Rich closed the office door, took three steps down the hallway, then stopped and smiled. The best defense, she said to herself, is a good offense. Let Major Val Macintyre worry about a discrimination complaint.
~*~
Corporal Ida Menendez sat at the staff duty desk, trying to concentrate on a correspondence course text. Rich stopped short, eyed her for a moment, then took two quick steps and knocked the manual from her hands.
“Pay attention to your damn duty, there, Taco, and less to your leisure reading.”
“But Sergeant...”
“At fucking ease. If I want any shit I’ll beat it out of you. Now get your greasy ass back to work.”
Fire in her eyes, Menendez stood.
“Assaulting a senior NCO is court martial material, Menendez.”
Their heads turned at the sound of Val’s door opening. Annette Rich sneered and walked out of the headquarters building, slamming the door behind her.
Headquarters building
Infernesk Munitions Depot
As he mopped the Headquarters’ hallway floor, Luka started to signal his innocence by whistling as he worked, but he caught himself as he pursed his lips. How would a deaf man know how to whistle? With mop and bucket in tow he slowly scooted down the hall, past the American sergeant sitting at the duty desk. In the three weeks since their new commander had arrived, the Americans had worked late into nights, so much so that for him to stay after them might arouse suspicion. But not tonight: their battle-axe commander was away until the morning. The American garrison relaxed.
Luka saw his chance.
For a few minutes, he swabbed the floor in front of the operations section office. Then the sergeant’s phone rang, and confident that the American at the duty desk was preoccupied, Luka slipped a skeleton key from his pocket and opened the door. He pulled the mop and bucket inside, quietly shut the door behind him, then moved quickly to the safe. For a moment he paused, remembering the combination he had seen the Americans dial so many times. With a too-loud click the safe opened. He rifled it quickly, finding the report so carefully compiled by witless girl officer. From inside his shirt, he took a miniature camera and attempted to focus it on the papers. But the light was too low, and to turn on a desk lamp would attract attention.
Outside, he heard the American sergeant hang up the phone and shift around at her desk. The papers and camera went hurriedly inside his shirt, the safe he slid closed, and quickly he crossed the office and rolled the mop bucket outside the door. Not a second too soon, for the duty NCO came thumping down the hall and noticed the janitor’s hand on the operations section office door knob.
“No, Luka. I know you want to clean in there, but not unescorted. Major’s orders. The Ops girls’ mess will have to wait until Monday morning.”
Luka only shrugged. When the sergeant finally turned away, he stepped back to relock the door.
Ten minutes later, Luka put the mop, bucket, and cleaning supplies away. To insure that no one was suspicious, he left the headquarters building by the front entrance, nodding to the duty NCO that the back entrance was locked. He held himself in check leaving the building. He moved slowly and painfully, as if bone-weary from a week’s worth of cleaning. Then Luka headed off post for his apartment in nearby Infernesk.
Luka spent only a few minutes in his apartment, then drove through the night.
Senior NCO Quarters
Infernesk Munitions Depot
Conditioned by over twenty years of rising well before the sun, Denight needed no clock. At 4:30 his eyes snapped open, his mind instantly alert. Out of a habit learned in the Asian jungles, he lay perfectly still for a few seconds, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Then he should have risen quickly, but on this cold, damp day, Denight lay quietly, listening not to the sounds around him, but to those inside.
There is not much time left. Prepare.
“Oh, cut the goddamned crap,” Denight said aloud.
He swung his legs out of the bed and sat up hard, yet even this small movement seemed to require an act of will, and Denight noticed. He snorted, tromped to the kitchenette, and turned on the burner under the blackened coffeepot. In the light of the burner’s blue flame he noticed that the pot’s metal base was thinning.
Damn thing’s about worn out, he thought; maybe I ought to get a new one. Nah, it’s good for a little while longer.
Just like you.
“That will be enough of that shit,” barked Denight, stabbing his finger at something invisible. “The boss man, err, boss lady, gave those yardbirds the day off and I still got more shit to get done.”
While the water boiled he shaved and found a sweatsuit, nodding to himself that a morning run followed by surprise pre-dawn inspection of the gate guards would be good for their discipline and for his morale. He glanced outside, noting that the slow rain even sounded cold.
Denight found his rain jacket and opened the door, turning to look back into his room. Time was, he remembered, when he’d smoke half a pack, eat a dozen slabs of bacon and three eggs, then go for a run. Now that was a long time ago. Different army. Different world.
He paused to spit into the brass spittoon by the door, then set off to enlighten the gate guards.
Single Officers’ Quarters
Infernesk Munitions Depot
Christine woke with an uneasy start, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to see through her room’s early morning dimness and to make sense of the chaos in her mind. Outside rain softly pattered against the bedroom window, trying to convince her to take advantage of the one day when she could sleep late. But the half-dream of an idea would not leave her. Numbers danced around in her head, too many to make sense of without a calculator. She tossed and turned for another forty minutes, trying to make the unsolved equation go away until Monday.
