by Dee Davis
“And Indian winter has something to do with your past?”
“Maybe,” he said. “In Vietnam, in ’69, there was a major offensive in the A Shau Valley. The North Vietnamese were using the valley as a major supply corridor. A way to get troops and munitions into South Vietnam. We’d tried to stop them before without success. But the big brass thought that it was important enough to try again.”
“You’re talking about Hamburger Hill,” Tyler said. “I remember Dad talking about it.”
“Hill 937.” Hollingsworth nodded.
“Were you there?” Owen asked, impressed even though his country hadn’t approved of the war.
“In ’Nam, yes. But not Hamburger Hill. But Zachary was.”
“Tyler’s father,” Owen clarified. It was the first time anyone had used the man’s given name.
“Right. He was smack dab in the middle of it. Hell of a fight. And all of it for nothing.”
“But I thought the Americans took the hill?” Owen queried.
“They did,” Tyler said. “But they abandoned it two weeks later.”
“I don’t understand.” Owen shook his head.
“It was a turning point of sorts,” Hollingsworth said. “Americans were tired of the fighting. And the battle had moved to Congress. Hamburger Hill became a symbol for everything wrong with the war. Most of it misinformation, mind you, but it didn’t matter, the tide had changed. Anyway, we lost a hell of a lot of good men on that hill, but the powers that be suddenly lost interest in holding it.”
“And your father was part of the fighting,” Owen said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Yes. He was.” Tyler nodded. “He almost died, actually. He was shot. But they managed to get him out of there. Others weren’t so lucky. But I don’t see the tie-in to Dad’s ramblings.”
“Well, I could be wrong,” the lieutenant general said, “but the battle was definitely on his mind. He’s the one who brought it up. Said it was important never to forget. That there were still debts to be paid.”
“Debts of honor?” Tyler asked, repeating her father’s words.
“He didn’t use those exact words, no,” Hollingsworth said. “But I can see how it might fit. I mean, if someone pulled me off that hill, I’d have owed him more than a debt of honor.”
“So do you have any idea who it was that rescued him?” Tyler frowned, clearly trying to make the pieces fit. “Maybe that’s the connection.”
Hollingsworth shook his head. “He never mentioned anyone specifically. I always assumed it was just a routine evac. But you know your father, he wouldn’t have liked talking about what he considered to be his failure. I take it he never mentioned it to you?”
“No,” she said. “He never liked talking about it with people who weren’t there. Said there was no way for us to understand.”
“Well, he has a point, but you were Army.”
“Yes, but I was also his daughter. And no matter who saved him, I still don’t see how his surviving Hamburger Hill has anything to do with Indian winter.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m way off, but you have to understand that even though your father’s mind was failing, there was still a certain kind of logic, even on the worst of days. It was as if some part of his mind was still working, but the connection between meaning and words had been severed. Like he knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t find the right words. It all came out jumbled.”
“So you do think he was trying to tell me something?”
“Yes, I do. And I think it had to have been something about what happened at the house. Something that would help you find the shooter. Or at least point you in the right direction.”
“He just had trouble communicating his thoughts,” Owen said. “But I’m with Tyler, I still don’t see the connection to ‘Indian winter.’”
“As I said, maybe it’s a stretch, but if I’m right, there’s an odd kind of symmetry.”
“So what do you think he meant?” Tyler asked, leaning forward with a frown.
“I think he was referring to Hamburger Hill. And maybe the person who rescued him. His debt of honor.”
“And you think this because?” Owen prompted.
“Simple.” Hollingsworth shrugged. “The operation that launched the offensive into the A Shau Valley was called Apache Snow.”
CHAPTER 13
I’m not finding anything,” Tyler said, looking across her father’s desk at Owen.
After Uncle Mike’s revelations they’d decided to tackle her father’s study in hopes of finding some kind of clue that might give them insight into who had saved her father on Hamburger Hill and whether or not he was somehow linked with the stolen detonators. It seemed a long shot, but for the moment it was all they had.
She’d talked with Hannah as soon as they’d left the Pentagon, filling her in on the latest developments. They’d shipped off her dad’s computer first thing this morning. And she’d also asked her friend to download the general’s LUDs in the hope they’d get lucky with his phone records.
In addition, Hannah had promised to see what she could dig up about her father’s unit. He’d been part of the Third Battalion, 187th Infantry. And by narrowing it to the time frame for Operation Apache Snow, she was hopeful that between her father’s papers and Hannah’s expertise, they’d dig up a name. But she was quickly becoming disillusioned about the chances of their finding something here in McLean.
The room and its contents had already been examined by the tech team from Langley. And as part of their efforts, the room had been cleaned up, some semblance of normalcy returned. But Tyler could still see her father lying on the desk, his blood dripping to the floor. She shook her head, forcing her thoughts back to the contents of the desk.
“None of this makes any sense,” she said, staring down at a pile of unpaid bills, some of them months old. “I know they weren’t having financial problems. And my father was always a stickler for paying bills on time.” She picked up an envelope. “This credit card is six months overdue. And the interest is more than the balance.”
