Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“No,” Beth agreed, “it doesn’t. But there’s more… According to a person I interviewed in Iowa, a man who used to be on Pickett’s staff, the senator is still receiving cash payments from Huxton. They arrive once a month by courier.”

Sloan stared at her. “You must be kidding.”

“No,” Beth replied. “I’m serious. But here’s the problem… All I have is the allegation. And that won’t cut it. We need proof.”

Sloan could see where things were headed. World News lacked the resources to carry out a full-scale investigation—and wanted the government to do it for them. Was that ethical? Yes, no, maybe. If Picket was taking money from the insurgents in return for votes in the Senate, that was a crime. And the Whig candidate would go down in flames.

But what about his involvement? Using government resources to submarine a political opponent would look bad to some people even if it was legally appropriate. “I can’t get involved in this,” Sloan told her. “What I can do is ask the Attorney General to take your call. Then, if he decides that an investigation is appropriate, the wheels will start to turn. But if he says no, then it’s game over.”

Beth nodded. “I will call him tomorrow.”

Sloan glanced at his watch. It was nearly five. “So how about some dinner? I can’t take you out… not without a motorcade and an army of Secret Service agents. But we could eat here.” Are you crazy? the voice demanded. You dumped her! Because she’s OCD, bossy, and extremely transactional. But it was too late. The icy blue eyes seemed to soften a bit. “That would be nice, Sam. But no sex. Not while I’m working on a story that could benefit you.”

“Of course not,” Sam replied. And that was when he remembered something important. The last time he’d had sex had been with her . And it had been quite enjoyable. That was one area where they had always been sympatico.

A smile tugged at the corners of Beth’s mouth. “Good. So what’s on the menu?”

CASPER, WYOMING

A cold wind was blowing down from the north. The flag snapped in the breeze, hardware rattled, and halyards slapped against the aluminum pole as the funeral service continued. Mac was standing behind Colonel Crowley and in front of the battalion. Two days had passed since the ambush. During that time, the wreckage had been removed from what had become known as “the squeeze,” and thirty-nine bodies had been returned to Fort Carney.

Prior to the May Day disaster, the dead would have been processed and sent home for burial. That was no longer possible because of civil unrest, the war, and the country’s crumbling infrastructure. So a military graveyard had been commissioned half a mile south of the fort. And, with assistance from a local funeral home, the dead soldiers were being laid to rest. Each casket was draped with an American flag. And, because the soldiers were from the South, the symbolism took on additional significance.

Tears ran down Mac’s cheeks, and she made no attempt to wipe them away, as each casket was lowered into the ground. The rifle party fired a three-shot volley for each soldier lost. And as the bugler played “Taps,” the sweet-sad sound of it nearly broke her heart.

Once the battalion was dismissed, Mac half expected Crowley to turn and address his troops. He didn’t. A Humvee was waiting. Crowley made his way over, got in, and was whisked away. So Mac led the members of Alpha and Bravo Companies back to the fort, where Charlie Company was on duty. Once they arrived, Mac made her way to the company’s command shack—and was pouring herself a mug of coffee when Perkins arrived. He had Company Sergeant Boulineau in tow. “Have you got a minute, Captain?”

“Sure,” Mac replied. “What’s up?”

“It’s Kline, ma’am. And Porter. They went AWOL last night.”

Kline was the gunner in two-three, and Porter was a mechanic. Neither had been trouble before so far as Mac knew. “Did we catch them?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Boulineau answered grimly. “The MPs found them on 220 trying to hitchhike south. They’re being held in the stockade.”

Mac took a sip of coffee. It was cold. “Good. Do we know why they ran?”

Perkins was visibly uncomfortable. “Kline and Porter are of the opinion that the CO doesn’t care about the troops—and that’s why so many people were killed in the squeeze.”

Mac was in a difficult position. The deserters were right—Crowley didn’t care about them. But she was the battalion’s XO, and Bravo Company’s CO. As such, she couldn’t side with Kline and Porter no matter how correct they might be. “Colonel Crowley led the way,” Mac reminded them. “An IED went off under his Humvee and sent it flying through the air.”

“That’s true,” Perkins allowed. “But he left the scene of the ambush before all of the wounded had been treated, much less evacuated. That left a bad taste in the mouths of some.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “You know the drill… Charge them with desertion. I’ll sign the paperwork.”

Neither man moved. Mac eyed them. “Well?”

Perkins cleared his throat. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Shoot.”

“We think Kline and Porter are part of a larger problem.”

“That’s right,” Boulineau agreed. “There are rumblings. Things that worry me.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a large number of people pulling out… and making a run for the New Mason-Dixon Line.”

Mac was reminded of what Crowley had said to her. “Who knows? The whole lot of them might go over the hill.”

“Are you referring to Bravo Company?” Mac wanted to know. “Or the entire battalion?”

“All of them,” Perkins replied. “Most, anyway.”

Mac sighed. “First, thanks for the heads-up. Second, let’s do what we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Perkins looked skeptical. “No offense, ma’am… But how will we do that?”

A plan was starting to form in Mac’s mind. “Let’s begin with a proposal to reorganize the battalion. By redistributing our personnel, we can create three companies of equal size… And that makes sense since it could be quite a while before reinforcements arrive. Then, assuming the CO approves of the plan, we’ll start an aggressive training cycle.”

Perkins eyes grew wider. “A reorganization would be like shuffling a deck of cards. It would break up cliques, redistribute opinion leaders, and buy us time.”

Mac smiled. “Yes. If it works. What do you think, Sergeant?”

Boulineau nodded. “You’re a fucking genius, ma’am. No disrespect intended.”

“And none taken,” Mac assured him. “Let’s bring Captain Lightfoot and Captain Withers in on our plan. Then we’ll go to work.”

The proposal to reorganize the battalion came together quickly—and Mac was ready to submit a draft the following morning. But, before she could request a meeting with Crowley, he sent for her. She took the plan along.

When Mac arrived the colonel, Lieutenant Casey, and the other company commanders were crammed into Crowley’s office. He was standing with his back to the earthen wall. “Good morning,” he said, as Mac entered. “Let’s begin.” His eyes roamed the faces in front of him.

“We got our asses handed to us a few days ago. But, rather than sit here and lick our wounds, I’m going to take most of the battalion up north and put Howard down like the mad dog he is. In a perfect world, we would call on the air force to destroy his so-called fort… But Howard has a lot of prisoners there… So we’ve got to do it the hard way.”

Crowley paused. “Right about now, you’re asking yourselves how we’re going to do it. I’m not ready to disclose that yet. Based on what happened in the so-called squeeze, we know that our plans were compromised in advance, and I’m not about to let that happen again.”