“My grandfather, sir,” explained Tommy over the tittering line. “He lives in Kentucky. He doesn’t know where I am.”
“Is this your mother’s father, Mr. Cabe?”
“Yessir.” Tommy’s voice cracked.
“Is this the father of the woman who’s currently in jail for robbery and prostitution? The woman who spends every dime she makes on whiskey? The woman who cared so little about you that she dumped you at a skating rink so she could flee prosecution for passing bad checks?”
His cheeks blazing as more giggles broke from the line, Tommy shook his head. “It wasn’t like that, sir. She didn’t—”
“Yes, she did, Cabe. I’ve seen your mother’s criminal record. This grandfather of yours raised a whore and a thief.”
“He did not!” Tommy cried. “She’s not like—”
Suddenly Wurth stepped forward, and pushed his face into Tommy’s. “I’m not sure where you got the idea that you could make a telephone call, Cabe, but you are sadly mistaken. I am working very hard to see that you grow up to be a decent human being. To communicate with an old man who raised some whiskey-besotted sow would run exactly counter to that purpose. Do you understand, Cabe?”
Fighting hard to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, Tommy shook his head in protest. He moved his mouth, but his words balked, now worse than ever. “She’s n-n-not—!”
“N-n-not what, Cabe?”
“N-n-not—”
“What, Cabe?”
“N-n-n—”
“He’s telling you she’s not like that!” came a small, angry bellow. Tommy glanced to the left. Willett stood glaring up at Wurth, his face white with rage.
A silence akin to death fell over the line of boys. No one had ever spoken in such a way to Sergeant Wurth. Willett’s words seemed to burn and crackle down the line, like a live wire twisting among them. Wurth lowered his head and looked at both boys, his eyes dark angry holes in his head.
“I don’t know what in the hell you two are talking about.” Wurth’s voice quivered with fury. “But there won’t be any phone calls for you, Mr. Cabe, until you’re eighteen years old. And for this little request, you just earned yourself five hundred demerits. Do you understand me?”
Trying with all his might to keep from weeping aloud, Tommy Cabe nodded. Five hundred demerits was easily a whole year of hard work.
Wurth moved on to Willett. “As for you, Pierson, I would put you in Attitude Realignment ASAP, except the proctors who run AR don’t deserve to spend their Christmas with scum like you!” Wurth stepped forward and pressed his forefinger into Willett’s trachea. Involuntarily, the boy began to cough. “But at oh eight hundred hours on December twenty-six, Pierson, you will report to me in my office, where I will personally escort you down to AR. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Now Willett answered like a boot-camp Marine, throwing in a snappy salute for good measure. “How long can I expect to stay, sir?”
For a moment Wurth looked as if he might incinerate Willett with his gaze alone. He stretched his lips back to speak; then, abruptly, his expression changed. The anger drained from his face, and his eyes took on a resolved look, as if he’d just settled some irksome quarrel within himself.
“Indefinitely,” he answered, his voice soft as a feather.
* * *
Cabe didn’t remember the rest of the inspection. A hot, impotent rage surged through him, and it seemed that all the poisonous words Sergeant Wurth let loose about his mother had floated up into the sky like ugly black balloons. Everyone had heard them. Everyone had laughed. And now Willett had waded into it, too.
When Sergeant Wurth finished with the last boy, he strode back up to the front of the line and addressed them all. Usually he dismissed them for their corrections, but today he stood and looked at them.
“Gentlemen, we have a big week ahead of us. Beginning the day after Christmas, we at Camp Unakawaya will be undertaking an important mission. Troopers and Grunts alike will be asked to cooperate, doing jobs you may not necessarily understand. I know, though, that you will all make me and your country proud. We’ll be running on a tight schedule here, and slackers will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” shouted everyone but Willett and Cabe.
“So in view of the extremely hard work that I’m expecting from you later, and of course the fact that tomorrow is Christmas, everyone is hereby granted liberty until oh eight hundred hours on December twenty-six.” Wurth smiled up and down his line of boys. When his gaze fell on Willett and Cabe, his smile grew strangely broader. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen! For the next day and a half, have fun. Then be prepared to work as never before.”