“His files are a mess, too,” Owen said, looking up from the filing cabinet he was sorting through. “It’s like two different people were working in here, one of them organized almost to the extreme and the other one without any seeming logic at all. Did your stepmother help with their business affairs?”
“No.” Tyler shook her head, pushing the bills away. “She was more into spending money than managing it. Although I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead.” She shuddered, her mind clamping down before grief could gain control. “Besides, even if she’d had an interest in helping, my father wouldn’t have let her. He was a complete control freak.”
Owen sighed. “Then I’m afraid we’ve got a major problem. Up until about seven months ago, things seem to be in pretty good order, but after that they’re chaotic. And unfortunately at least two-thirds of the files in here fall into the latter category.”
“Well, the timeline follows the progression of the Alzheimer’s. He’d been exhibiting symptoms for the past couple of years. But none of them were debilitating enough to set off alarms, although, in hindsight, they were things we probably should have recognized.”
She closed her eyes for a second, remembering the momentary bouts of confusion. Repeated stories. Lapses in memory. Words slipping away. The truth was, she just hadn’t wanted to see it.
“Anyway,” she sighed, “last winter, everything came to a head. The symptoms suddenly magnified. They were still coming in isolated bursts, but they were happening more frequently and when they came, it was really bad. Della started having difficulty taking care of him. He’d just wander off. And she’d be worried sick. So we took him to the doctor—against his will, I might add. And we got the diagnosis.”
“It must have been hard,” Owen said, his eyes telegraphing his sympathy, her heart twisting with emotion, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
She hadn’t had the
courage to talk to him about last night. About the nightmare. About his holding her while she’d slept. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to put her feelings into words, but she was self-aware enough to know that something had shifted. Something had changed between the two of them. They’d crossed a line last night. Or at least she had. It wasn’t about James Bond anymore. It was about Owen. And it mattered. A hell of lot more than she was ready to admit.
She frowned, angry at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. After what had happened with Justin, she should know better than to let herself care. The cost was too damn high. She shot Owen a tight smile. “It was difficult. But mostly for Della. Mark and I were both out of the house. She’s the one who had to deal with it day to day. But there were medications, and they helped to calm him, if nothing else. And I think knowing what he was facing helped, too. There’s always something more frightening about the unknown. You know?”
“I do.” Owen nodded. “But I can’t imagine trying to cope with knowing that you’re slowing losing yourself—bit by bit—a little more every day. It must have been terrifying.”
“And my father doesn’t do fear,” she said, still unable to use the past tense. “And I honestly believed he was coping. But now, looking at all of this,” she glanced down at the papers jammed into the desk’s drawers, “I’m not so sure.” She pulled out a dog-eared file, flipping through the contents. “He hadn’t paid their insurance premium in months. Or their house payment.” She dropped the file on the desk, tipping back her head, closing her eyes.
“Why don’t you let me deal with all of this? Go back to the hotel. Or go find Mark. I can handle this.”
“No. I need to be here,” she said, opening her eyes on a sigh. “The work is good. It’s distracting. And I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something. So is there a file for correspondence? Maybe he wrote to this mystery man of ours.”
“Nothing like that. Although there are letters scattered among all the other stuff.” Owen frowned, reaching down into the back of the file cabinet to pull out a small box. “Did your father always keep his medals in the filing cabinet?” He held out the little velvet box. Inside, nestled in satin, was a Bronze Star.
Tyler frowned. “His medals are all on his uniform. And best I know, he was never awarded a Bronze Star. He used to tell me what each of the medals meant. How they originated. Even why they were designed the way they were. He was proud of his. So I can’t imagine why he’d have hidden one away.”
A sound from the doorway had them both spinning around, Tyler reaching for her gun. “Shit,” Mark said, stepping into the room, hand clasped to his chest. “Way to scare the life out of a guy. I live here, remember?” He held up a shaking hand, a key dangling from his finger.
“Oh, God, Mark, I’m sorry,” Tyler said, dropping her gun on the desk and reaching for her brother’s hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just that—”
“I know… under the circumstances you can’t take chances. I should have called. But I didn’t think about you being here.”
“No. You’re right. This is still your house. I should have called you and let you know we were going to be here.”
“No harm, no foul,” Mark said, the color returning to his face. “I hadn’t realized the son of a bitch had gone through dad’s office.” His eyes moved around the room, taking in the obvious disarray.
“He didn’t,” Tyler said. “This is all Dad’s handiwork. It seems Alzheimer’s drives organization out the window. Did you have any idea that he’d stopped paying bills?”
“Of course not.” Mark frowned, picking up the file of unpaid bills. “If I had I would done something about it. Mom just kept telling me that everything was all right and that I should stay at school. I should have done more.”
“You did what you could,” Tyler said, reaching out to squeeze her brother’s hand. “Besides, if anyone should have been more involved, it’s me. I should have known that Della needed help.”
