by P. R. Adams
“But Barlowe knew. He came to you and told you about the data sticks. You guaranteed him no death penalty, and he would give you the decryption key.”
“Ladell would never testify against me.” Weatherford smiled smugly. “We have an understanding.”
“I told Barlowe you were bringing me in on the deal, and that didn’t sit well with him. He thought you were going to have him killed, to wrap up the last of the loose ends. I can’t imagine where he’d get an idea like that—I just told him that if you hired the right person, they could crack the decryption key eventually.”
Weatherford’s smile faded. “It won’t hold up, Jack. If Barlowe’s all you’ve got, you made a big mistake.”
“Global Threat Assessment Conference. Dallas. December, 2153. You remember that?” Rimes asked.
Weatherford said nothing.
“I did some digging. Executive Director Glenn Vaughn briefed a select group, including you and Marshall. The briefing was titled ‘Transportation of Weapons Systems Using Commercial Infrastructure.’
“After the briefing, Executive Director Vaughn discussed a hypothetical scenario about transporting a theoretical nerve gas using private security and commercial infrastructure. He sought your input on security and Marshall’s thoughts on counter-intelligence efforts to hide the transportation. He may have, over a few drinks, mentioned the terrible X-17 albatross around his neck.”
“Vaughn won’t testify,” Weatherford said. “It’s just wild speculation.”
“We’ve already got Vaughn’s deposition.”
Weatherford flinched.
“And Marshall is cutting a deal even as we speak. Add in Barlowe’s cooperation, and it seems pretty solid. It’s amazing how quick folks turn on each other when they get a sympathetic ear and there’s a scapegoat to be had. Colonel.”
Weatherford’s face flushed. “Lazaro can’t handle a scandal of this magnitude, especially not in a tight election year. Acknowledging the existence of X-17 would drag his administration down. They’ll silence you.”
Rimes shook his head. “They won’t need to.”
“Twelve thousand dead in orbit, billions of dollars worth of vessels and materials stolen or damaged. Heads will roll, and if the metacorporations ever find out it was our weapon the genies used to steal their ships, that our leaders had meant to use the X-17 against them … it’ll be worse than the Corporate Security Laws. We’ll belong to them, Jack.”
Rimes fought to hide his surprise. Use the X-17 against the metacorporations? I never thought of that. “You’ve already sold out, Colonel. One more shouldn’t matter to you.”
Weatherford straightened and thrust his jaw forward. “You’re over your head, Jack. There are so many things going on that you’re not even aware of. They’re using you. Think of the danger you’re putting your family in. You’ve got a baby on the way. You’ve got to let this go. If not for yourself, do this for Molly.”
“I am doing this for Molly. And the baby.”
“You think you can protect your family? You’re one man! They can be snuffed out at any time, and you can’t do a damned thing about it!”
“Colonel—”
Weatherford advanced a step, then another. His face was red, his hands balled tight into fists. “You can’t protect them. Do you understand me?”
Rimes blinked. “I think I do.”
Rimes stepped away from Weatherford.
A muffled shot echoed from the woods.
Weatherford staggered, a red splatter of blood already soaking through the hole in his green flannel shirt. He looked at his chest in disbelief. He tried to lift his arms, but they were already weak and fell back to his sides. His legs wobbled beneath him, then gave out. He fell sideways, knocking over his shopping bags, his face cracking against the stone walkway.
After a few seconds, he twitched, then went still.
Rimes’s knees shook from the sudden finality. He walked back to the path, leaned against the tree.
Weatherford bled out over the stones.
Footsteps approached over the dead leaves behind Rimes, walking steadily.
He didn’t turn.
“They will use him as the scapegoat,” Tymoshenko said. “Just like Moltke. Just like a thousand others.”
Rimes looked over his shoulder. Tymoshenko carried a large, thick, empty paper sack and wore a light hunting jacket.
“Yes,” Rimes said. “A rogue colonel. Vaughn will retire, just as he planned, and Marshall will decide he needs to spend more time with his family. It’s always something like that, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Tymoshenko chuckled. “I have actually seen the script. Just fill in a few blanks, here and there. But always the same lines.”
