Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  General King paused to let his words sink in. “I don’t understand much about politics, sir, but I do know this much. It’s not a zero-sum game. And there’s one thing I know about the history of the Fifth Army, sir. The adding and subtracting that takes place within an army unit, I don’t care if it’s a squad or a platoon or a company or a battalion or a brigade or a division or a corps or an army, is done in human lives. That’s my perspective, Senator. For what it’s worth.”

  Maldray stared at General King for a long moment. The helicopter was hovering, about to put down on the pad on the grassy parade between the headquarters. There was a jerk, and a loud thump as the wheels touched down.

  “Thank you for your input, General. You have been a big help.”

  “Anytime, Senator.”

  Maldray looked out the window. Several television news crews were leaning into the wind from the chopper’s blades, tugging at microphone wires, clinging to video cameras.

  “Maybe we can get a shot with Fifth Army Head-quarters in the background. Do you think we can do that, General?”

  “I think that would be an excellent idea, Senator.”

  “Have you got a flag . . . a big one with the battle streamers, and maybe a gold eagle on top?”

  “It’s in my office, Senator.”

  “Good. We’ll put the flag in the shot too.”

  Kara opened the Humvee’s door and climbed inside. “Thanks for coming to pick me up, Sarge.”

  “No problem, ma’am.” Sergeant Trevor Tevis, a skinny young man with an accent redolent of his native Alabama, threw the big vehicle into reverse. “Kind of a tight squeeze here, ma’am.” He aimed the Humvee expertly between two trees, backed it around, put it in gear, and drove down the long gravel drive that led to the cottage she had found tucked into a stand of trees on the outskirts of Columbus.

  “Nice place you’ve got there, Major Guidry. It looks real cozy.”

  “It’s not much, but the rent is cheap and the privacy can’t be beat.”

  “You didn’t look much like one of those BOQ types when I seen you, ma’am.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Sergeant.”

  “You know, ma’am. Some of them over in the BOQ look like if they ain’t breakin’ starch, they don’t figure they’re really puttin’ on clothes.”

  “Green and mean, is that what you’re talking about, Sarge?”

  The Sergeant chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. You got it.”

  “Well, I’m not terribly green, but I’m as mean as they come.”

  Tevis laughed. He stopped at the end of the drive. A narrow two-lane blacktop ran through a thick stand of pines. “Where to, ma’am?”

  “South Gate Road. I’ve got to pick up my Cherokee. I got stuck out there last night.”

  The sergeant turned left, and with a loud whirring of gears and humming of tires, the Humvee got up to speed.

  “Be there in a short-short, ma’am. You just leave it to old TT. He’ll take care of you.”

  “That’s why I called you, Sarge.”

  Tevis grinned. “I’ predate it, ma’am. It’s always nice to know you’re needed, you know what I mean?”

  She was looking out the side window at the blur of dirty green flying past.

  “I know exactly what you mean, Sarge.”

  The stainless steel doors whooshed open, and Major Hollaway walked into the main autopsy room at the Fort Benning morgue. Dr. Charles Evans was standing beneath a large articulated operating room light, pulling a sheet over the body on a gurney.

  “Charlie. Thanks for calling me.”

  Evans pulled down a paper mask that had been covering his nose and mouth. He looked like he was right out of med school, but Hollaway knew that Evans’ reputation in forensics medicine had him on military aircraft flying all over the United States and occasionally to Europe to consult on difficult cases.

  “We’ve got trouble, Frank. It’s just like I thought it was.” Evans led the way into the morgue’s refrigerated locker. He counted down the row of white enameled drawers and yanked one open. The ash white face of Lieutenant Sheila Worthy stared straight up at them, open-eyed. Evans pointed at the wound on her neck.

  “I’ve been doing this awhile, Frank. I think you know that.”

  “You bet, Charlie. You’re the best.”

  “I think I know a knife wound when I see one by now, Frank.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  Evans pulled on a fresh pair of operating gloves. With his forefingers he pulled gently at the sides of the wound.

  “Frank, you see this entrance? Kind of irregular, don’t you think?”

  Hollaway leaned over. He had no idea what Evans was talking about. Evans knew this. It was his way, patient, instructional. It was also what made him a virtually bulletproof witness in a trial.

  “What I’m talking about, Frank, look closely. You see here where the skin doesn’t line up when I let the wound snap shut?”

  He released his fingers. The sides of the wound eased together. Evans was right. It didn’t line up. Evans looked over at Hollaway.

  “With a puncture wound caused by a knife, you get an initial stretching of the skin as the point of the knife goes in. Let me show you.”

  Evans poked the little finger of his left hand into his own neck. The skin pulled tightly around the tip of his finger.

  “It’s like this with a knife. The point’s not that sharp, and the motion isn’t like the one we use with a scalpel, a slicing motion, like this . . .”

  He drew his finger down his neck.

  “You stab somebody, you stick it in and you pull it out. Simple as that.”

  “What are you saying, Charlie? Somebody killed this girl?”