“She’d have just kept it from you, too. She could be stubborn like that. All she really wanted to do was protect him. Anyway—woulda, shoulda, coulda. Best to look forward, not backward. Mom always used to say that. So what are you looking for?”
“It’s probably a long shot, but I’m trying to find the name of the man who saved Dad during the battle of Hamburger Hill.”
“Say what?” Mark shook his head, his expression indicating he thought she’d totally lost it.
“Your father said some things to Tyler before he died,” Owen said. “And we think maybe they were connected somehow with whoever it was that did this.”
“You think the guy who saved him in Vietnam killed him?”
“No,” Tyler said, holding up a hand. “We think that he’s the link that got Dad all mixed up in this—whatever the hell this is.” They filled Mark in on the details of what their father had said and what they’d learned from Uncle Mike. “So have you got any idea who this guy might have been?”
“Not a clue. Dad wasn’t big on talking about that kind of thing.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Tyler said with a sigh.
“What about this Bronze Star?” Owen asked. “Does it mean anything to you?” He passed the box across the desk, and Mark reached for it, just missing. The box rolled off the desk and bounced on the floor, landing under a chair.
“Dad didn’t have a Bronze Star,” Mark said as he bent to the box. “Hang on.” He frowned. “What’s this?” He straightened, the box in one hand, a folded slip of paper in the other. “I think it fell out of the box.”
“Let me see,” Tyler said, leaning over her brother’s shoulder for a better look.
“It must have been knocked free when I dropped it.” He unfolded the paper as the three of them huddled together to have a look.
It had been folded in quarters so that it would fit, and when opened presented itself as a black-and-white photo, the edges curling and turning yellow. In it, two soldiers sat on a cot in what was clearly a makeshift medical facility. One of the men, her father, had an IV drip running into his arm as he reclined with a jovial grin on the bed. The other man sat next to him, in fatigues, his face grimy, but his grin as big as her father’s. The two of them were making victory signs.
“Is that your dad?” Owen asked.
She and Mark nodded in tandem.
“He looks so young,” Mark said.
“I’d say not much older than you,” she agreed, staring down at the photo, the two of them lost in shared memories.
“Is there anything on the back?” Owen asked impatiently, pulling them both back to the present. “Something to tell us where they are or who’s in the photo with your father?”
Mark flipped it over. “It’s stamped June 1969.”
“Hamburger Hill,” Tyler said, her gaze locking triumphantly with Owen’s.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“It says Kodak,” Mark offered unhelpfully. “Wait, there’s something else written here, in the corner, but it’s really faded.” He held the photograph up to the light, squinting as he tried to make out the words. “I think it says ‘Smitty and Ace.’”
“Not a lot of help.” Owen frowned.
“Well, we know ‘Ace’ is Dad,” Mark said.
“We do?” Tyler asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, everyone called him that. He kinda knew his way around a deck of cards. Won a lot of money. His unit liked to set him up against other units that didn’t have a clue. Apparently, he was pretty proficient at coming up with aces.”
“Meaning he cheated.”
Mark grinned. “Well, he never admitted it to me. But let’s just say he didn’t ever seem to square off against the same opponents twice. Anyway, if Ace is Dad, then this guy must be Smitty.”
“And given the date and the surroundings of the photograph, not to mention the Bronze Star, which we know isn’t Dad’s,” Tyler said, “I’d say we’re on to something.”
“Except we’v
e got no idea who Smitty is,” Owen said, “or how to find him. And we still have no idea how your father came to be in possession of Smitty’s medal.”
Mark and Tyler sighed in unison. “Killjoy,” she said, but she knew he was right. All they’d done was deepen the mystery.
Tyler’s phone vibrated against her thigh, and she slipped it from her pocket, flipping it open, checking the caller ID. “Hannah,” she said, “perfect timing. I was just about to call you. I’ve got some more information on the Hamburger Hill angle. A guy named Smitty. May have been awarded a Bronze Star.”
“Actually,” Hannah said, a thread of excitement in her voice, “he was.”
“Come again?” Tyler asked, her heart starting to pound.
“I just ran him down myself. Working backward through your dad’s unit. You said you were looking for the guy who rescued your dad. And Hamburger Hill was a big deal. So I figured I’d start with men who’d won medals. From there, I got lucky. Came across an anniversary tribute on the web. Turns out the guy who saved your dad was one of the men interviewed for the article. Anyway, his name is Jefferson Smithwick. Saved three others in the unit as well. He was awarded the Bronze Star for his valor. And it gets more interesting from there. Want to know why?”
“Do tell,” Tyler prompted, barely containing her excitement.
“It seems that Mr. Smithwick went to college after he was discharged. Studied nuclear physics. MIT.”
“And…” Tyler held her breath, certain that Hannah’s pronouncement was going to fill in a lot of blanks.
“And,” Tyler could almost hear Hannah’s smile of triumph, “your Smitty went on to work for DOD. And from there moved into the private sector. But he kept his government connections, and because of that—” she paused, dramatically, “he wound up the chief designer on the detonator project.”