It was no use. She threw off the covers. She was preoccupied as she dressed and filled the electric coffeemaker. As the pot filled, her mind returned again and again to one thought.
We can’t get rid of them.
She had only sufficient patience to down half a cup of the hot liquid. She pulled on her rain jacket and set off for the headquarters building, knowing full well that the numbers her computer would generate would only confirm her intuition.
Along Highway 5
The road was smooth and straight, and with other drivers still at home enjoying their Sunday breakfasts, Val set the cruise control and let her mind wander back over the weekend. She and Wolfe had been in-country for a month, but all they could manage was one too-short day in the village of Lowenrow, a small town with a smaller hotel, and one too-short night, their bodies trying to make up for time apart in the village hotel’s lumpy bed. That was all the time the Army had let her and Wolfe steal for themselves.
She shook her head. She should have gotten out in ‘92, Val thought, when the Army was offering everybody big money to go, then at least she could have been near him.
Inside her head a voice talked back to her:
And would you be happy playing housewife? Forget that the Army calls spouses “family members”. How well do you like the word “dependent”?
I don’t. I’m not. Not on anybody. I can take care of myself.
You talk pretty tough, just like your boyfriend. Do you think he’s as afraid as you are?
Me? Afraid of what?
Of the unknown. Maybe you’re afraid of failing.
No way. Between Denight and I we’ll have this depot squared away in a week, ten days max.
How about the “C” word?
We’ve been over that. We have our careers.
Married to the Army, huh? He’d marry you in a heartbeat if you asked him.
It’s supposed to be the other way around.
Since when have you done things the way everybody else says you’re supposed to?
~*~
The tight turnoff to the two-lane road leading to Infernesk kept her from answering her own question. Her car slid easily arou
nd the hairpin exit ramp turn. Val looked up to see the Infernesk Heights in the distance, the range’s peaks shrouded in fog. On top of the peaks, the red lights of cellular phone and microwave relay towers blinked dully from behind the gray curtain. She downshifted to begin the long, slow climb towards the village and the pass, beginning to mentally change gears as the mountains in front of her grew larger.
For a day she and Wolfe had put their uniforms aside and reveled in just being together. For a day she had been pleased with window shopping and sipping deep, black Russian coffee. But as she made the last turn out of Infernesk village onto the darker, tree-lined road winding through the Infernesk forest toward the depot, Val slipped back into commander mode, her thoughts focusing and compressing just as the forest did around her.
The transformation was complete as she emerged from the forest. For two hundred meters in front of the depot’s fence the trees had been cleared away. Val slowed to the obligatory ten miles per hour, then came to a halt at the main gate checkpoint. Through the light rain she could make out a sign on the gate guard’s building.
Infernesk Munitions Depot
US Government Property
Major Valerie Macintyre
Commander
Val smiled. Denight’s volunteers had worked on more than just rehabbing the rifle range. A guard appeared at her window and saluted.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” said the young woman in battle dress.
“Good morning.” Val returned the salute. “You can open up and let me through now.”
“But I need your ID card first, Ma’am.”
“Soldier, I command this depot.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Your ID card please, Ma’am.”
“I give the orders around here, now open the damn gate!”
A great gulf of rank separates private first class and major, but the soldier with the Pfc. Stripe and rocker insignia on her collar and a cold rain dripping off her helmet and down her back shared her commander’s short temper.
“Ma’am, you sure as hell do give the orders, and one of them was that nobody, not even you, gets through without an ID card check. I am authorized to ask for identification three times before I notify my superior. Therefore, for the last time, Ma’am, your ID card please.”
Val pulled the green plastic card from her purse. The guard checked it quickly, then walked to the checkpoint. She was back in less than a minute. “You can proceed now, Ma’am.” The gates slowly slid open.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Phillips, Ma’am. Pfc. Susan Phillips,” the young woman said, her voice empty of its previous bluster.
“Phillips, to stand up to a bitch like me it takes cast-iron ovaries. You got a set. Keep it up.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
The privates have potential, thought Val as she drove slowly into the parking lot. We’ll have to see how well the leaders do.
Headquarters building
Infernesk Munitions Depot
Val was no more than two steps in the door when the SDNCO rose and roared “Attennnn-shun!” so loudly it stopped her in her tracks. From her office came the sounds of something crashing to the floor. Val shuddered.
“At ease, sergeant.” She turned toward her office down the hallway. “Now what the hell was that?”
“Did you have a good trip, Ma’am?” asked the sergeant nervously.
“Yes, I had a good trip. Now what was that in my office?”
“Probably just the wind, Ma’am,” said the NCO. Her gaze fell quickly to the desk. She grabbed a sheaf of papers and put herself between Val and the hall to the commander’s office. “Would you care to inspect the duty log, Ma’am?”
“No, not yet.” Val stepped to the left to go around the sergeant, but the duty NCO backpedaled to stay in front of her.
“Ma’am, there is also a series of test messages from Corps Support Command that you should take a look at.”
“There’s no wind, and I don’t need to look at routine messages!” She shifted right, but again the NCO sidestepped to stay in her way.
