They clapped and whistled and cheered.
“Barkeep! Barkeep!” the major bellowed, mangling Homer: “Line ‘em up! I want to go down to the she in sips! Ladies,” he said turning, “will you grace us by telling us your names, nicknames, aliases, any old monicker will do for a love-starved old pirate crew like us.”
“Maxie.” “Victoria.”
“Ahah!” he bellowed. “Max ‘n Vic. A shopping center for our hearts. Gentlemen, we take our hearts in hand like shopping carts and wheel them hungrily from the rutabagas to the antofagasta oysters, hoping for a dram of such sweet liquore as resides in these noble vessels, these Falernian bottles, these Amontilladan casks!”
Tory estimated later that she laughed nonstop for two hours. Or was it three? She didn’t drink much, but it didn’t take much. Maxie got pretty looped, but she always had a hard inner core of self-control. Singing loudly a number of marching songs, from “Far Away” to “See the lady in red, she makes a living in her bed,” the men carried Max ‘n Vic on their shoulders. “Home, home, sweet soldiers, ‘tis the dawn light calls to mine forsaken heart!” bellowed Major Karst or was it Kurst.
“Let us cast lots for their delicate hands,” ventured an understudy thespian.
“No, no,” shouted Tory, still laughing, “our car will do nicely.” Her anxiety was moot, however, for at that moment up pulled the long prisoner van of Company A, 194th MP Battalion. Six armed men in olive green, with white hats and night sticks, stepped out. Another carload arrived behind them. A sergeant said: “Gentlemen, you have just awakened the wives of all senior officers on post.”
Tory covered her face with her scarf.
“My good man,” Major Kirst said.
The NCO held up a hand. “Gentlemen, I can offer you choice--a ride home, or a ride to the station. Anyone who wants to go home, please board now.”
“Ah, ‘tis a ruin upon fair Ithaca’s face,” grumbled Major Kerst, but he meekly joined his fellows in climbing in. Max ‘n Vic waved goodbye as the van tooled away. The other police car screeched away, and the place grew quiet. Maxie staggered to a bush for an alcohol-barf, the kind that made bits of pizza come out your ears. Tory helped her to the car.
Tory drove. She and Maxie grew increasingly quiet on the way back to Washington. The car’s powerful engine purred hypnotically, and Tory cracked a window to get the cool night air. She didn’t look at Maxie much. Smelling cigarette smoke, she assumed that Maxie was quietly indulging in her nasty habit. “I did have a great time after all,” Tory said after a while. Then she looked over and saw that Maxie’s face was covered with tears. “Maxie! What on earth!”
“Oh Tory,” Maxie said, “I feel terrible.”
“What? You gotta throw up again?”
“I’m such a total failure.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am, I am, I am. Ohhhhh!” She bawled loudly for a minute or two. Then she spoke lucidly, with only an occasional sob. “I don’t have a decent man in my life, and I never will. You’ll fall in love with David Gordon, I know you will. He’s such a nice man, he’ll love you madly. I’ll never have anything like that. Just stupid guys who drink and tell jokes and wind up in the pokey, like that dumb major back there. Or Van Meeuwen, that bastard--don’t think I’m kidding myself for a minute.”
“Then why do you waste time with guys like Van Meeuwen?”
“I dunno. I have to, I guess. I’m an only child and my parents’ only hope in life. I’m a rich girl and I hate it, Tory. They trained me so well, sent me to all those stupid schools, and I can charm Lincoln off a penny, but what good is it, I’m so empty inside!”
“Maxie, where is this all coming from? You’re a wonderful nurse. You help people and save lives every day. Look at how David brought you flowers and all. People really do love you, Maxie, not your money or your smile. You are a great person.”
“Thank you.” Maxie was silent for a while. She lit another cigarette and stared out the window at the passing night lights with tear-stained face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to spoil your night.” She blew her nose. “Actually, sometimes I don’t want to be a nice person or a great person. I just want to be me, but I don’t know who that is underneath the charming hostess and all. I could have had a thing with David, maybe, but I couldn’t let myself. I’m ashamed to say. It’s got to be a doctor or a judge or a senator. Lotta money. That’s what my folks beat and pressed and nagged into me. Try growing up with my mother! Not to mention my father.” She blew her nose again. “That’s why I’m going airborne. I’m going to show them.” She put out her cigarette.
