June waved me toward the living room. I handed her the sponge with an apologetic smile and went to sit on the couch.
“I just wanted to tell you how bad your father feels about last night. I want you to know that I’m on your side.”
My side.
Maybe she was.
“He wants you to know how sorry he is. He shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Is he there?”
“Your father?”
“If he’s there, I want to talk to him.”
There was silence for a moment and then my father came on the line. “Georgia Ann?”
It was a measure of just how much trouble he was in that he didn’t call me Peach. “Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you set me up with Sean?”
“Why?”
“Why.”
“Because he was a good man. I could tell. I can always tell a good troop. He was everything I’d always wanted for you. If we’d ever had a son, I would have wanted him to be someone like Sean. It was time for you to find someone.” My father was warming to the topic. “I told myself, if I’m picking family, I might as well pick the best.”
It was clear to me that he was making it up as he went along. I was trying to figure out why. Regardless, one thing he’d said was true. “He was. Sean was the best.”
He sighed. It was the sound of relief. “Can I take you out for lunch maybe?”
“I don’t think—”
“Here. I’ll pass the phone back to your mother. She’ll set it all up.”
My mother came back on the line. “Georgia Ann?”
“Dad wanted to do lunch, but today is not a good day.”
“Tomorrow then. We’ll both come by. We can go to McLean and show you the new house. Even if you decide not to move in with us, we want Sam to know there’ll be a room just for him. Whenever he wants to visit.”
“Tomorrow we can’t. Have you already bought it? You don’t want to jinx anything.”
“You know your father. Senator Rydel might be a bear, but everyone likes him. We’re not expecting any trouble with the confirmation.”
* * *
I asked June if she would mind if I borrowed their computer for a while. She set me up at their dining room table. I got out my phone and brought up the pictures I’d taken of Sean’s diary. Then I logged in to my new email account and checked some emails I’d sent to several of the names in Sean’s book. I called a couple of them as well. After several hours of talking to people who’d fought in Desert Sabre, I felt like I was spinning my wheels. Every person I’d talked to who had served with my father had known that their unit had been far out ahead of everybody else. Some of them had even known about the order to draw back. None of it was breaking news.
There had to be more to the story.
Maybe I was looking in the wrong places.
I wished I could just look at everything from a different angle. Or maybe figure out how not to do what I was doing. If I’d had my notepad, then I would have taken it out and made more notes. But I didn’t have it. I had to borrow some paper from June.
I wrote down the names Conway, Ornofo, Abbott.
What did they have in common?
They were all there during the first Gulf War.
What else?
They were all part of my father’s company. And those were, quite logically, the people who could tell me what had happened. If anything had happened at the company level at all.
Frustrated, I drew a circle around their names. I needed to think outside that circle. Although they’d been there, they didn’t have the information I needed.
Who else had been there? My father. Obviously. Who else? Almost two hundred other men. Whom I didn’t have time to interview individually.
I put my fingertips to my temple. Closed my eyes. Forced myself to focus. I needed to speak to people who were not those three men. I needed to speak to people who were not the communications sergeant, a platoon sergeant, or the radio telephone operator sergeant.
My eyes sprang open.
There it was. I needed to speak to people who were not sergeants, people who hadn’t been noncommissioned officers. Maybe I needed to speak to someone who wasn’t my father’s subordinate. Outside the circle that I’d drawn, I wrote down peer and commanding officer.
If choices had been presented that night and decisions had been made, just like Mr. Abbott had said, it wasn’t the NCOs who had made them. It was the officers.
What else did those names inside the circle have in common? At least two of the three had really liked my father. Whatever had happened out there, they were likely to have given him the benefit of the doubt.
So what if I came at it from a completely different angle? If I was going to find out the truth, then maybe I should talk to people who hadn’t liked him. At least it would provide me with a different perspective.
I just had to find out who my father’s enemies were.
54
I called my father’s staunchest supporter.
“Mom. Hey.”
“Georgia Ann! Did you change your mind about lunch tomorrow?”
“No. But I was out running errands and, funny thing, I thought I saw that guy. The one who never liked Dad.” It was a complete shot in the dark. For all I knew there might have been no one on earth who disliked my father, or there might have been hundreds. But it was worth a try to see what my mother came up with. “What was his name again?”
“Steven Edgars? Lord have mercy! If that man—” The pause was full of vitriol and venom. “If that man’d had his way, your daddy would be in Leavenworth to the end of his days, turning big rocks into little rocks. I’ve never a seen a soldier more just plain mean than Steven Edgars.”
“Right. That’s the name. He served under Dad?”
Steven Edgars. I wrote it down.
“Nothing but trouble.”
“Just out of curiosity, what was it with him and Dad?”
“Oh, just—things not worth repeating.”
“None of it’s true, is it?”
“Georgia Ann!”
“I mean, how could any of it be true?”
