John Lutz - Night Victims

Anne looked over at her suitcase, placed just inside the door, then up at the sleeping lofts. Is this really going to be home for a while?

She hadn’t been here in years and didn’t even recall if the place had a generator and electricity. But she was relieved to see a light switch on the wall, and that there was a ceiling fan mounted high on the beamed ceiling. Electrical cords extended from the oversized lamps on tables at each end of the sofa. It would be dark soon. At least she’d have light.

There was a knock on the warped plank door as it creaked open. Anne felt a thrill of terror, then relaxed.

It was only Paula, who’d driven her here.

Paula smiled. “Sorry if I spooked you. I forgot something.”

Anne was spooked, all right. She wondered how secure she really was in the cabin.

Cindy Vine was finally talking, but hestitantly. Horn and Larkin watched through the one-way glass of the precinct interrogation room as a detective named Millhouse, whose specialty was sly interrogation, questioned her in the presence of her Legal Aid attorney. The attorney was a handsome, stern woman in her forties named Vicki Twigg, who, in private practice, had almost been disbarred five years before for her romantic involvement with her client. Rumor had it she’d also been doing drugs but had cleaned up that act before it destroyed her personally and professionally. Horn knew Twigg could be her old clever and unprincipled self from time to time. Cindy Vine hadn’t done badly in the luck of the draw.

“You’re the only one in any sort of position to help your husband,” Millhouse was telling Cindy.

She glanced at Twigg, who sat motionless and might have been thinking about a Macy’s sale.

“And help yourself, of course,” Millhouse added. “Unfortunately your husband’s crossed a threshold into a lot of serious difficulty. I sincerely believe he wouldn’t want you to follow him, but I’m afraid that’s what you’ll do if you continue your refusal to cooperate-”

Cindy squirmed. Twigg remained unmoving, maybe wondering how crowded Macy’s would be.

“Damn her,” Larkin said, on the other side of the thick glass.

He punched out a number on his cell phone. The phone in Millhouse’s pocket vibrated soundlessly, and Larkin broke the connection.

“I’m authorized to offer a deal,” Millhouse said.

Twigg looked over at him without moving her head.

“If your client is completely truthful and cooperative-”

“She walks,” Twigg finished for him. Twigg knew the score, the inning, the pitch count. “It’s her husband you want. My client has done nothing actionable.”

“Being an accessory to murder is actionable,” Millhouse said. “But even so-”

“She walks.”

Millhouse glanced over at the glass behind which Larkin and Horn stood unseen. Twigg made it a point not to follow his gaze, but she smiled slightly.

“Okay,” Millhouse said. “Charges won’t be brought as long as she’s truthful. I’m authorized to make the offer. You have my word.”

Twigg looked over at Cindy and nodded. Cindy began to sob.

“Agreement in writing,” Twigg said.

“Sure,” Millhouse said. “I’ll set it up.”

Afghanistan, 2001

SSF trooper Joe Vine used a polymer line and belayer to rappel down the rocky mountain face to the cave entrance they’d spotted from the ground. The main cave was still being explored. The Taliban had been driven from the area, or deeper into the caves, so there shouldn’t be much danger in Vine checking out this cave by himself. Judging by the contours of the mountain, it was probably small and shallow and not much more than a grotto. This region was full of such minor caves, sometimes man-made, with dark entrances that usually led nowhere.

The mission was to mop up any remaining Taliban resistance, then search the caves for records and munitions. That could, of course, be extremely dangerous.

Vine stopped his descent about a yard to the side of the cave entrance. He saw now that the cave might be reachable by using a narrow path below, but it would be difficult, and, in places, the rocky path disappeared.

He would have tossed a grenade into the cave before entering, only the unit didn’t want to make its presence known.

The sound of the grenade explosion would echo around the mountainous terrain, and the resultant smoke might be visible for miles.

So Vine readied his automatic weapon, gathered his guts, and pushed off from the mountain face to swing in through the cave entrance and take anyone inside by surprise.

From sunlight to dimness. It took a fraction of a second for Vine’s vision to adjust.

Which was a good thing, or he might have squeezed the trigger.

Inside was his fellow SSF unit member Aaron Mandle. He was stooped over a bundle of some sort and staring up at him in surprise.

“Shit!” Vine said, relaxing. “You beat me to this one.”

Mandle didn’t answer, didn’t move.

And Vine looked down at the bundle at Mandle’s feet and knew why.

It was a young Afghan girl, wound tightly in her burka, which was darkly stained. Vine knew the stain and the faint metallic scent in the cave. Fresh blood.

“What the fuck did you do, Aaron?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mandle said, standing straight now and smiling, his automatic weapon slung beneath his right arm, the knife in his left. “I found her in here.”

“Like this?”

Mandle actually smiled. “Not exactly, Joe.”

Vine sat down on the hard earth. “Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“I didn’t do that to her.”

“What I mean,” Vine said, “is that you can’t get by with something like this, Aaron. It’s murder.”

“It’s war, Joe. Total fuckin’ war. The small and the crawl-that’s us, Joe-we get fucked in total war. Any goddamn thing goes.”

“Not that !” Vine said, pointing to the dead girl, marveling at how pale and angelic her face looked in the dim cave. She must have lost most of her blood before she died.

“Yeah, that,” Mandle said. “It’s what we trained for, Joe. Don’t shit yourself, it’s what we trained for.”

“That kid’s not the enemy!”

“Sure she is, just like all those Kraut and Jap civilians we bombed in World War Two. You ever read history, Joe?”

“Yeah, history. .” Vine was feeling a little sick. The heat, even in the dim, shallow cave. The dead girl and the smell. Jesus!. .

“I want you to do me a favor, Joe.”

“I know. Forget about this.”

“For a while, is all I’m asking. Until we can both think some more. Talk some more. Maybe straighten this thing out. Will you do that for me? I’d sure as fuck do it for you.”

Vine worked his way to his feet, still feeling woozy. He glanced at his watch.

“We gotta rejoin the unit,” Mandle said.

“Yeah, Aaron.”

“Thanks, brother,” Mandle said. “I owe you big.”

Vine wasn’t quite sure if he’d agreed to anything. He had to get away and find some time. Think about this.

He led the way out of the cave.

Closer to the base of the mountain, at the mouth of the main cave, they heard gunshots.

Mandle and Vine looked at each other. Then training took over. Crouched and fast, they moved into the cave with weapons at the ready.

The firefight was over when they reached the bend in the cave. Three al-Qaida lay dead in limp bundles like the girl in the other cave. Colonel Kray had a brown metal box tucked beneath his left arm.

Vine almost said something to him then, even though it wasn’t the right time. The girl in the cave. Probably no more than twelve or thirteen. She was a kid. .

Mandle was staring at him.