Faithful Service, Silent Hearts

by Lynette Mae

  #

  Mac pulled her pickup truck in front of her apartment building at 1830 hours, exhausted from a day of defensive tactics in the indoor building with little air conditioning in the morning and firearms training all afternoon in the blazing Florida sun. She pushed through the doorway into the air conditioned haven, stowing her gun belt on the top shelf of the closet in the master bedroom, and stripping off her clothes as she headed for the shower. Stepping directly into the tepid spray that passed for cold by the Deep South's standards, she slowly felt her body temperature falling into a normal range. Lathering up from head to toe, then rinsing thoroughly she stepped from the shower, feeling much better.

  After throwing on a sleeveless t-shirt and cotton shorts, she headed for the kitchen, poured herself a large glass of iced tea and carried it toward the couch. On the way, she noticed the light blinking on the phone, indicating she had three messages. She pressed the play button and settled back to listen.

  First message received at eight forty five am: Hey, buddy it's me…Devon. I was just getting ready to start work. Thought I might catch you. How's the academy going? I can't wait to hear all about it. Things are okay here, a bit boring without you…well, anyway Ann and I went out last night. You know she's getting ready to head to Alaska. So, I better go. Call me soon, okay? See ya.

  Mac smiled as she thought of her friend, deciding to return her call as soon as she listened to the other messages.

  Second message received at ten twenty three am: Captain McKinley…this is Susan Miller…um from CID. I know I'm not your favorite person, but please do not delete this message. It is about Lieutenant James…Devon. She's in trouble, and I didn't know who else to call. They arrested her this morning. I can't explain over the phone. Please, please call me. I-she needs your help.

  Scrambling to find a piece of paper and a pen, Mac scribbled down the number. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Devon? Arrested? Her mind tried to wrap around the thought as the machine beeped again.

  Message three received at twelve thirty eight pm: Mac! It's Ann. Something terrible has happened. I think CID arrested Devon this morning. We were out last night and I stayed here at her place. They took her out of the building, but I don't know anything else. I'll be here at Devon's. Please call me when you get this message, no matter how late. Beep.

  Panicked now, Mac found her address book and Devon's number, dialing quickly. Ann picked up on the first ring. "Hello." Her voice was strained.

  "Hey, you. What's going on?" Mac tried to keep her voice even and calm although her insides felt like they were full of live electric wires.

  "Oh my god, Mac! Thank you for calling. I don't know what to do, this is so terrible."

  "Its okay, Ann. Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened." Mac said.

  "Well, we went out last night. Devon had a surprise going away thing for me at the club," Mac smiled briefly as she listened. "And I had too much to drink, so she brought me here. I woke up this morning-afternoon-and I called into the office to talk to her." She was struggling to maintain her thin hold on control, "And they said she was taken out by the MP's." Ann gasped in agony. "MP's Mac, what are we gonna do?"

  "Ann, listen to me. I need to get some more information and I think I have the way to do that. Does anyone else know that you're there?"

  "No, only Devon."

  "Good. Then give me some time to find some things out and I'll call you back, okay?" She closed her eyes, wishing so much to be able to hold Ann and comfort her.

  "Okay," Ann sounded frail. "Mac?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Is Devon going to be okay?"

  "I hope so, honey." Mac hung up and punched in Susan's number, wondering how much she could trust the agent. At the moment, she didn't have much choice. Her mind replayed memories of her own battles with CID and she pushed away the memories of betrayal to focus on helping Devon.

  "Hello?" Susan answered anxiously.

  "It's McKinley." She waited for Susan to explain herself, knowing she could just as easily be setting a trap.

  "Captain, thanks for calling me. I know you don't trust me…"

  "Save the self serving comments, agent." Mac interrupted, "Tell me about Lieutenant James."

  Susan related all of the details about the night at the club and Honeycutt's accusations, the photographs, the threats he made if she didn't falsify her report, and finally Devon's arrest. When she had finished she was in tears. "Captain, I saw her through the two way mirror, she thinks I wrote that report. The sadness in her eyes nearly broke my heart." Her tears flowed freely now.

  "Why do you care?" Mac had to ask; she had to know what side Susan was really on now. She waited while the other woman took several deep breaths, apparently thinking about her answer.

  "Because I care about her. God help me I tried to stay detached, but there's just…something about her." Susan's voice trailed off.

  Mac heard the sincerity in her answer and knowing that Susan certainly was putting herself in jeopardy by helping Devon, she decided to trust her. "Okay, Susan. I appreciate your honesty. Can you fax me a copy of your original report? I know someone that may be able to help, but I'm going to need the proof."

  "I'll send it right away." She hesitated, "Captain?"

  "Yes?"