“Would you like some coffee, Ma’am? If you wait right here, I’ll get the runner to go to the mess hall.”
“I would like for you to get out of my way so I can see what’s going on down there! Now move!
The NCO lowered her eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Val covered the distance to her office in a few quick strides and jerked the door open. Inside, Christine was standing in front of Val’s desk, doing her best to look nonchalant, and failing miserably.
“Hello, Ma’am. Did you have a good trip?”
“Why in hell is everyone so concerned about my trip, and what in hell are you doing in my office?” Val’s eyes ran over the room. One file drawer was ajar, a folder sticking out. The stack of papers in her in-box had obviously been pawed through, then hastily, but not neatly enough, replaced. She could see that one desk drawer wasn’t fully closed.
“Tampier?”
“Uhm, Ma’am, I was, ah, looking for something.”
Val’s mouth opened as her right hand came up, her first two fingers extended like a gun as she drew a bead on Christine. Yet Val stopped in mid-motion, her mouth still formed to blast the lieutenant in place, even as she watched Christine brace for the anticipated ass-chewing. No lieutenant in her right mind would come into work on a Sunday morning and rummage through her CO’s desk, she realized, unless she was up to no good or incredibly loyal and thought she was keeping her boss out of trouble. And how did she get in here? How did she get my desk open? I locked it Friday, I’m sure of it. She closed her mouth.
“Is something wrong, Tampier?”
Christine shook.
There’s a battle going on inside her, Val realized. She knows something but doesn’t want to tell me because she doesn’t know how I’ll react. Val turned her head. The duty NCO stood immediately behind her.
“Sergeant,” Val said quietly, “you can get that coffee now.” She turned to look back at Christine. “How do you take your coffee, Tampier?”
“Coffee, Ma’am?” asked a flustered Christine.
“Yes, Lieutenant, coffee. What do you want in it?”
“Uhm, lots of cream and two sugars, please.”
“You got that, Sergeant? Extra light with two sugars for the lieutenant, straight black for me.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll send the runner.” Val waited until the sound of the sergeant’s footsteps faded, then closed the door. She pulled her chair around to the front of her desk and sat.
“Pull up a chair and sit down, lieutenant,” said Val as she motioned to where Christine should put the chair. For a few seconds the confused young woman just stood, then she found a seat and plopped into it, sitting at the equivalent of the position of attention.
She’s scared shitless, and of more than just me.
“Christine,” Val’s voice was just above a whisper, “what caused you to rifle my office?”
“I…I told you, Ma’am. I was looking for something—some papers.”
“What papers?”
Val could see it in Christine’s glassy eyes. Something’s going on behind the wall the kid’s got up—she’s replaying something.
“Don’t worry about whatever happened before, tell me what you were looking for, here, today.”
Christine jerked her head, astonished that her commander would know that something had gone on previously.
“The report I printed on the munitions, Ma’am.” Her words came quickly, tumbling one over the other. “I woke up thinking about how we couldn’t get rid of them, couldn’t destroy them, didn’t have enough thermite grenade kits, or even if we did was the square footage of the depot sufficient to protect us from leakage and fallout—you can compute it based on known data—and when I opened the Ops safe to get the disk, the paper report was gone. So I came in here to look for it.”
Val sat back, suspicious. “That report is classified top secret, I saw you put the stamp on it yourself. Wh
y would I keep classified documents in my desk?”
Christine hung her head. “Major McRyen did, Ma’am. Lots of times. If ever anything wasn’t in the safe, I just looked for it in here. Usually, it was in his out-box or his desk drawers. Sometimes he’d photocopy things and put them in his files—said he liked having information at his fingertips.”
“Didn’t the CENTCOM security spot checks ever catch him?”
“Ma’am, we always knew when they were coming. They had a schedule.”
“So you’ve done this before? You went through the commander’s things to keep him out of trouble? How did you get a key?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Christine, still staring at the floor. “He gave me one.”
Val sat back, pursed her lips, and exhaled slowly. Given what the lieutenant had said, it was likely that every piece of information—classified or not—that the depot contained was compromised. Amounts and types of ammunition, frequencies, codewords, everything. Thank God we’re not at war. This will go all the way up to Ambrose, she thought, and he won’t like it one bit. She shook her head, then looked up at Christine.
“You knew what Major McRyen did was wrong, Tampier. Why didn’t you report it?”
Christine just shrugged her shoulders, but Val’s experience told her that something else was at work.
“What hold did he have over you?”
Her head shot up, eyes wet and red with shame, then she once again stared at the floor.
“Tell me,” said Val, though she already knew.
The young woman’s head drop a fraction of an inch lower in shame and despair, then came the tears, followed by the shrug of resignation. Finally her head came up, the face cold, flat, and emotionless.
“Major McRyen called me to his office one evening. He showed me a classified document that he said someone in my section had left unsecure. He said I was responsible. He said that such a lack of discipline and professionalism was inexcusable, that my career was over, that I’d be offered a chance to resign—in disgrace, of course—unless…”
The Best Defense Page 12
