Джеймс Паттерсон - The Summer House

“What was the incident?”

One more pause from O’Connell.

“Staff Sergeant Jefferson and his squad hit a house,” he says. “It was the wrong house. No Al-Qaeda, no Taliban, no ISIS, no insurgents. A house full of civilians.”

Another helicopter comes overhead, and then the noise eases off.

O’Connell says, “And the Rangers slaughtered them all.”

Chapter 34

THE NEWS FROM Captain O’Connell hits me so hard that for a few blessed moments I can’t even feel the pain in my left leg.

“How do you know this?” I ask.

“Like you said,” he says, “I hear things. I hear rumors. But this rumor…so nasty I had to double-check, to verify. I made a call, to an Army intelligence officer I met when I was deployed to Afghanistan. Captain Amy Cornwall.”

“How did she know? Was she there?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” O’Connell says. “But she’s with Langley now, and she did a favor and confirmed it. The squad was in a village called Pendahar, in Khost province. Amy told me that after that house was wiped out, the CIA wanted to cover their big butt and so they sent the Rangers home. Things are so fragile over there, the story about a squad of Rangers committing a war crime would screw up the peace negotiations big-time…Yeah, that’s something the CIA would want to bury deep.”

A glance over at Connie. She looks as shocked as I feel.

York says, “Is there anything else you know about the killings over there?”

“No,” he says.

“Does Colonel Marcello know?” I ask.

“I can’t see how he doesn’t.”

I ask, “Were they facing disciplinary action? Was the incident investigated?”

O’Connell says, “To answer both of your questions, I don’t know. Look, whatever happened took place half a world away. I wasn’t there. Officially, the Army says the squad wasn’t under their control. They belonged to the CIA. And if you think the Company is going to come forward and reveal all without a busload of subpoenas, you’re crazy. Nothing is going to happen from Langley’s end.”

“And their fellow Rangers in Alpha Company and Fourth Battalion?” I ask. “Do you think they know what the men did in that village?”

O’Connell’s hand gently taps on his clean desk. “It’s certainly possible.”

Something comes to me. “Wait. A few minutes ago you said the rest of the battalion was going to be deployed when you had gone through your discharge. But their deployment date got moved ahead. Right?”

“Correct,” he says.

“But why? Why was the battalion ordered to deploy earlier than scheduled?”

“I don’t know.”

The pains in my leg decide to come back for their usual visit. “But don’t you think it’s an incredible coincidence…that these same Rangers are accused of killing a houseful of civilians in an Afghan village, and then of doing the same thing some weeks later in a Georgia town? And just when we arrive to conduct an investigation, any witnesses we could talk to are out of reach because the battalion’s deployment schedule is suddenly changed?”

“Yes,” O’Connell says. “One hell of a coincidence.”

“I don’t like coincidences,” I say.

“Me neither,” the captain says.

As we’re leaving Hunter, a white MP police cruiser with flashing blue lights comes up behind us, and I say, “Connie, do pull over. I don’t think this poor rental can take any more.”

She does just that, and the cruiser stops. The woman who steps out of the driver’s side is someone I recognize.

It’s Colonel Brenda Tringali, head of this base’s Third MP Group. She comes to my side of the car, I roll the window down, and she leans in, putting both hands on the open window frame. One hand has a small bandage on it.

She says, “How’s your day going, Major?”

“Fine, ma’am,” I say. “Our investigation is continuing.”

Her skin is a light brown, and she has ink-black hair and sharp dark-brown eyes. “Good to know. I’d appreciate a briefing at some point as to how your work is progressing.”

“If I have something to share, ma’am, I’ll certainly consider that,” I say.

She has a slight smile, but there’s no warmth or humor in it. “That wasn’t really a request, Major Cook.”

I say, “Since you’re not in my chain of command, ma’am, that’s how I’m taking it.”

Her eyes lock onto mine and then she slaps the open window frame and steps away. “Speed limit on post is thirty miles an hour,” she says. “Is that clear?”

“Very,” I say, and she heads back to her cruiser. I tell Connie, “All right, let’s go.”

She eases our way out into traffic, and I say, “Speed it up, Agent York. I don’t want to be late to the county coroner’s.”

“With pleasure, Major,” she replies as we quickly get up to forty miles an hour.

Chapter 35

I’M ON THE PHONE with Colonel Phillips, our superior officer, as Connie speeds us west on Interstate 16, back to Sullivan County and Briggs Brothers Funeral Home. The engine of our Ford grinds here and there, and the battered front hood vibrates hard against its latch, threatening to break free.

“Colonel, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t make that out.”

There’s a hiss of static, and his voice seems distant and quiet. He says, “…do what I can, but that’s one hell of a bit of news. Ranger squad accused of killing civilians overseas and then here…Damn, it’d be like if those My Lai soldiers came back from Vietnam in 1968 and shot up a 7-Eleven…”

He coughs and coughs.

“Colonel,” I say. “We’re going to need information about what happened in that Afghan village. What connection there might be between here and Hunter. There’s got to be something.”

More coughing. “…see what I can do.” The colonel disconnects the call.

I look at Connie, whose hands are firmly gripping the steering wheel.

“Sir, I’m getting some thoughts here, and I hate to bring them up.”

“Speak, Connie. Don’t hold back.”

“You’ve got a Ranger squad that raises hell in the States. Other platoon members and Rangers in their company don’t like them. They think this squad gets away with everything. Even their CO won’t back them up…That’s what he said, right, when we met him?”

“You’re right, Connie,” I say. “Go on.”

She passes a Walmart tractor-trailer truck and keeps on speeding.

“Then the rumors start, the stories, the tales,” she says. “Other Rangers get drunk at local pubs and roadhouses, swap tales about what they heard the staff sergeant and his squad did in Afghanistan. ‘Can you believe it?’ they say. ‘Jefferson and his Ninjas got away with it again.’”

I keep my mouth shut. When an investigator who works for you starts talking, you let them talk. You don’t want to disturb whatever slender thread their mind and gut have come up with.

“There’s resentment,” she says. “Anger. They know what happened in Afghanistan. They think the Ninjas got away with it. All right, a couple of them think. Let’s set them up here in the States. Do something that can’t be overlooked, can’t be ignored. ”

I say, “So another squad of Rangers committed the murders?”

“That’s right,” she says.

“A hell of a stretch,” I say. “There’s a lot of evidence pointing to this squad. The fingerprints. The woman with her dog. The shell casings matching Jefferson’s pistol. The surveillance video from the store. One of the men in the house being the drug dealer for Staff Sergeant Jefferson’s stepdaughter. Jefferson telling Dr. Huang he knew what The Summer House looked like. The younger Ranger, Tyler, expressing guilt to Huang.”