Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Uproarious laughter.

  “Do you know what job you’re getting here, Lannie?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea. You know the base closure commission?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to be Fort Benning’s liaison to the commission.”

  “Hey, that’s not bad. Loads of TDY. Nobody looking over your shoulder. Who do you report to?”

  “Some guy name of Roberts. Chief of staff at Third Army.”

  “I know him. He’s not so bad. You might even like him.” She paused a moment. “Where are you going to be staying? I’ve got a nice big sofa . . .”

  “They’re putting me up at the Ramada Suites off post till I get settled in.”

  “Hey, rolling out the red carpet, huh?”

  “Demand the best, you get the best. And you know my rules: Only the very, very best for Lannie Fulton Love. Hey, passing through the post gates right now. Welcome to Fort Benning, Home of the Infantry. Yes, indeedy. Glad to be here. You know who’s stationed here, Kara? Randy Taylor.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “He transferred into my company firstie year. You were long gone by then. He’s a doll.”

  “Jeez, I can’t believe it’s been, like, almost fifteen years since I had you in my Beast Barracks squad.”

  “Best damn plebe ever put on Caydette Gray, am I right? Ooop. I’m pulling into Headquarters parking.”

  “Give me a call when you get settled in. Come over and we’ll whip up one of our famous pastas.”

  “Take you up on it tomorrow. See you.”

  Click.

  The cats were perched expectantly atop the counter as Kara skipped over to the CD player and hit the Repeat button. She grabbed a couple of cans of cat food from the cupboard.

  “You hear that, rats? Lannie’s coming to town!”

  She was spooning food into their bowls when she heard a knock at the door. She looked out. There was a young officer standing on the porch. She opened the door. He was a second lieutenant, tall, good-looking. He took off his cap.

  “Ma’am, my name is Lieutenant Barry Parks. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  Oh, my God. Mace’s platoon leader! Something’s happened to him!

  “Come in.” She showed him to the kitchen and stood there waiting, trying not to show him how nervous she was.

  “Sergeant Nukanen gave me your name. He said you’d given him a ride onto the post that night, and it was you and the sarge who found Sheila Worthy’s body.”

  She relaxed. “Sit down, Lieutenant. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m okay.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Nukanen and I found the body. It’s terrible what happened. Very sad. Were you a friend of hers?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We were classmates in college. We were . . . close. Very close.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Lieutenant.”

  “Ma’am, Sergeant Nukanen told me you’re a JAG officer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you know the officer in charge of the investigation?”

  “That’s right. Major Hollaway.”

  “Ma’am, somebody killed her, and you’ve got to find out who did it. You’ve got to. She was . . .” He broke down, sobbing. When he had recovered, he said: “She was everything to me. Everything.”

  “Was she your girlfriend, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, ma’am. In college she was, anyway.”

  “But not any longer.”

  “No, ma’am. I asked her to go to the club with me for dinner, but she turned me down. She had another date.”

  “And you’re thinking . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am. If only she’d gone with me, she’d still be alive.”

  “But the decision was hers, not yours, Lieutenant. You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

  “I keep thinking, if things had happened differently, if we’d gotten married, like we talked about . . .”

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Lieutenant.”

  “Ma’am, if there’s anything I can do to help . . .”

  “I’m not even part of the investigation, Lieutenant. But I’ll tell Major Hollaway what you said.”

  He wiped a tear from his eye and looked up at Kara. “She was very, very special, ma’am. She came from an Army family. The Army was her life. I just know she was going to have a wonderful career . . . with me or without me.”

  “Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant? Her roommate told Major Hollaway and me that she had been seeing someone for quite some time. Do you know who he was?”

  “No, ma’am. We didn’t talk about . . . anybody else.” He stood up to leave. “Ma’am, if there’s anything I can do . . .”

  “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant Parks.”

  She walked him to the door, and he stepped out into the cold.

  So Sheila Worthy’d had more than one man in her life. A beautiful young lieutenant on a post full of hungry men . . . it was obvious she had raised some temperatures around Fort Benning. She had raised one of them high enough to get killed.

  Chapter Five

  The flight north out of Atlanta stopped in Raleigh-Durham and Richmond before it made a steep left turn over Mount Vernon and started its downwind leg. There, out the right window of the plane, was the dome of the Capitol, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the twinkling lights of the nation’s capital just beyond. The plane made a steep turn onto the final approach.

  Back in coach, one of the passengers unbuckled his seat belt and slipped up a couple of seats and across the aisle, looking out the window as the plane passed over Georgetown and passed directly above the Potomac. The woman in the window seat turned around. She was wearing a tasteful blue suit and a single strand of pearls. She glanced quickly at his ring finger.

  Bare.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she ventured.

  He smiled. “This flight stops twice, but I don’t mind. The view is worth it coming into National.”

  “I’m Helen Young.”

  “Randy Taylor.”

  She looked at the ribbons above his left breast pocket on his military uniform, at the insignia on his epaulets. “Going home to visit relatives, Captain?”

  “I’d have to fly the other way to see them. My folks live out in San Francisco.”

