Paul Conway was dead.

  Paul Conway probably knew more about what had happened that night than Lee Ornofo did. And now he would never be able to tell anyone.

  37

  “Georgie!” The receptionist caught me as I was passing through the lobby on Monday morning. She waved a slip of paper at me.

  I smiled my thanks and took it from her as I continued on down the hall. I’d only taken a few steps before I turned right around and went back to see her. I held it up. “I’m not quite sure what this says.”

  “That was your ten o’clock who called.”

  “My ten o’clock what?”

  “Meeting. Your ten o’clock meeting. Said he didn’t have time to come by the office, but he could meet you down at Starbucks.”

  “Starbucks?”

  Her brow folded. “Isn’t that what I put down?” The phone rang. She held up a finger as she answered.

  I waited as she transferred the call through.

  “Did he leave a name?”

  She shrugged. “Just said he was your ten o’clock.”

  “Did he say which Starbucks?”

  “I just assumed you’d know. I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

  “He didn’t leave a number?”

  “I just assumed . . .” By that point she was getting flustered.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not important. Thanks for—” I held up the message.

  * * *

  Starbucks.

  There were three in the general area.

  I’d just have to assume that the Starbucks in question was the closest one. The one beneath my building, in the Crystal City Shops. It was the same mall that housed Mr. Hoffman’s store.

  The identity of my ten o’clock appointment?

  It was a male; that’s what she’d said. I wanted to think it was Sean. But what if it wasn’t? Who else might it be? It could be those nameless, faceless DoD or FBI people Sean thought were after him.

  If I didn’t go, then I wouldn’t be putting myself in any danger.

  But I might miss an opportunity to talk to Sean.

  I went early. That way, I was there first.

  I got a venti brew. If anyone tried anything funny, a huge cup of hot, scalding coffee in the face could be my first line of defense.

  Second line of defense? I took a seat along the mall-facing counter back in the corner where it met the interior wall of the store. That way I could see everyone who came in, and if anyone tried to drag me out of the store, I’d have a chance to make a scene.

  I watched from my perch for half an hour. Ten o’clock appeared to be break time, so there were lots of professionals, company lanyards looped around their necks. There were military people. Artsy types. There was a guy draped in an oversize hoodie and a woman with really long red fingernails. Retail associates from other stores in the mall stopped in, name tags pinned to their shirts and sweaters.

  The guy in the hoodie leaned against the stool next to mine while he waited for the barista to make his drink.

  I shifted away from him.

  He was talking to someone over a Bluetooth headset that was stuck in his ear. “So what did you think of my guy?”

  I kept my eyes on the entrance to the store as I waited for Sean.

  “You had the chance to talk to him?”

  I shifted once more, securing my purse between my elbow and the wall.

  The man shifted too, adjusting his Bluetooth, putting his heel to the rung of the stool. “I don’t have much time, Georgie. Did you get to talk to him or not?”

  At the sound of my name, I jerked. Tightened my hold on my coffee. Then I looked past the baggy jeans, past the hoodie and the beard, and . . . “Sean?”

  38

  He put a finger to his Bluetooth and glanced over toward the counter. “Don’t look at me.”

  Uh. Okay. “Yes.” I opened my purse and pulled out my phone. Pretended to pull up a number and dial. Then I put it to my ear. “Hi. Yes. I talked to him.”

  This was not the Sean I’d known. The Sean I’d known was articulate. And rational. And most definitely not paranoid. “Yeah. It was very interesting. Did you know there was a minefield that night?”

  “Not one of the things that everyone talks about, but yeah.”

  “And my father didn’t draw back when he was supposed to.”

  “Comms went out. I know.”

  “Apparently my father talked through a
lot of his decisions with his RTO. That’s something I can loop back to if we need it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He stayed with my father. Went with him to Bosnia. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  I asked him a question I should have asked long before. One that was vital to our collective safety. “How did they figure out you’re still alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was it my phone calls? I called you every night that first month.”