“That man was poison. Pure spiteful poison.”
“Didn’t mean to bring back bad memories. Do you know what happened to him? After he got out?”
“Edgars? Who knows? Although I heard he started one of those watchdog websites. Always going on about corruption in the military. Figures.”
* * *
A few internet searches and I found him: Steven Edgars, CEO, Integrity in Government. It was an Alexandria-based company. I pulled up their website and read some of their press releases. They were mostly fact-based accusations that tended to veer off into rambling tirades against the federal government and the powers that be.
I imagined there were people like Mr. Edgars in every field. People who seemed reasonable at first glance but on closer inspection turned out to be just a little bit odd. If the goons at the Department of Defense and the FBI had considered him credible, he might have met the same fate as Paul Conway. Or Sean.
I signed up for another free email account, using a fake name, and sent an email asking him if we could meet.
Dear Mr. Edgars,
I’m working on an account of Desert Sabre and am in search of new source materials beyond those that have already been so widely referenced. It’s been pointed out to me that you served in Captain JB Slater’s company. Is it possible that we could meet?
Regards,
Gina Porter
Jenn came over that night, after dinner. Jim invited her in. She enfolded me in a hug and sat down right next to me on the couch, taking my hands into hers.
“I’m really worried. Jim said there was someone in the house? Before it blew up?”
I nodded.
Her face was pale, her eyes wild. “First the guy in your crawl space. Then your house blows up. You have to come stay with us.”
I freed myself from her. “Jenn, I can’t—”
“Say whatever you want. I’m a terrible person. I know I am. But you need someplace to stay. Come home with me.”
I stood. “Are you insane?”
She blinked. “No. Why? No. The boys would love it. I really think it would be safer.”
“Jenn. You tried to sleep with my husband.”
“I know I did. I just want to make it up to you.” She was pleading. “Can’t we get past it?”
Make it up to me? Get past it? I could only stare at her.
She held up her hands as if fending off an argument. “I mean, I know I could never make it up to you. But we’ve been friends—we were friends—for a very long time. Please. I have to find some way to make this good.”
“There’s nothing that would make this good. You’ll never make this good. We’re not good.”
“But I really need to—”
“I don’t know how many ways I can say this. I don’t know why you’re not understanding this. We will never be good.”
“Don’t say no yet. Okay? Please don’t. Maybe once the insurance people have come out and everything is settled?”
I said nothing.
“I want to help.”
In some weird way, she probably did.
“Just tell me you’ll think about it. I’m hardly ever at home. It would be like I’m not even there.”
That, at least, was probably true.
“So we’re good?”
Good? No. Not even close.
* * *
After Jenn left I put Sam to bed. At least he didn’t put up a fight; there weren’t any stars on June’s living room ceiling to look at. I tucked the blanket under his chin. “You okay, Sam? It must feel strange, sleeping here. You probably miss your things.”
“Daddy told me things are just things.”
I smiled. Sean had always said that when Sam had lost or broken one of his toys. I kissed him on the forehead. When I was sure he was asleep, I wandered back down the hall.
Jim waved me over. “Hey, sweetie! Your dad’s on the news.”
When wasn’t he?
“Come watch with me.”
I sat in an armchair next to his.
It was mid-interview and the host was beaming at my father. “I can’t think of any reason anyone would contest your nomination.”
“You just haven’t talked to my wife yet. She’d give you at least ten.”
They both laughed, though the commentator quickly followed up. “Seriously, though.” She leaned closer, as if hoping for a confidential word. “You’re one of the only retired generals I can think of who hasn’t thrown in with any of the political parties.”
My father sat back, raised a hand. “Not my place.”
“You must have a preference. Some opinion? An allegiance?”
“Sure I do. To the American flag. Truth is, the American people don’t care who I vote for. They just care that they can count on me. Give me a commanding officer, give me a marching order, and I’ll get the job done.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little simplistic in our modern age?”
“You think that’s simple? Here’s what I learned in the army: it really is do or die. You either achieve the objective or you don’t. You win or you lose. There aren’t any awards for trying real hard. Know why? Because usually those guys end up dead. If you’re going to play the game, then you gotta win it. Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” the host echoed. “Well. Nothing simple about being secretary of defense, and I know everyone on the Hill is pulling for you. Best of luck at the hearing.”
My father nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “I’m just here to serve.”
55
The next morning an email from Steven Edgars was waiting for me.
Dear Ms. Porter,
I’m happy to tell you everything I know about that fraud. Please advise on best way to contact you.
Cheers,
Steve
Through an exchange of emails we arranged to meet in Crystal City on Monday. He suggested lunch at a local burger joint. I demurred, afraid I might be recognized by one of my father’s many friends who now populated the desks of the region’s defense contractors or who had become some of DC’s most powerful lobbyists. I suggested a hotel restaurant instead. Nobody ever ate at hotel restaurants. At least not for lunch. I was hoping he would be able to offer further insight into what had happened in Iraq.