  “I’m not saying that exactly, Frank. We found enough water in her lungs to kill her, so she didn’t die from this stab wound. But I’ve got the wound path mapped, and it was deep, but it missed the jugular and it missed the airway, so that’s just what it was, a wound, and that’s all.”

  “She would have lived if she hadn’t drowned.”

  “In all probability, yes.”

  “But the wound contributed to her death, because it probably affected her ability to get free of the car when it flooded.”

  “You are reading my mind, Major.”

  “You know what my guess is, Charlie? She was outside of the car when the stabbing occurred. She ran from her attacker and jumped in the car, trying to get away. She was frantic. Maybe the attacker gave chase. That would explain why she blundered into deep water out there.”

  “That’s it, Frank. That’s the way it happened.”

  “You’re certain this wound couldn’t have been caused by something else? Say, a piece of glass, maybe?”

  “Certain? You mean, like testifying certain?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you, Charlie.”

  “I know this much. I have yet to come across the piece of glass that could have made a puncture like this. We’re talking about something three, maybe three and a half, four inches long, about three-quarters of an inch across. Thin. Sharp. Went in. Came out. Smooth motion through internal tissues. A classic knife-puncture wound, Frank. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “You don’t have a life, Charlie.”

  “Okay. I’d stake your life on it.”

  Hollaway laughed. That was the thing about Charlie Evans. He made the grim details of forensics medicine bearable. Hell, he made it half fun.

  ***

  “Jeez, this road was under some serious water last night, huh, Major?”

  Sergeant Tevis pulled the Humvee up behind Kara’s Cherokee. There was a dirty brown water mark about a quarter of the way up the driver’s door. Kara got out. She looked past the Cherokee, out where Sheila Worthy’s car had been. The flash-flood waters had receded. The car was gone.

  “You’d better stick around while I see if this thing will start, Sarge.”

  “You got it, ma’am.”

  Kara opened the driver’s doo
r and climbed in. Water had seeped into the passenger compartment but stopped before it reached the seats. She put the key in the ignition and cranked it. The engine turned over a couple of times and caught. She gunned it. The engine settled into a comfortable idle. She got out, walked back to the Humvee.

  “I got it going, but maybe you’d better follow me back to the office. It’s supposed to be able to go right through wheel-deep water, but . . .”

  Tevis laughed. “You know what they say about these civilian off-road vehicles, don’t you, ma’am?”

  “No, TT, I don’t.”

  “They’ll get you deep into them boonies, all right. Far enough so’s when you get stuck, you got to walk back out to get somebody to come in there and pull you out.”

  She laughed. “Give me a minute.”

  “I’ll be right here, ma’am.”

  Kara climbed back into the Cherokee. She was reaching to pull the shoulder belt around when she saw that the backseat was empty. Her overnight bag was gone.

  So was Mace’s.

  Chapter Four

  Kara stormed into Hollaway’s office, her fists swinging at her sides. “All right, Frank, I want to know what the fuck is going on.”

  Hollaway looked up. “Geez, Kara . . .”

  “Don’t give me that ‘Geez, Kara’ crap, goddammit. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know now.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sit down.”

  He didn’t have that cop-calm look about him, the twinkling eyes and easy smile they get when they know something you don’t know, and they’re getting off on it. She sat down.

  “I’m sorry, Frank. This thing is getting me crazy, I guess . . .”

  “What’s wrong, Kara?”

  “I went out there and picked up my car. Everything I had in it is missing.”

  “Somebody ripped off your car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’d they take?”

  “Just the stuff I had in it.”

  “Which was . . .”

  “I had a jacket and an overnight bag. I’d been down in Taylorsville, visiting friends.”

  “You want to make a report?”

  Kara thought for a second. “Not now. Not a formal one, anyway.”

  “Why not? You’re here. I’m the man to see about it.”

  “I’m too tired, Frank. I haven’t gotten any sleep in thirty-six hours. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  He studied her for a moment. She was tired, that much was true. But there was something else. “What’d you storm in here for, Kara? You think I had my people out there going through your stuff?”

  “It occurred to me. Who else knew where my car was?”

  “You know I wouldn’t seize any of your property without your permission.”

  “I’ve got to get some sleep, Frank. That’s all there is to it. I’m not stressed out. I’m crazed.”

  “Tell you what. Let me take care of it for you. I’ll get my people looking for your stuff. It’ll turn up.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it.”

  He stood up and they walked to the door. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Kara.”

  “Not now, Frank. I’ve had enough for one day.” She started out the door.

  “You’re going to want to know this sooner rather than later.”

  She turned around. “Okay.”

  “That wound in Lieutenant Worthy’s neck? It’s a knife wound.”

  “What are you telling me?”

  “I just came from the morgue. A three- to four-inch knife. Evans is positive.”

  “So it’s not an accident, it’s a homicide? Duh? Earth to Hollaway. What did I tell you?”

  Hollaway shrugged. “Should I rack it up to your feminine intuition?”

  “Rack it up to life experience, Frank.”