Tory said gently: “You’re going to show yourself. That’s all that counts.” It became quiet in the car. The long monotonous miles ticked away and Maxie slept soundly, slumped against the window.
Chapter 12
As David drove to work in the morning, he listened to radio news. CON2 was dominating the news as always these days. What did the Procedures people think they were doing? He hoped they would not cave in to extremists. He parked in the I.G. office’s quiet neighborhood and walked along the narrow, tree-shaded street of redstone houses. Puddles littered the sidewalk, but the sun was out.
Colonel Jankowsky called David into his office and shut the door. “Wow,” Jankowsky said, “both these cases have blown up on you, huh?”
“I didn’t know being an I.G. officer would be this hard.”
“I just wanted you to know that we believe Shoob was in fact abducted. I want you not to discuss the case with anyone, even our chain of command, unless I know about it first, okay?”
“Yessir. What about his XO?”
“The officer who referred him?”
“She’s concerned about him.”
“Keep in touch with her. She knows he’s been abducted?”
“I called her last night.”
“Damn. Okay, I probably would have done the same. Tell her to keep her mouth shut too, okay? Our office will investigate, along with the Provost Marshal and C.I.C.”
David walked down the hall to his small corner office.
His lapel com buzzed, and he answered. It was Tory. “David, Ib never came home last night. His wife is frantic.”
“Oh Jeez. I’m sorry. I should have gone to the police.”
“You didn’t have enough to go on. I just called the civilian police, and they’ll work with the JAG office at the Composite to look for him.”
“So are we optimistic?”
She paused. “At this point--it’s anybody’s guess. A little part of me still wonders if he was losing his mind and maybe he’s just wandering around in a daze somewhere.”
“That would be the easy way for this to be resolved. Will you still be free for lunch?”
“I’ll call you around eleven.”
David went down the hall to speak with Colonel Jankowsky.
Jankowsky looked anxious, rubbing himself on the head. “Sit down. Close the door. I want you to write up a report and submit it to me, recommending a hold on our case until the police investigation is resolved. Meaning, until Shoob shows up, one way or the other, and C.I.D. finishes their investigation. There is really nothing we can do while it’s a police investigation.”
“Okay.”
“Now, the Corcoran matter. I just found out that the local authorities here in Washington have declined to charge Corcoran’s assailant. Also, JAG has waived the right to void extradition. The case is changing jurisdiction to Fort Hood, Texas, where the accused is being held.”
“That’s odd, Sir. I thought we were going to press them.”
“Nobody is pressing anyone. Everything here is strange. I’d have thought Composite Force would throw the book at this guy--either from Bellamy over at the Atlantic, or someone on the Rock Creek side. It’s politics all the way. There’s been no push on from General Norcross at the Pentagon. General Montclair at the Atlantic evidently wants this blemish out of town, and I can’t argue with his logic. They’ll try this goon at Fort Hood. So
wrap up your report, let me have it so I can sign it, I’ll forward it on to Fort Hood, and we move on to other things. It just shows how fouled up the whole chain of command is these days.”
“Yessir. I’ll have that report on your desk this morning.”
David hurried to finish draft reports on both the Shoob and Corcoran cases. Tory called at 11. There was no change--no sign of Shoob. After dropping the folders in Jankowsky’s in-box, he stepped out of the brownstone, onto the sidewalk, and waited for Tory.
It was a bright, sunny day, almost a false Spring. People scurried here and there with a lightness of step, and the tree crowns were bright. Right on schedule, a lovely, sleek dark green Jaguar purred to a halt. A slender hand pushed the door open, and he heard her voice sing: “Hi! Hop in!”
David eased himself in and pulled the door shut.
Tory said: “Were you scared last night?”
He remembered the fog. “Maybe not scared. It was spooky.”