I answered emails from colleagues at work for a while. Forwarded some files to people who would have to deal with them in my absence.
I glanced at my watch. Nine o’clock.
Time had gotten away from me. I borrowed June’s car again; mine was still at the shop. I was due to pick up Alice from the vet’s. When I got there, she seemed like her normal self.
As we wound through the parking lot on the way home, I could see the traffic light change to green at the far end. I sped up. When it turned to yellow I sped up even more. The light turned red as I passed the middle of the intersection.
At the edge of the parking lot, behind me, a gray car skidded to a halt.
* * *
Sam was in heaven when I got home. He’d been playing with Legos that Jim had found somewhere in the attic. I didn’t think it had quite registered with him that all of his trains had burned up in the fire. He told me June had promised they could make cookies later.
“Cookies? But we just made Rice Krispies Treats yesterday. Did you already eat them?”
“No. It’s just Miss June said she needed help.”
“Why?” She’d seemed fine when I’d left. “Did something happen to her?”
“She just doesn’t have a whole lot of kids to lick the scraper clean anymore. That’s what she says. They’ve all grown up and moved away. And she says she’s going to make me a cake on Monday while I’m at school! Any kind I want. And I sang her the concert song. She liked it!” The school’s fall concert was on Wednesday night and his class had been practicing their song for weeks.
I expected him to be cranky after dinner when I asked him to put away the Legos, but he was so happy to have Alice back that he didn’t protest. He got into his pajamas without any pushback and went straight to sleep.
Alice rolled from her side to her belly when I came back into the living room. Jim and June didn’t have a fenced backyard, so I had to take her for a walk. It made me uneasy to be out in the dark. I tried to stay underneath the streetlights and I took my phone with me.
The neighborhood was respectable, friendly during the day. At night it was downright menacing with its looming trees and deserted streets.
My breath fanned in front of me as we started down the front walk.
Alice tugged on the leash and started off across the street toward the place where our house used to be. I yanked her back and stayed on Jim and June’s side.
I walked her down to the end of the block. We’d just turned to start back when Chris found us.
“Georgie. Hi.”
I kept walking, knowing every step took us closer to safety at Jim and June’s. “Hey.” It was too bad Alice knew him, otherwise she might have been a deterrent. I needed a strategy. And fast!
Moving away from the cars that were parked in front of the houses, I pulled Alice toward the middle of the street.
Chris kept pace with us. “I haven’t really had the chance to catch up with you. Not since the fire.”
“It’s fine. We’re fine.” Just two more houses and I’d be safe.
“I’ve been worried about you.”
Not as much, probably, as I had worried about him.
He put a hand on my arm.
I recoiled.
He put his hands up. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
I kept walking. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Things are just a little tense right now.”
“Sure. I understand.”
I put a hand to Jim and June’s gate, pressed down on the latch.
He caught me by the wrist.
I pulled it to my c
hest, but he didn’t let go.
He stepped forward, toward me. “I just need to know, Georgie. Do you need help?” His eyes searched mine.
Help? Yes! I most certainly did.
The porch light turned on and Jim stuck his head out the door. “You all right out there?”
Chris let go of my wrist.
I slipped through the gate and latched it behind me. Held a hand up to Jim. “We’re fine.” I took a few steps up the walkway before I turned to answer Chris.
But he had already disappeared.
* * *
Midmorning Sam and I were playing with Legos in the corner of the living room. It was Sunday—Samday.
There was a knock on the door. Jim answered.
I paused to listen.
It was a reporter wanting to know if he knew what had happened to JB Slater’s daughter. She asked if Jim knew where she was staying or if he knew how to contact her.
Jim had fun playing Clueless Neighbor.
“Slater? There aren’t any Slaters on this street. Did you try the next block over?”
“It would be Brennan. She married.”
“Brennan. With a B?” He called out over his shoulder to June. “Honey? There’s a reporter here asking about the house that burned down across the street. Were there any Brennans there?”
I glanced at Sam. He was intent on building a spaceship. I didn’t think he’d heard anything.
June gave me a wink as she walked past us on her way to the front door. She joined Jim. “What’s that?”
“Brennan. Were there ever any Brennans living across the street?”
“Wasn’t that the previous family?”
The reporter cut in. “The house is listed in the property records as belonging to Sean and Georgia Brennan. Georgia is JB Slater’s daughter. Do you know what happened to her? Or where she’s staying? Her father’s been nominated to be the next secretary of defense.”
Jim nudged June with an elbow. “I was just telling this reporter that there have never been any Slaters there. At least not for the past thirty years.”
June agreed with him. “I don’t even know if I know any Slaters. Do you?”
Jim and June talked for a while about all the people they knew who weren’t Slaters and the reporter finally gave up.
State of Lies Page 20