  "There's one more thing." Mac heard intensity in Susan's voice that got her undivided attention. Susan drew a deep breath and blurted out, "I saw the chief coming out of a men's club with another man. More than once."

  Mac asked carefully, "What are you saying?"

  "He…he doesn't go there in an official capacity. I checked, there's no record of any investigations there. I have pictures."

  Mac's mind reeled with this new information. "That motherfucker." She scowled.

  "I hope you'll know what to do with this information. He has to be stopped."

  "Nobody else knows about Honeycutt?" Mac was already formulating a plan.

  "No."

  "Alright. Get me the information ASAP. I'll take it from here."

  "Captain? I'm sorry…for all of it. I never meant to hurt anybody. I…I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

  "No, Susan, you need to eventually forgive yourself. I'll be waiting for the fax. Then I'll be in touch with further instructions for you regarding those reports." She stopped a beat before adding, "Thank you."

  Mac looked at the clock and cursed the helplessness she felt. It was almost 1930 hours. She paced around the apartment knowing that now she would get no sleep because there was nothing she could do for Devon tonight. Still, she thought, she might as well call an old friend; that way he could maybe get the ball rolling to get her released first thing in the morning. She tried to keep her mind from conjuring up frightening images of Devon being interrogated, psychologically abused, maybe even physically. If they fucking lay one hand on her…

  Dialing the phone, her eyes moved to the pewter frame on the end table with a picture of her and Devon standing in the helicopter bay in Beirut, grinning at each other. "Hang on, buddy," she said out loud, "We're coming."

  Chapter 46

  Hours later, physically and emotionally drained, Devon lay staring at the ceiling of the cell trying to conjure up pictures of her nephews in her head. She was so tired of thinking about anything in her life that remotely related to this relentless obsession of Honeycutt's. Her head throbbed and she briefly wished that she hadn't refused the sandwich earlier in the day; they had brought her nothing since. She tried to guess if it was still the same day or night, but had lost all sense of time in the windowless box. Two different guards appeared, cuffed her again behind the back and led her back to the interrogation room.

  After a grueling session with an investigator she had never seen before Devon was once again led back to her cell. Every inch of her body ached, but mercifully, they finally removed the handcu
ffs that had remained on, binding her hands behind her back as she sat on the metal chair the entire interrogation session. The olive skinned man had repeatedly asked her the names of other gays and lesbians that she knew. Hour after hour, he alternated between offers of food or a phone call to her family in exchange for a name. When that didn't work he switched to threats of longer confinement, even hard labor at Leavenworth if she refused to cooperate.

  Now back in her cell again, Devon lay down on her side on the small mattress and pulled her knees up to her chest. She was shivering but had no blanket so she wrapped her arms around her chest and closed her eyes, praying for sleep to allow her to escape for just a while.

  She must have dozed. The sound of voices awakened her. As they drew nearer, she recognized Honeycutt's voice, "You can't just come in here and bark orders at my people. I'm in charge here." There was a note of desperation beneath the anger. Devon tried to see up the hallway, but couldn't.

  "No, that's where you're wrong, chief, you can't hold a prisoner indefinitely without counsel." A tall man wearing army dress greens bearing the rank of lieutenant colonel, with medium brown hair, hazel eyes and a warm smile approached the bars of Devon's cell. He scrutinized her physical appearance and frowned. Turning back to Honeycutt, he instructed, "Open the door, chief and leave me alone with my client."

  He switched his briefcase to his left hand, extending his right to Devon in greeting, "Lieutenant James? I'm Lt. Colonel Robert Meadows, your legal advisor." His handshake was firm and his smile genuine as he met Devon's questioning eyes.

  "Who? How did you know I was here? I don't understand," she finished uneasily.

  The lawyer nodded reassuringly, "It's alright, lieutenant. Have a seat and I'll answer all of your questions. We have a lot of ground to cover, I understand."

  Running a trembling hand through her disheveled hair, she laughed shakily, "I must look like hell."

  "Don't worry; we'll get you out of here soon enough, lieutenant. In the mean time, I'll have someone run by your place and get you a fresh change of clothes."

  "Thanks, and could you call me Devon, please?"

  "Sure." He smiled again, "Okay, so let's get down to business, Devon."

  #

  Just before eight o'clock on Sunday night, approximately thirty five hours since Devon had been arrested and removed from the NSA building, her attorney knocked on the door large oak door of the stately accommodations reserved for the highest ranking military officers. The door opened and Meadows was ushered inside. He followed the long, purposeful strides of the grey haired resident of the home down a hallway of dark parquet flooring that led to a study with large picture windows looking out over a well manicured garden.

  Closing the double doors behind them, the older man took a seat in one of the blue winged back chairs and indicated for the younger man to sit as well. "What do you have?"

  "Well, general, McKinley's information appears to be right on the money. I spent a few hours this morning interviewing Lieutenant James."