Someone honked behind them, and she shifted gears. “Is soup and a sandwich okay with you?”
“Sure. I'll buy.”
“No need. I can take care of myself.” She was a quick, sure driver. The car exuded an atmosphere of her: clean, smelling of buffed leather and some cleaning agent that had a faint bouquet not unlike bubble gum. David enjoyed her ambiance around him. In various nooks sat a racquet, two paperbacks, a folded blanket; a chocolate colored stuffed female teddy bear with a red bow in her hair and a blue-and-white checked dress; a police whistle on a white lanyard whose loose end seemed to be looking for a holster.
“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Tory said.
“Well, I guess here’s where I say it’s all part of my job.”
“I’m buying you lunch.”
“Not necessary either. But I must be scoring points.”
“You certainly do keep your sense of humor.”
“And you?”
“I try, but I’m too worried about Ib. Tell me everything that happened.” He told her. She drew a deep breath. “I hope he’ll give them what they want.”
“The list?”
“The damned list. The documents, whatever they are. Yes.”
David didn’t answer. He had a feeling Ibrahim Shoob wouldn’t give them a thing. And he was afraid to think what they would do to Ib. “Tory.” How nice that name sounded. “There are a lot of people working hard to get him back in one piece.”
“You’re right. C’mon, I’m starved.” They drove past Composite Force’s encampment in Rock Creek Park near 16th St. and Arkansas Ave. On what was normally a picnic lawn were several large, sprawling tents in a mix of camouflage styles from earth tone desert to mossy green forest colors. Arrayed in hypnotic multitude beyond were countless smaller tents. David imagined Civil War troops had probably bivouacked there about 150 years earlier. Tired looking Army Reserve MP’s directed traffic. “Poor guys,” Tory said, “I wonder if they’re getting their baths and laundry services. And their mail.”
He nodded. “Somehow, the Army always manages to come through. It’s not pleasant, nor unpleasant, it’s just the Army way. You’re a nurturer like Maxie.”
“Just a dedicated XO” She parked near Sheridan Circle and they walked to a fancy diner on 22nd Street. He and Tory Breen were just two of thousands in uniform in Washington these days. She looked slender and efficient in her fatigue uniform with jump boots and women’s garrison cap. David continued to notice new things about her--the copper glow in dark brown hair pinned up under her cap; the tiny space between her upper front teeth; the dark, serious something in her eyes that could change to a sparkle of laughter. As they sat at the busy lunch counter--she eating a salad, he soup and half a sandwich--he noticed the peach fuzz on her beautifully shaped cheekbones, the way she had of crinkling her lips in a wry smile.
“I wish I’d taken Ib a bit more seriously,” David said.
“Maybe he’s back already,” Tory said with a bright look of hope beyond hope. She commed her office. “Jet? This is Lieutenant Breen. Any sign of Ib?” Her face fell as she listened to the other person’s reply. “Nothing yet,” Tory said. “David, it’s fine to wait for the cops and all. I feel frustrated and helpless. Maybe it’s the M.P. officer in me. I want to do something.”
“Tory, if you’d like, I’ll help you look for Shoob.”
“That’s good of you.” She sniffled, wiped her nose with a paper napkin. “Would you do something for me? Meet me outside my office after work? Please?”
“Sure.”
“We’ve hardly met, and already I’m asking you for--”
“It’s okay, honest.”
“Thank you, David.” She picked up her car keys and rose. “Come on, I have to drive you back to work.” She gave him that hurt, haunted look that he’d seen once before. What was it with this woman? And why did he find himself drawn to her? There was definitely some emotional cauldron under that beautiful face. Could there be two Kristys in the world, and could he have met both of them?
She dabbed her eyes when they were in the car, and she was in charge and driving. “Sorry, David.”
“It’s okay. Listen, here’s what I suggest. After work, we’ll hit a few spots. It may not accomplish much, but it’ll make you feel better.”
“Good idea. I’ll call Hala and ask where his haunts are. Who knows, we might hit it just right and learn something helpful.”
“I’ll make dinner this evening, and I’d like you to come.”