The Grunts waited for Wurth and his Troopers to march away, then they broke ranks and ran—some thundering up the steps into the old mansion, others streaking across the stiff dead grass to the gym. As they jostled past, Tommy Cabe and Willett Pierson stood side by side, alone.
“Oh, man,” Willett finally said when they were the only two left standing. “What an asshole.”
Cabe turned to his friend. For the first time in the six months he’d known him, Willett Pierson looked scared. “You didn’t have to say anything, Willett. I would have gotten the words out.”
“I know.” Willett looked up at him, his skin still pale beneath his freckles. “He just pissed me off. So you wanted to make a fucking phone call. Hell, so would I—if I had anybody to call.”
Cabe looked at the ground. Most of the Grunts at Camp Unakawaya were outcast mountain boys, what city people called trailer trash. Willett was the son of a homeless girl from Charlotte. Together they’d bounced around the North Carolina welfare system until she died of an overdose. When he came to Camp Unakawaya two years ago, he’d come as a true orphan of the streets, preferring Eminem to ’N Sync, Michael Jordan to Mark McGwire.
“I’m sorry, Willett,” Tommy said miserably. “I didn’t mean for you to wind up in AR.”
“I know.” Willett wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “I just wish he’d told me how long I was going to have to stay.”
Tommy tried to put a good face on it. “You’ll be out before I work off my demerits.”
“Tommy-boy, I’ll be dead before you work off your demerits.”
The boys gazed at the lake that sparkled dark blue in the wintry sunlight, then Willett put his Bulls cap back on and said, “Come on. I want to show you something. We’ve got a day and a half of liberty. We may as well make the most of it.”
With that, Willett turned and ran to the back of the castle. Cabe loped behind him, following as he scampered past the cottages that ringed the back of the huge old building and up into the ridge beyond. They climbed high, through frozen gorse and scrub cedar, scrambling through the weeds like a coon chased by hounds. Halfway up the ridge Willett stopped. When Cabe huffed up to stand beside him, the castle lay far below. Other than a few Grunts tossing a football in the side yard, the grounds were empty. The house had turned in on itself; no one was watching them at all. Grinning at Cabe, Willett scrambled higher, cresting the mountain with his cheeks ablaze from the cold. When he reached the top he thrust his short arms up in triumph, then he ran across a flat quarter-acre of ground overgrown with tall yellow weeds. Cabe watched, astonished, as Willett dashed over to the foot of the mountain. Passing a weatherbeaten sign that said “Welcome to Russell Cave! It’s Cooooool Inside!” he turned, waved, then abruptly disappeared.
“Willett?” Tommy called, amazed and a little frightened by his friend’s vanishing act. “Willett? Where did you go?”
“Come on,” came the distant muffled reply. “It’s cooooool inside!”
Tommy ran over. Willett stood on the other side of some rusty iron bars that barricaded the mouth of the cave. He grinned from the penumbra of light, his face luminous as a ghost’s.
“Step right up, my boy.” Willett beckoned. “Come see the mysteries of Willett’s Den. You can shimmy, you can s
hake, and you can go flying inside your own head. And for you, Tommy-boy, today only I’ll reveal the secret weapon that will destroy Sergeant Wurth!”
“I don’t know, Willett.” Tommy wrinkled his nose as the cave’s breath wafted toward him. “I think the only thing in here that could destroy Sergeant Wurth is the smell.”
“I’ve got something better than that,” Willett replied, his voice suddenly serious. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Tommy wiggled through the bars while Willett walked over to the side of the cave and reached behind a rock, pulling out one of the long flashlights Wurth assigned to his Troopers.
“Where’d you get that?” Cabe cried. “Grunts aren’t supposed to have those.”
“You ever hear of the old five-finger discount?”
Cabe nodded, not wanting to seem stupid. He guessed Willett meant that he’d stolen it.
Willett switched the flashlight on. Though the beam was not enormous, it gave enough light so Tommy could see they were standing in a chamber the size of a large living room. The cave walls were amber-colored and smooth, and towered up to a ceiling that was shrouded in shadow.
“Come on,” said Willett. “Follow me.”