  "How is she?" the general interrupted.

  Shrugging and turning his hands palms up in the air, in a gesture of uncertainty, he replied, "She is obviously worn out. They interrogated her almost nonstop for six to eight hours at a time, as near as I could estimate." He stopped and sighed, knowing the next bit of information was going to anger the general, "Looks like they hit her a few times," the older man made a deep grumbling noise, "But you know she's pretty tough. She seems to be holding up fairly well."

  The general moved over to the small bar area and poured whiskey into two glasses, returning to his chair and handing one to the attorney. "Go on."

  The attorney extracted a folder from his briefcase, "I have copies of the CID 'official' report, which indicates conduct violating UCMJ regulations, with pictures allegedly backing the report up. However, Sergeant Miller's actual report, states that nothing improper happened, only that they were seen at that establishment."

  "So, somebody altered the report?" the general asked, taking the pages from the lawyer to study them himself.

  "It would seem so. I have sworn statements from the original investigator and several of the people who were at the club that night."

  The general nodded, listening as he read. "What happens next?" he asked, looking up from the reports.

  "I can't get her released until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Honeycutt knew what he was doing by grabbing her on a Saturday. I'll find a judge first thing and secure a release order."

  "Very good, then." The general stood.

  "General, I need you to take a look at this as well." Meadows handed over a manila envelope.

  The general extracted the contents and stared disbelievingly. Finally, he looked up at the attorney. "These are authentic?"

  "Yes, sir. It appears that the chief has been living quite a double life. Captain McKinley said you would know what to do with those."

  The general nodded as he placed the pictures back into the folder. "I'll handle it."

  "Sir, one more thing." The older man raised an eyebrow in question, "The judge will most likely only release her from the cell to housing confinement, but since she lives off post that will require that someone agree to be responsible for her. An assurance she will not disappear before the hearing."

  "Fine," the general said with certainty. "Tell the judge that I will vouch for her. Christ, Robert I've never known a more honest person in my life than Devon James."

  The general walked his guest to the door, instructing him to call the minute Devon was released from custody, "Let her go home and get cleaned up a bit tomorrow, then I want you to bring her directly here, Robert."

  "Yes sir. Goodnight."

  Back in the study, the grey haired gentleman picked up the receiver of the black telephone and punched in the ten digit number written on the pad next to his arm on the wide cherry desk.

  "Mac?" He said when a woman's voice came through the other end of the line.

  "General. Did you get Devon released?"

  "No, not yet. We'll get her released first thing tomorrow morning."

  "What about the information from Agent Miller? Is it going to be enough to drop the charges?"

  "All the information you gave us seems to check out, so it shouldn't be a problem, but it is going to take a bit of time to get everything sorted out." He said.

  "Okay, I'll be leaving here Friday morning. Thank you, sir."

  The general smiled, "Then I'll look forward to seeing you Friday night."

  Chapter 47

  At eight thirty two Monday morning, Lt. Colonel Meadows slapped the court order releasing Devon into the general's custody down in the center of Honeycutt's desk. The CID chief sputtered and roared about lawyers manipulating the justice system, but in the end acquiesced, having a guard bring her to the office. Meadows met the lieutenant at the doorway of the office to lead her out when Honeycutt called after them. They stopped momentarily and Devon turned to face him.

  Honeycutt spoke with a voice full of contempt, "A word of warning, lieutenant, this isn't over. You are still the subject of serious charges and as such are confined to your living quarters. Is that understood?"

  Their eyes locked in a hateful stare. Devon opened her mouth to respond but the attorney ushered her through the doorway into the hall, calling over his shoulder, "My client will abide by the judge's order." With that they made their way quickly out of the building.

  After Devon showered and changed into a set of desert fatigues, they stopped by a drive through where she was tempted to order one of everything from the breakfast menu. Instead, she settled for a ham and egg muffin, two hash browns, a cinnamon roll, fruit cup and a large coffee. "And a large coffee for me," laughed the colonel. As he drove, Devon asked in between bites, "So, where are we going now?"

  "A mutual friend heard about your circumstance and is eag
er to see you." He sipped his coffee, giving no further explanation. Devon shrugged, just happy to be out of the jail cell. She settled back in the seat to enjoy the rest of her breakfast on the way to their mysterious destination.

  The door opened and Devon's mouth gaped in wonder at the man standing in the threshold. He stepped toward her with his arms wide, wrapping her in a tight embrace, "How are you, child?" he said affectionately pulling her head to his chest.

  She returned the fierce hug, tears blurring her vision, managing to say through the lump in her throat, "Better, sir. Colonel Brinkman? How-" Devon saw the silver star on the collar of the man still holding onto her shoulders, "Oh. Forgive me, general." She stiffened reflexively to attention.