Out in the woods like this, it might take hours or days for anyone to find Weatherford. They had time. Rimes tried to tell himself that Weatherford was just another target, another enemy.
Tymoshenko coughed and stamped his feet. “I must commend your detective work, putting this all together so quickly.”
“I had help. From the IB.”
“Of course,” Tymoshenko said. “The rifle, by the way, we took it off an IB contractor who asked too many questions in Singapore. Now he is on Mogotón, on the Honduras side of the border. Yet, how strange, his prints are still all over the weapon, so perhaps he is not where he is supposed to be? IB, they do not like to be deceived. They are known for it.”
Rimes pulled a plastic pack from his pants. He held it out for Tymoshenko. “They’re all in there. Data sticks and encryption key. Barlowe put it all together just before Weatherford had him arrested.”
Tymoshenko took the pack. “I feel I am robbing you if I give you nothing but a dead colonel, my friend. Those are so easy to come by.”
“I have my reasons,” Rimes said. “Six months. Then the Special Security Council gets a copy. No sooner, no later.”
Tymoshenko tucked the pack into his jacket and headed toward the woods. “I hope to see you again, Jack. We work well together,” he called back over his shoulder. “A man with integrity is rare in this world.”
Rimes gave Weatherford’s corpse a last look.
So that’s integrity.
He wended his way through the woods for a couple of kilometers before spotting Ferris Avenue, then jogged parallel to the road under cover of trees for several minutes. He finally broke into the open at Fourth Street.
He was shaking, dizzy, nauseated. No one paid him any mind.
49
29 March 2164. Fort Sill, Oklahoma.
* * *
The UH-121 descended from the dark sky, its rotors shaking the treetops. Rimes dropped his line and fast-roped between two swaying sawtooth oak trees. He looked up and saw Barlowe descending next to him. Martinez and Wolford dropped to the ground across from him. They hefted their CAWS-5s and nodded toward the shadows to the north.
Rimes jogged forward, assuming his position at the point. Gunfire broke out, kicking up dirt in front of him. He tucked into a roll and came up behind a tree.
Wolford fell to gunfire. Then Martinez. Barlowe crossed in front of a tree and was dragged into darkness.
Rimes was alone, surrounded. The gunfire was intensifying, coming from all around him now. Rimes pressed flat against the tree, but the bullets came closer still.
Shadows dropped from the trees around him. He was surrounded with nowhere to go, hundreds of figures, all in masks.
They raised their masks: Kwon, Lee, Perditori, more. Genies. They fired—
But not at him.
At 0828, he entered the Trial Defense Service office, stopping at the paralegal clerk’s desk. She was an elderly civilian, silver-haired and wrinkled. She nodded at him and smiled pleasantly, then rang Captain Kibaki, his lawyer. She waved him on and returned to her work.
Kibaki’s office was small, not quite two meters deep and four meters long, but it had two windows that looked down on the parade grounds. Rimes watched the parade ground flag flutter in the wind for
a moment before extending a hand to Kibaki and taking a seat across from her.
Kibaki spent several seconds on her terminal looking over his file, nodding as she read the latest updates. She was big-boned, wore awkward black glasses, and fit poorly in her uniform, although the uniform itself was sharp.
Rimes was developing a strange appreciation for Kibaki’s plain but friendly features. He decided it must be the feeling someone develops for a savior.
Finally, Kibaki looked up from her terminal and smiled. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The courtroom was empty when they arrived. It had recently been remodeled, fitted with real oak paneling, gold carpeting, matching chairs, and the latest terminals and networking. They settled into their seats and waited.
The court reporter, a young, sleepy-eyed corporal in dress uniform, stepped in from a side door, followed by Major Pileggi, the investigating officer.
Pileggi had bushy, black eyebrows and scowling, pockmarked cheeks. He slammed into his chair, connected to the terminal at his table, and glared at Rimes and Kibaki.