He walked through a gap in the boulders and down a hall-like passageway. After a moment, Tommy followed. Water seeped along the right wall, making the surface glow pearlescent in Willett’s light. Though the air was no less smelly, the cave itself was beautiful; it reminded Tommy of those caverns in France with the Stone Age horses drawn on the walls.
“In here.” Willett made a sharp turn to the right, then he dropped to his knees and began to crawl through a short tunnel. Tommy did the same, not wanting to be left in the utter darkness of the flashlight’s wake. They entered a small chamber that water had probably carved from the mountain millennia ago. Dusty orange, it was veined with streaks of purple and speckled with glittering quartz. Along one side was a shelf-like formation upon which Willett kept an airplane magazine, a Polaroid of Tarheel, a dog he and his mom had owned, and a six-pack of Coca-Cola.
“Welcome to Willett’s Den.” He looked at Cabe proudly. “Pretty neat, huh?”
Tommy stared, awed and envious. How wonderful it would be to have your own hideaway where Tallent and Grice couldn’t find you. “Where’d you get those Cokes?”
“One of the ladies from the Baptist Church had an extra six-pack. She gave that to me when I helped her unload some clothes for us. Want one?”
“Sure.”
Willett reached up and grabbed two cans, tossing one to Cabe. “Drink that and then I’ll show you some more. There’s some pretty cool old stuff in here.”
Tommy opened his can and took a sip. It tasted wonderful. He hadn’t had a Coke in months. Coca-Cola was a Jew industry, Sergeant Wurth told them. True Patriots didn’t support Jew industries, so on special occasions Wurth provided them with pissy-tasting lemonade.
“Okay, Willett,” Tommy teased as he drained his can. “Where’s your secret weapon that will destroy Sergeant Wurth?”
“I wasn’t kidding, man.” Willett seemed miffed at Cabe’s levity. “I really have got the goods on Wurth.”
“Okay. So where is it?”
“Here.” Willett set his Coke down and reached back into a fissure in the rock. Tommy cringed, thinking anyone would have to be crazy to stick their hand inside some dark crack in a cave, but Willett grinned, withdrawing something wrapped in a plastic sandwich bag. “This,” he said reverently.
“What is it?”
He unfolded the plastic and withdrew a single unlabeled computer disk. He held it up to Cabe, his eyes serious.
“I’m not sure what Wurth is into, but it’s big and bad. And all on this disk.”
“What do you mean?” Cabe whispered, his palms already growing sweaty. “How did you get that?”
“One Sunday when Wurth sentenced me to copying the Bible, I picked the lock on his office door and copied this. He and the Troopers were all out playing baseball.”
Cabe was stunned by Willett’s audacity. “But how did you know what it was?”
“I didn’t. I just wanted to surf the Net while they were outside playing. I sat down at his computer and all this weird military stuff about targets and assassinations was on his screen.” Willett shrugged. “So I made a copy.”
“Jesus, Willett.” Cabe could barely speak. “Do you know how much trouble you could have gotten in?”
“Yep. I also know how much trouble it could get Wurth in.” Willett carefully returned the disk to the sandwich bag. “That’s why I keep it here. You’re the only other person who knows about this, Tommy-boy.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Someday I’m gonna smuggle it out of here and get it to the cops. Then I’m just going to sit back and watch AR and the rest of that old castle blow up around Wurth’s ears.”
Cabe grinned. “That would be pretty neat, wouldn’t it?”
“I dream about it every night, Tommy-boy,” said Willett as he restashed his treasure deep in the fissure of his den. “It’s the only thing I want for Christmas this year.”
CHAPTER 12
Several miles away from Russell Cave, Irene Hannah led Mary Crow into her kitchen, where the aroma of roasting turkey filled the air. Three newly minted pecan pies sat cooling beside the sink; an array of apples and carrots spilled from an overturned sack on the long kitchen table.
“We’re cooking Christmas dinner,” Irene explained with a laugh. “For us and our four-legged friends.” Just then the bristly-haired gentleman who had flung open the front door walked into the room, having pulled on a bright red wool sweater. He smiled at Mary, the tips of his full gray mustache curling like little wings.