  The barista called out someone’s name. Sean slipped from the stool and sauntered over, hand in a pocket, to get his drink. When he came back, he sat fully on the stool, positioned to see out the window. “No. It couldn’t be. When I call in to access the voice messages, it’s from a different number every time. That voice mail box is like a dead drop now.” He put a finger to the Bluetooth again as he held his cup in one hand.

  I pulled out a pad of Post-its and a pen as I spoke. “But they think you’ll show up at the house.” I wrote on the top Post-it. Slid it out in front of me so he’d be able to read it.

  I’m scared.

  I was scared about what it all meant for Sam and me, but I was also scared in a broader sense. I was scared of what was out there lurking.

  “Yeah. I get it. I really do. You’ve just got to trust that I’m doing what I can.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I need you to be careful.”

  Right. I turned my back to him while a tear slipped down my cheek.

  “I’ll figure out what to do, but in the meantime, just be careful . . .”

  “They’re not trying to kill us?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment.

  My knuckles grew white as my fingers clenched around the phone. “Are they?”

  Something brushed against my arm.

  I glanced over and saw that he’d stood.

  He hitched up his jeans and put his finger to his Bluetooth again as he grabbed his coffee. “I think they’re using you to bait me.” His eyes scanned the passersby who strolled the mall.

  “It seems to be working.”

  There had to be a solution. A way that Sean could come back to life again. The FBI might suspect that he lived, but they couldn’t truly know for certain. And if the DoD figured it out? My son had already lost his dad once. I didn’t know if I could handle him dying again. For real. I had to know he understood that. “I’m in.”

  He squinted. “What?”

  I pulled the pad of Post-its back. “I’m in. Whatever it takes.” I put them back in my purse as I spoke. “I’ll do whatever it takes, but you have to promise not to die again.”

  He fiddled with the cardboard sleeve around his cup. “I can’t—”

  “I can’t go through that again. I won’t.”

  “Can’t promise you anything.”

  I held the phone out in front of me and pretended I was making another call. Put it to my ear. “I don’t care if you can’t promise. I need you to do it. Just say it.”

  “Georgie—” He flipped the lid off his coffee. Put it back on.

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Okay. Now we just need to figure out what it is that everyone thinks you discovered.”

  He grimaced. “Get a phone. A throwaway. Leave the number on my old voice mail.”

  39

  I needed to figure out what Sean had discovered and why people were so intent on keeping it hidden. And if I wanted Sean to be able to come back from the dead, if I wanted Sam to live in safety, then I would have to figure out how to make all of it known. No one kills to protect information that’s freely available.

  First things first. Back at the office, I muted a conference call in which I was peripherally involved so I could contact a security company. A supervisor with an eye toward customer service, plus the guarantee of a much higher-quality system than I could afford, made the impossible possible. Waving a credit card was like waving a magic wand. They scheduled the consultation and installation for the next day. I crossed my fingers that Jim would be able to supervise.

  I would feel safer if I knew who was watching me. Not in a global sense but in a particular one. I wanted a name I could recognize, a face I could identify. That way I would know who to look for.

  In the absence of definite knowledge about the bad guys, I needed to play defense. Anyone could create a hypothesis. That’s where conspiracy theories usually started. And ended. In order to turn Sean’s suspicions into a plausible theory, I needed facts.

  * * *

  At lunch I went out and bought two prepaid phones. I called Sean’s old number and left contact information for one of them on his voice mail. The other I decided to use for talking to people like Lee Ornofo.

  I stopped by Mr. Hoffman’s on the way back to the office. He greeted me, asking about Sam.

  “My father was playing with him the other night and he mentioned there’s some sort of train that has things you can take on and off?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know this one.”

  “Things like boxes? Crates?”

  “Ah!” He walked behind the counter and pulled out a well-thumbed catalog. I probably could have found it faster online, but I loved that in his shop at least, things were done the traditional way. He flipped through it and turned it around toward me, pointing. “This one.”