  “Army business, then.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Are you traveling space available?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty easy to get a seat on one of these puddle jumpers.”

  The plane’s wheels screeched as it touched down. She handed him her business card.

  “I’m a travel agent. We have a little office just off Dupont Circle. We do quite a bit of military business. Feel free to give me a call anytime you need a ticket.”

  “Thanks.”

  The plane jerked to a stop. Grabbing their carry-ons, everyone crowded into the aisle, moving slowly to the front of the plane. Someone jostled her, and she bumped into him, her breasts pressing firmly against his back. Her shoulder bag fell to the floor. “Sorry.”

  He turned and picked up her bag, grinning. “That’s what we get for sitting in the back.”

  She smiled shyly. “Do you, uh, need a ride? I’ve got my car. I’m going straight downtown.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not going in that direction. I’m being met, anyway.”

  Disappointed: “Oh.”

  He smiled warmly. “Thanks for the offer, though.” They reached the plane door, headed through the jet-way. Just inside the terminal he put his carry-on down and pulled on his overcoat. She walked up.

  “Listen. I meant it . . . about calling the office. I’ve been in the Washington travel market for seven years. I know the best flights if you’re going space-A.”

  “Thanks. I will.” He picked up his carry-on and walked toward the door marked TAXIS-BUSES-GROUND TRANSPORTATION and stepped into the open door of a taxi. The driver glanced over his shoulde
r.

  “Where to, sir?”

  Intricately carved pumpkins were perched on every stoop of the narrow Georgetown street as Randy stepped out of a cab and watched its taillights disappear around the corner. He headed back the way they had come. He found P Street and turned left, walked another block, and turned right on a dead-end alley. He counted the gracious old brick town houses as he passed them . . . one, two, three . . .

  He stopped under a short awning. There was a small brass plaque on the door reading LEXINGTON CLUB. He looked around. A taxi pulled into view at the end of the alley, and a man got out, paid the driver, and walked toward him. As he neared the awning, he extended his hand. He was a trim figure with cropped hair and an engaging smile.

  “Randy.”

  “Ed, good to see you.”

  “I see you found it.”

  “No problem. The directions you gave were excellent.”

  “Come on. They’re waiting.”

  He knocked on the unmarked door. A metal window slid open.

  “Edwin Teese and Randolph Taylor.”

  The door opened and they went inside. The foyer was double-height, with a black and white tile floor, and the rooms just beyond paneled in mahogany. Leather armchairs abounded, and waiters in white jackets and black trousers floated through the rooms carrying silver trays. One of them stopped.

  “Sir?”

  “Martinis. Bombay. Two of them. Shaken, not stirred.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Randy laughed. “You learned that from 007, I guess.”

  “No, from my father.”

  Randy took his hand and squeezed tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

  The older man looked into his eyes. “Me too.”

  They wandered into the next room. A clutch of older men stood around the fireplace. Several men wearing cardigans were sitting in leather armchairs, reading newspapers.

  “How’d you find this place?”

  “Believe me, they call you, you don’t call them.”

  Randy looked at the painting hanging over the fire-place. “Did you see that? It’s a Klee.”

  “There’s a Mondrian in the dining room.”

  They walked through an arched doorway into another parlor.

  Ed pointed across the room. “You recognize the senator, don’t you?” A distinguished gentleman with dark hair was holding court in the corner, surrounded by several other men. He was wearing a velvet smoking jacket and forest green slippers with a gold crest on the toe.

  “He’s that right-winger from Mississippi.”

  “He may lean to the right on the floor of the Senate and at barbecues back home, but I’ll guarantee you his left wing will get some exercise here tonight.”

  Randy laughed as Ed nodded at another man. “I see our Supreme Court justice is in attendance tonight.”

  As they passed, Randy caught a snatch of his conversation.

  “. . . I told him I didn’t care what the judge in Haley versus Felker held, I fail to see how the state of Utah has a corner on the morals market!”

  The man he was talking to laughed loudly.

  They stopped as two men dressed in conservative pinstripe suits approached them. They were in their late fifties and smiled when they saw them.

  The older of the two men shook hands. “Edwin. How are things over in Procurement?”

  “Great. We’re working on a new generation of anti-artillery radar for use in units down to platoon strength. How are things on the E-Ring, Jack? Is General Carson keeping you busy?”

  “The damn flights coming into National are about to rattle the pictures off the wall, but other than that, fine.”

  Ed turned to Randy. “Jack Ranstead, I’d like you to meet Randy Taylor. He’s the man I was telling you about.”

  They shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Randy.”

  Ed turned to the other man. “This is Terry Samuels. Jack’s got three stars. He’s the deputy chief of staff for Operations and Plans. Terry retired with two. He’s over on Capitol Hill these days, working on Senator Mal-dray’s staff as his Defense liaison.”

  “Glad to meet you, sir.”

  “Terry used to work for your boss,” said Ed.

  “You knew General Beckwith, sir?”

  Terry Samuels was a heavy-set man with deep furrows in his brow. He looked Randy over.

  “Did Ed tell you why he brought you here tonight?”