Irene put an arm around Mary’s shoulders. “Hugh, we just got the most wonderful Christmas present we could possibly have! This is my darling Mary Crow. I adored her mother, and I’ve adored Mary ever since I pushed her, kicking and screaming, into law school. Now she’s a tiger of a DA down in Atlanta.”
“A prosecutor, is it?” Hugh’s thick brows arched in amusement. “Then I’d best watch me p’s and q’s.”
“Mary, meet Hugh Kavanagh, my next-door neighbor. Hugh’s western North Carolina’s premier horse breeder, tomato grower, and purveyor of hothouse snapdragons to every pricey restaurant west of Raleigh.”
“Hugh.” Mary extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Aye.” He grasped only her fingers, in the manner of Europeans.
“Hugh’s from Ireland,” Irene explained. “But he’s been in the States for what, Hugh, forty years?”
“I came to New York in sixty-four.” Hugh laughed. “I didn’t move next door to Irene here until last spring.”
Irene looked at Mary and smiled. “Okay, darling girl. Now that my heart’s calmed down from the shock of seeing you, tell me why Santa Claus dropped you on my doorstep. I hope the news is something wonderful, like you’ve just married Jonathan or been appointed attorney general for the state of Georgia.”
“Not exactly,” Mary replied, edging away from the mention of Jonathan’s name. She glanced at Hugh, wondering if Safer would want her to explain her mission to Irene in front of a stranger. Safer hadn’t mentioned Hugh being a part of Irene’s life, but perhaps he hadn’t considered it important. Hugh seemed to sense Mary’s hesitation. He smiled at Irene. “Why don’t you take Mary down to the stable and check on Lady Jane? I’ll mind the dinner until you get back.”
“Would you, Hugh?” Irene’s eyes danced. “I’d love to show her off for Mary.”
“It would be an honor to be of service to two such learned ladies,” Hugh replied.
Irene threw him a kiss, then pulled Mary out the back door.
“Does he live with you?” Mary whispered when they got outside. She hadn’t overlooked Hugh Kavanagh’s easy familiarity with Irene’s kitchen.
“Oh, no.” Irene tucked her arm through Mary’s and led her across the patio, Lucy and the dog following. “
We’re neighbors and fellow horse breeders. He’s a widower who loves to cook. I’m a widow who loves to eat. We get on nicely. That’s his dog, Napoleon.”
Mary turned. The big shepherd wagged his tail at her, but kept a wary eye on the goose. “Where’s Chico? And when did you get Lucy?”
“Chico died in his sleep back in October. Then a week later she hobbled up here with an arrow through her wing. I called the vet, who said it looked like someone had used her for target practice. She’s been here ever since.”
“Does she get along with the other animals?”
“She’s crowned herself queen of the barnyard.” Irene chuckled at the bird waddling regally behind her. “I can’t figure out if she thinks she’s human or we’re all just lesser geese.”
Past the grape arbor lay the rest of the farm. A red stable stood between two white-fenced paddocks, where more horses grazed. Two yellow cats huddled in the hayloft window, watching as low clouds scudded in from the north. Mary turned her face to the sky and breathed in. She could almost smell the icy tingle of snow on the breeze. Tomorrow might bring her first white Christmas in years.
“Now.” Irene spoke in her bench voice, the voice that Mary knew would eventually ferret out anything the judge wanted to know. “Tell me the real reason you’re here. Not in trouble, are you?”
“I’m not,” replied Mary. “You might be, though.”
“Me?” Irene frowned. “What did I do?”
“Irene, yesterday afternoon I got called away from my best friend’s wedding and into my boss’s office. A federal agent was sitting there with a briefcase full of some very troubling evidence.”
Irene turned and spoke sharply. “If this is about Rosy Klinefelter, I know all about it. A bunch of Feds have been hounding me ever since Thanksgiving.”
Mary blinked. “Doesn’t it bother you that somebody might want to kill you?”
“Not nearly as much as the FBI bothers me. They wanted to assign two female agents to guard me around the clock. I think some are circling this property right now.”
“But aren’t you even a little worried?” Mary couldn’t believe Irene’s insouciance.
A Darker Justice Page 9