Rimes looked to Kibaki. She frowned, then shrugged.
“We’re ready to begin,” Pileggi said.
The court reporter began recording the proceedings.
“Let the record show that the Article 32 hearing for Sergeant Jackson C. Rimes has begun. It is 0900, 29 March 2164. Present are Major Karl Pileggi, investigating officer appointed by Major General Owen McNabb, Post Commander, Fort Sill, Oklahoma; Captain Michelle Kibaki, counsel for the defense; and Sergeant Rimes, the defendant.
“The case being considered against Sergeant Rimes includes two charges of reckless endangerment under Article 134 and six charges of Destruction of Government Property under Article 108.”
Pileggi’s nostrils flared; he kept his eyes away from Rimes as he continued. “Following review of Criminal Investigative Command, Oklahoma State Police reports, and interviews with witnesses present at the event referenced in said charges, the case being considered against Sergeant Rimes is dismissed without prejudice.”
Dismissed?
“Absent any input from defense counsel—” Pileggi looked at Kibaki, gripping the side of his desk and drawing his thick eyebrows together, as if daring her to say something.
Kibaki blinked rapidly. “I … have nothing to add.”
Pileggi cleared his throat with a bark. “Then this concludes the Article 32 hearing.”
Pileggi looked sharply at the court reporter. She quickly shut down her station and departed. Pileggi began shutting his terminal down as well.
Kibaki stepped around her table. “Major?”
Pileggi looked up angrily from his terminal, then sighed and rubbed his head with his hand. He looked up again, more composed. “Yes?”
“Sergeant Rimes has been under the cloud of very serious charges for the last two days. Based off your presentation and questioning yesterday, it seemed as if you were prepared to proceed with what—to be gracious—felt like an extremely flimsy case. If I may ask, what has changed between yesterday afternoon and this morning?”
Pileggi shook his head. “Michelle—”
The side door opened; General McNabb entered the courtroom, nodding at Pileggi.
Rimes stood.
“General McNabb,” Pileggi said. “We were just leaving.”
“What is the disposition of the case, Major Pileggi?” McNabb asked.
“Dismissed without prejudice, sir.”
McNabb tilted his head. “That would seem surprising given the severity of the charges under consideration.”
Pileggi glanced at Kibaki for a moment. “I had a very enlightening … interview with the director of the Intelligence Bureau last night, sir.”
McNabb nodded. “I look forward to the full report.”
“Of course, sir.” Pileggi sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, General, I’d like to get to work on that immediately.”
“Thank you, Major,” McNabb said.
He watched Pileggi depart the courtroom, then turned to Kibaki. “It would seem you’ve done an admirable job, Captain Kibaki. Sergeant Rimes and the United States Army will be forever in your debt.”
Kibaki smiled at Rimes. “There wasn’t much of a case against him, sir. I can’t take much credit for it.”
McNabb frowned and removed his glasses. He crossed his arms over his chest and began tapping the glasses on a forearm. “Three soldiers are dead, Captain, and only Sergeant Rimes knows the particulars of two of the deaths. Obviously, we want to see justice done. I’m happy for all involved that Sergeant Rimes has been cleared. Thank you. I’d like to speak to Sergeant Rimes for a moment.”
Kibaki adjusted her glasses and stared at McNabb for a moment. “You’re welcome. Sir.” She departed the courtroom, her back as straight as a rod.
McNabb waited until the last echo of her footsteps disappeared before he spoke. “You’re a fortunate man, Sergeant Rimes.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” Rimes felt his hands shaking. He balled them into fists and held them tight at his sides.
“Actually, I’m not sure if you’re fortunate or not,” McNabb said as he casually strode forward. “As the captain said, you have a cloud lingering over you that only an exceptional officer could ever hope to overcome. Captain Moltke stained the Commandos’ reputation. I believe the outcome of the investigation into Colonel Weatherford’s involvement and his … murder will stain it even more. You’re walking away with a commission. There will always be those who view you with great suspicion.”
“Like you, sir?” Rimes asked.