She smiled at him gratefully and sadly.
“I’m serious. Just a simple pasta dish. You’ll see. I make a pretty good chicken cacciatore. Makes me feel better when I’m down.”
They drove in silence, and he wondered if he’d said too much. He didn’t want to push things, though he was cautiously interested in her.
She pulled up in the alley behind the 915th, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and planted a dry, warm kiss on his cheek.
He sat in stunned silence. His anxiety disappeared, replaced by the balmy knowledge that she liked him.
She pushed his shoulder gently. “Go on. I’ll see you this evening.”
He stepped out, walking on air, remembering for the first time since the early days with Kristy what this feeling was like. Scary, intoxicating ... oh come on, he told himself, I’ve just been high and dry for too long. The glow in her eyes, during just a briefly flickering glance, and her faint mysterious smile, told him she really liked him. Then she gave him another brief glance, and it was that haunted look again.
He watched her drive away. The Jaguar slid away in sure, quick strokes amid the confused traffic of a capital in the throes of a revolution. David also felt a little disturbance going on in his heart. Nothing revolutionary just yet. Just a little corner riot or two. One or two squad cars from the Emotion Patrol. Nothing to lose sleep over. Yet.
ALLISON: We’re speaking with Delegate Joe Reynolds, MCP--Ohio. Mr. Reynolds, as a member of the Middle Class Party, you promised to abide by the agenda of ten amendments. Today you swore to add an eleventh if the amendment limit goes away, either by Procedures Committee or by all-out floor rebellion. Why?
REYNOLDS: I was appalled this week reading a leftist position paper suggesting that “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance should be changed to “under gods” or else deleted so atheists and other kooks won’t be offended. Over my dead body, pal. It’s one God, not two, not fifty, not zero, and He belongs in our Constitution. My amendment will enshrine the present wording in the Constitution, and drive home the point that this is a Christian nation, not an atheist one. It will eliminate any separation of church and state.
Chapter 13
Colonel Jankowsky was waiting when David returned from lunch. As David shut the ornate wooden building door, Jankowsky stepped into the hall and said: “You remember our friend the violent private? IQ of 70, emotional age in the Terrible Twos, long rap sheet before he decided to join the Army?”
“Sir, you’re a little bit ahead of
me.” They walked together to David’s office.
“They found him dangling from his belt in the stockade at Fort Hood.”
“Pardon me?” The picture did not make any sense. David knew the suspect’s kind were generally self-loving, emotionally shallow individuals who always blamed their crimes on other people.
Jankowsky slapped faxes down on David’s desk. “Charges were never actually filed. Mary Corcoran has had an emotional breakdown. She’ll be discharged from the Service, 100% disabled.”
“A damn shame, Sir.”
“He’ll never bother her again.”
“Just in a thousand nightmares.”
“The case is a wrap, David. I have your report, and we’ve got to put it behind us.”
“Sorry, Sir. It just seems so pat. And it’s odd, this guy wasting himself.”
“I was thinking that too.”
“No word on Shoob, Sir?”
“Nothing.” Jankowsky paused. “We need to talk.” He closed the door. David, feeling alarmed, sat down at his desk. Jankowsky leaned against the wall by the window. Oddly, he lowered the venetian blinds, and stood toying with the cords. “I’m going to level with you, David.”
“Okay, Sir.” Good God, what have I done? What is he going to say?
“David, we were talking earlier, and we’ve said several times that nothing here is what it seems.”
“Yes?”
“I ran a security check on you. Pushed it through, top priority.”
“Yes?”
“You now have a Maximum Secret clearance. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“It means you could, if necessary, start working for the Secret Service this afternoon. It’s the same as a Presidential clearance.”
David was relieved and stunned.
“This means, David, that if you violate the terms of your clearance, it’s not just a misdemeanor or a federal crime. If you accept this clearance, and if you betray our trust, you will be guilty of high treason. I’m giving you a chance to back out before we go any further. Go to some other unit where you can push paperwork around and go home at 4:15.”
The Generals of October Page 9