  It looked pretty cool. It was a cargo set with an engine and a couple of cars. “Do you have it? I want to give it to Sam for Christmas.” Mr. Hoffman’s store wasn’t large; his stock was limited. If he didn’t have it, if he had to make a special order, sometimes it took a while to arrive.

  He went to the shelves to take a look. Then he went into the back. He came out empty-handed. “I can order it.” He made a phone call as I browsed and arranged to have it delivered to the shop later in the week.

  My burner phone vibrated as I was walking back to work. I pulled it out. A text from Sean. It was blank, but at least I had his phone number.

  * * *

  When I came out of the school from dropping off Sam the next morning, Chris was petting Alice. She nudged his hand aside when she saw me. He turned and then straightened. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I freed the leash from the holder.

  We fell into step with each other as we headed out toward the street.

  He glanced over at me from beneath the leather brim of his hat. “How’s Sam doing with everything? Keith wasn’t much older when Kristy died.”

  “His teacher’s keeping an eye on him. And he’s been working with a counselor.”

  I asked him about what kind of help he’d gotten for Keith. By the time we made it back to the house, the security van was waiting on the street.

  Chris nodded toward it. “You have a system?”

  “I’m going to. Just as soon as I can have one installed.”

  “Been getting quotes?”

  “I’m just going to do it. Consult and installation on the same day.”

  “Don’t sign up for anything yet. Let me give you the name of the company who did mine.”

  “I already basically gave them my credit card and told them to charge whatever they wanted.”

  “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “With Sean gone, I just want to feel safe.”

  “You could feel safe for cheaper. I can guarantee it. Want me to see if I can haggle for you? Work the price down?”

  “You’re sweet, but in this case, the cost of being able to sleep at night? It’s priceless.”

  He shrugged, waved good-bye, and continued toward home.

  I watched him walk away. He’d seemed concerned about my not being taken advantage of. Which was nice. And kind. And maybe it spoke more to my state of paranoia than anything else that I couldn’t just accept his interest at face value.

  He’d shown up at Mrs. T’s. He’d been interested in my new security system. In terms of how much it was going to cost me. I caught myself frowning. Sean
had ruined me for nice people who just wanted to look out for their friends.

  * * *

  The installation began. Jim had agreed to come over and stay at the house so I could get to work.

  I took my lunch break in my office, closing the door. That’s when I pulled Sean’s book out of its hiding place behind my bookshelf. It was easier to read the actual pages than to zoom in on my phone to see the entries.

  The letters and numbers finally made sense. E was E Company. 2 was 2nd Battalion. DS was Desert Sabre. BW. I assumed that was the Bosnian War. The names, I guessed, were all people my father had commanded.

  There was nothing to indicate that Paul Conway’s death had anything to do with Sean’s inquiry into Desert Sabre, but why not take precautions as I made contact with the people on the list? If there was a truth to be revealed, those people could tell me what it was. I googled the names, filling in ranks and positions when they were available. Noting phone numbers when I could.

  * * *

  Before I picked up Sam, I stopped by home and met Jim. He came equipped with operating manuals and instructions about programming the system, setting a security code, and contacting the monitoring center.

  “So if you’re home, you turn the system off. That way you won’t activate it. And when you head to bed or when you go out, you turn it on.”

  Mostly I was worried about when I was at work. That seemed to be when strange things happened.

  “If one of the sensors gets tripped, then they’ll call you from this number.” He pointed to it in the manual.

  I entered it into my phone’s contact list.

  “Remember: you had them set the alarm to silent.”

  I had. I’d debated whether I should. But because the security company called the police when the sensors were tripped, I figured they’d have a better chance of catching an intruder if the alarm wasn’t clanging a warning.

  “So all you have to do to disable the alarm is punch in the code.” He showed me the four-digit number. “The year I was born.”

  His security code lasted the length of time it took me to change it later that evening. I knew I’d never remember his birth year. I changed it to the year Sam was born instead.