  “I’ll buy that. And I’ll buy you a drink at the O-club sometime. I owe you one.” He opened the door.

  She walked into the hallway and paused. Then she turned slowly. He was still standing there.

  “I haven’t heard that in a long time, Frank. Thanks.”

  “What? That I want to buy you a drink?”

  “That somebody owes me one.”

  “Oh. Well . . .”

  “I’m going to hunt you down and drag that drink out of you. Mark my words.”

  He laughed. “You know where to find me.”

  She stood by the pay phone for several minutes, debating whether to call him, before she dialed. Finally she made the call and listened as it rang. Then his voice came on.

  “Third platoon. Sergeant Nukanen speaking, sir.”

  “Mace. It’s me.”

  He lowered his voice. “I thought we agreed you shouldn’t call here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know. But I had to call. Somebody took our bags.”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “No. I went out there and picked up the car. Everything is gone.”

  “It was the MP’s, that major,” he whispered.

  “No, it’s not. I checked with Hollaway. He didn’t know anything about it.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I’ve known him for years, Mace. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Who took them, then?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Whoever’s got them knows about us.” He sounded shaky, scared.

  She took a deep breath. “I know that.”

  “I’ll get out of here and call you later.”

  “Mace. Be careful. Don’t answer any questions if somebody starts asking. Get ahold of me first.”

  She heard voices in the background. He hung up before she could say good-bye.

  ***

  She was still thinking about how scared Mace sounded driving back to the cottage. They had successfully hidden their relationship for months. This was the first mistake they’d made. How could they have forgotten to take their bags? Logic told her the storm had been raging, there had been a dead woman at their feet on the ground, a helicopter loudly pounding the air nearby, three medics running around . . . it was an easy enough mistake under those conditions. Still, their mistake could have grave consequences if the bags found their way into the wrong hands. Mace was right to be scared. So was she.

  Her headlights found the drive, littered with pine needles. Huge puddles had formed in low spots in the yard. She unlocked the front door and flipped on the light. One of the cats jumped onto the kitchen counter and cried like an infant. She wondered where they learned that sound. Some kind of primal connector, back there in the far reaches of the ancient food chain, when maybe cats fed on humans instead of humans opening cans and feeding cats. She gave him a rough head rub.

  “Wally. Wall-man. El-Wall-o. The big Wall-a-rino.”

  He purred.

  The shingled cottage wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but within it glowed a homey coziness that was a welcome relief from the garden apartment complex she had called home for the past three years. From the front door you walked into one big room with a fire-place on one side and a kitchen on the other. The walls were wainscotted in knotty pine, and the same oiled wood was used in a long counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room. The furniture was old but comfortable, a bequest from her grandmother when her mother had shipped her off to a nursing home. She walked over to the armoire and turned on the CD player and punched Play. The opening chords of a Replacements song filled the room, and she sang along with the smoky vocal.

  Trailed by Wally, she skipped down a narrow hall to the single bedroom that had been tacked onto the back of the cottage in a lean-to fashion. Two more cats were curled up on the down comforter at the foot of a king-size bed.

  “Weird-o. Peesheek. What’s going on with you two lazybones cats?” Neither one of them so much as stirred a whisker. She rubbed Weird behind the ears, a
nd he opened one eye. Peesheek stretched and nuzzled the back of her hand.

  “Home at last, huh, you worthless monsters? You all want to eat?” All three cats responded to her entreaty by running to the door and thundering down the short hall and jumping up on the kitchen counter.

  The phone rang.

  “Major Guidry.”

  “That wouldn’t be your boy Paulie Westerberg I hear in the background, would it, doll face? That luscious hunk—”

  “Lannie! Where are you calling from?”

  “Guess.”

  “An airplane.”

  “Close. My car. Take another guess.”

  “You’re out of there! You beat the five-sided monster! You plastered the puzzle palace!”

  “You damn right I did, girl! You know what I’m looking at right now? A thousand yellow flags flying over Bob’s Big Time Used Cars on Victory Boulevard.”

  “You’re here? At Benning?”

  “Standing tall and proud, Captain Lannie Fulton Love is reporting for duty this very minute.”

  “I can’t believe it! They never let you out of the Pentagon before your assignment’s up. How’d you do it?”

  “I marched in there to the colonel and I told her, either you call my branch and tell them you’re letting me go, or I’m going to tell them about you and that bull dyke gallery owner you’re living with down in Alexandria Old Town.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “No, not really. Let’s just say the colonel and me came to an understanding.”

  “What’d you used to call her?”

  “Leslie Lipstick.”

  “That’s right. Well, nothing like a little backhanded blackmail to set the accounts straight, is what I always say.”

  “You know what, Kara? If those assholes up there on the E-Ring knew what was going on down in the lower corridors of power in that building, there’d be so many fucking heart attacks, they’d run out of beds at Walter Reade.”

  “Code Blue! Code Blue!”

  “Call the Crash Cart!”

  “Get the paddles!”

  “Clear! Whoooomp!”