McNabb shook his head. “Weatherford always spoke highly of you. He was a good judge of character.”
Was he? Or was he a good judge of who he could corrupt?
“You have a good career ahead of you, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me.” McNabb leaned against the desk Pileggi had just departed. “I’m the one who appointed Major Pileggi and pushed him to go forward with the hearing despite the lack of evidence.”
Rimes struggled with the contradiction. “If you thought I was innocent, sir, why bother with an Article 32 in the first place?”
McNabb walked to the court reporter’s station, examining it as if he thought it might still be recording. “To satisfy those who would only see that cloud over your head,” he said finally. “People have accused me of being a political games-player, as though it were a bad thing. But it’s necessary. Imagine what would have happened if no investigation and no hearing had taken place. Now look at you—cleared by CID, the Oklahoma State Police, the Intelligence Bureau, and an impartial Article 32 hearing approved by me. Playing politics won’t clear that cloud away completely, but it can help defend you from worse.
“And you have a medal in the works. Colonel Weatherford’s last act, you might say.”
“You were close to the colonel, sir?”
McNabb turned and stared at Rimes for a moment. “Goodness, no. We came up around the same time. I was Infantry straight out of West Point, he was in Intelligence after graduating OCS. I played the game, but he got his hands dirty—dirty enough that it looks like someone eliminated him. There’s a fine line, Rimes. But, warts and all, Weatherford was effective. He got things done. The Army needs officers who can get things done.”
McNabb walked up to Rimes and extended a hand. “Just keep that line in mind, Sergeant Rimes. I will watch your career with interest.”
Rimes shook McNabb’s hand and watched in disbelief as he left. Rimes wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the exchange. Had McNabb just acknowledged awareness of Weatherford’s illicit activities and admitted that he’d let the situation play out until Weatherford was no longer useful?
Weatherford had always said McNabb was a crafty politician.
Molly was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing her housecoat. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“How’d it go?”
“They dismissed the
charges,” Rimes said, unbuttoning his jacket. He suddenly realized he was famished. He stripped off his shirt and walked to the bedroom, returning a moment later in his jogging shorts. He took the vegetable and mealworm paste from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “I’m starving. Do you want anything?”
Molly shook her head. “Nothing will stay down.” She leaned her head in her hand and mumbled, “She called while you were out. Dana. She left a message.”
Rimes froze, then looked at Molly’s face. She looked upset, but he couldn’t tell more than that. “Did you play it?”
Rather than answer, Molly walked over to the console and turned it on. She selected the message and stepped back, chewing on her thumbnail as she watched.
Kleigshoen’s face materialized on the display. She seemed tired but cheerful. She wore a similar outfit to the one she’d worn the day she’d slept with him, the day Metcalfe died. Sophisticated. Elegant. Professional.
Her demeanor was serious, somber, not provocative.
“Hi, Jack. I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I just got word they’ve dropped that court martial nonsense. Congratulations on that, and it sounds like your OCS package is moving forward, so congratulations there as well.” She smiled sardonically, looking down at her hands. “While I’m congratulating, I guess I should say congratulations on figuring out how Brent saw me when I couldn’t. I had a very uncomfortable moment with his family today. He left me … something.” She looked upward, blinking quickly. “It was nice, but something more than a mentor should leave for his protégé.
“I can’t tell if it was just convenient for me not to see it, or if it was just a guy thing you picked up on.” Kleigshoen wiped at her eyes and laughed. “But you couldn’t see me hunting you down like so much dinner. I guess that’s really what I wanted to call about.”
She pulled her shoulders in for a second, then lifted her chin and sat up straighter. “I owe you and Molly an apology, Jack. I’ve always said it was career first. I’ve always imagined that made me stronger, maybe even better. But I tried to take something that wasn’t mine. So you tell Molly I’m sorry and that I wish I had half her strength and resolve. I thought I had a lot of strength. But some of the things I’ve been through lately have made me think I need … well. I have a lot to learn. And one day, maybe you’ll forgive us—me—for what I did to you.