  Randy glanced at Ed before he spoke. “He told me about the club. He didn’t describe its membership. I must say I’m impressed.”

  Ed spoke up. “I wanted to wait until we got here.” He turned to Randy. “Jack and Terry want to talk with you about your job.”

  “My job?”

  General Ranstead stopped a waiter, whispered his order. The waiter left. “You’ve heard that Beckwith is on the short list for chief.”

  “I guess everybody has by now. It’s been in the papers. We’ve got media people making requests for interviews almost daily.”

  “We want to stop him.”

  There was a long silence as Randy looked blankly at the two men across from him. He turned to Ed, a note of panic in his voice. “What are they talking about?”

  Ed touched Randy’s arm. “This is very important, and I think you’ll understand once you’ve heard them out.”

  General Ranstead led them to a sitting area in the corner of the room, and they pulled chairs close together and sat down.

  “Beckwith is a dangerous man, Randy. If he gets to be chief, everybody’s going to suffer. Including you.”

  Terry Samuels leaned closer. “You read that shit he wrote on the op-ed page of the Times, didn’t you?”

  “His piece on don’t ask, don’t tell?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I read it. I thought it took some guts.”

  General Ranstead’s face turned red. “Guts? Who are you kidding, Captain? You don’t think he was kissing ass, trying to wring whatever advantage he could from that so-called compromise? I’ve never seen such a naked, lily-livered performance in my life.”

  “I don’t think you understand General Beckwith, sir. That wasn’t his intent at all.”

  “Oh, I think it was,” said General Ranstead. “What do you think you’re doing here, son?”

  “I told you. Ed said—”

  “You’re here because you’re one of us, Captain. Look around you. This club is nothing but a high-class gay bar. There’s more power in these few rooms than you could gather for a mom and apple pie rally on the Fourth of July on the lawn of the White House. And every last man you see is homosexual. You see those two men over there?”

  He pointed across the room.

  “The tall one is a congressman from Utah. The other one is on the National Security Council.”

  He turned around.

  “No doubt you recognize the famous radio talk-show hostess with the mostess. He’s talking to the president of a company with over twenty billion dollars in defense contracts. You know what they’ve got in common? They’re both so deep in the closet, you could use their noses for tie racks. You know why? Because men like Beckwith want to keep them in the closet. Let me ask you something, Randy. Have you told Beckwith you’re gay?”

  Randy glanced nervously over at Ed.

  “Of course not.”

  “What would happen to you if you did?”

  Terry Samuels sat back in his chair and pulled out a cigar. “I’ll answer that for you. He would court-martial you. That’s what he did to Jimmy Prentiss. You heard about Jimmy? No, probably not. He was before your time. Look him up sometime in the Register of Graduates, USMA. He was on his way to the War College on the five percent list when he ran into Beckwith, who wasn’t on the list but wanted to be. Beckwith got on the list, all right. He went to the War College, and Jimmy ended up in Leavenworth. He committed suicide there at the Disciplinary Barracks. Beckwith put the rope around his neck when he turned him in for being gay and filed court-martial charges against him.”
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  “Jesus. I had no idea.”

  Terry Samuels finished lighting his cigar with a puff of smoke.

  “Beckwith tried to get Jimmy to give up his lover. He told Jimmy if he turned him in, they’d drop the charges, but Jimmy sat there, and he looked at Beckwith and he told him to go fuck himself. That’s why he ended up behind bars at Leavenworth. You know who his lover was, son?” He paused, looking across the room, exhaling a long puff of smoke. Without turning to face Randy he said: “Me.”

  Ed scooted his chair closer to Randy and dropped his voice. “Randy, you know how important this is. Beck-with doesn’t know this place exists. He has no more of an inkling that these generals and congressmen and judges and corporate presidents are gay than he does about you. But imagine what would happen if he did.”

  Randy paused for a long moment. Finally he said, “I’d feel like I was betraying a trust.”

  General Ranstead chuckled. “You want to talk about trust? Beckwith would sell your ass to those dogs in the Civil Investigative Division in a split second if it served his purposes. And you know it.”

  Randy looked at Ed, then his gaze drifted to the two men who sat across from him.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We want to know everything you know about Beck-with. We want to know where he goes, who he talks to. That’s the sum total of it. You keep us informed, and we’ll do the rest.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Terry Samuels exhaled another dense puff of smoke. “You sure can. Anything you want.”

  “Are you lovers?”

  Terry Samuels looked over at the general. “I think you’d better answer that one, Jack.”

  General Ranstead leveled his gaze at the younger man. “Let me ask you something, son. How long have you and Ed been together?”

  Randy glanced over at his lover. “Going on two years, sir.”

  “It’ll be ten years for us next Friday.” General Ranstead took Terry Samuels’ hand. “The best years of my life.”

  Ed unlocked the door to his Arlington apartment and flipped on the light. Dedicated foraging in West Virginia junk and antique shops had transformed a high-rise apartment into an Empire–style Victorian manor house. There were Persian carpets, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Washington had been trimmed in forest green velvet. He pulled the heavy drapes open and sank into an overstuffed chair. Randy stood behind him, gently massaging his neck muscles.