Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Mac was in the process of removing her underwear from the dresser when she heard the anchorwoman say her name. Mac turned just in time to see footage of herself as she broke through the press and fled. “Captain Robin Macintyre, who some claim is having an affair with the president, refused to take questions this afternoon as her case went to a military jury. The captain is accused of disobeying a direct order. Jury deliberations will resume tomorrow.” The TV snapped to black as Mac pressed the power button.

Mac slid into bed half an hour later, but sleep wouldn’t come. Would her father see the news reports? Would Victoria gloat? And what about Sloan? Did he know?

When the dreams arrived, they were tangled things, slippery with night sweat and filled with dread. And when the alarm went off, Mac experienced a sense of relief. More than that, she felt a lightness of spirit. As if something had changed. Did that flow from acceptance? Perhaps. But regardless of the reason, she felt better. Not happy, but better. And that would have to do.

Mac got up, showered, and dressed with care. What was it that the Green Berets liked to say? “No matter what happens, look cool.” Yeah, that would be her motto for the day. Mac eyed the image in the mirror and threw her shoulders back. You look good, she told herself. Work it.

Once Mac was ready, she performed an idiot check on the room, said good-bye to her belongings, and left. The sleet had stopped by that time, and there were occasional breaks in the clouds. Mac even caught a glimpse of the sun on the way and chose to interpret that as a positive omen.

A gaggle of reporters was waiting for her, and Mac could see them from a distance. But rather than attempt to avoid them, she walked up to the group and paused. Then, as they started to barrage her with questions, Mac said, “Quiet!” And the authority with which she said it had the desired effect. “All right,” Mac told them… “Here you go. I am not having an affair with the President of the United States. I have not spoken to him regarding my court-martial. And I am not pregnant. That will be all. Thank you.” And with that, she walked up the steps and entered the building. More reporters were stationed inside, but she ignored them.

As Mac entered the courtroom, it seemed as if all her senses were maxed out. She could see, hear, and feel everything with the same intensity she had experienced while in combat.

Sanders was waiting for her, and Mac saw what might have been relief in his eyes. Had he been afraid that she’d run? Probably.

Judge Apitz arrived on time, everyone stood, and the proceeding got under way. “We have a verdict,” Apitz announced, as he looked at a sheet of paper. “The defendant will rise.”

Mac felt sick to her stomach but managed to keep her face blank as she stood. No matter what happens, look cool. “It is the forum’s finding that Captain Robin Macintyre is guilty of both charges,” Apitz said, as his eyes came up to meet Mac’s. “A jury of your peers has found you guilty of violating Articles 90 and 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. You could serve twenty years for those offenses. However, in light of your otherwise spotless record, and your well-documented acts of valor, I’m going to give you a sentence of four years to be served at Fort Leavenworth in Kansas. Your attorney can file motions on your behalf and appeal the findings of this court should he find grounds to do so. This court is adjourned.”

Mac felt her heart sink. Four years! Sanders had been hoping for two. “I’m sorry,” Sanders said. “Hang in there. I’ll be in touch.”

A female MP stepped forward to take Mac into custody. “I won’t cuff you here,” she said kindly. “Not in front of the cameras.”

Mac said, “Thank you.” And, as she was led away, Mac saw Morgan standing against the wall. The reporter had a smirk on her face. She winked and turned away.

NEAR SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI

Rain tapped on the van’s roof as Victoria and two members of her team sat and waited. What was it? Day three? Yeah, day three. And the man who called himself Nathan Hale had yet to show. But he will show, Victoria assured herself. He’s a busy man. But he’ll come by. It’s just a matter of time.

After being outsmarted, and very nearly killed inside the Metrocenter Mall, Victoria felt a wide range of emotions including sorrow, shame, and embarrassment. And her commanding officer’s scathing critique of the operation added to her misery. Because, even though she didn’t like or respect Colonel Oxley, she’d been raised to respect authority figures, so his opinion mattered.

The strength of some emotions had started to fade, but one burned bright. And that was an intense anger directed toward Nathan Hale. The anger could have been corrosive. But for Victoria, it was like the oxygen a fire requires in order to burn.

Every day was a workday. Not just for Victoria, but for her team, including the soldiers brought in to replace Post and Tarvin. Thanks to the photos Tarvin had taken during the minutes prior to her death, investigators had something to work with. Hale was disguised as a woman. But, by subjecting the images to computer analysis, Victoria’s techs had been able to render an image that they believed to be a good match to Hale’s actual appearance.

So far, so good. But what was Hale’s actual identity? Victoria had a theory about that. Rather than the home-grown resistance fighter he claimed to be, Victoria thought Hale was a member of the Union’s military-intelligence apparatus. An army officer? Quite possibly.

The next step was to use facial-recognition software to compare the new image with prewar photos of the country’s military officers. All of which were available thanks to a predisaster Department of Defense database that both sides had copies of.

It took the computer two minutes and forty-two seconds to produce seven possibles, each graded according to the degree of match. It was tempting to focus on the top three at the expense of the others, but Victoria demanded that the team be more systematic than that.

The evaluation consumed three days. According to articles from northern publications, three of the possibles had been killed in action. That didn’t mean they were actually dead, however, since the Union’s Intel people could have planted the articles in hopes that the Confederacy would believe them.

Still, odds were that the reports were accurate. And, since one of the men was being held in a Confederate POW camp and another was African-American, only two candidates remained. One was a captain named Gregory Salazar. The other was a major named Thomas Toby. Both had dark hair, green eyes, and even features. But Victoria had a hunch that Salazar and Hale were one and the same.

That was a subjective judgment, to say the least, and one she didn’t share. Rather than do so, Victoria ordered the team to look for factors that would help to narrow the choice. And after days of hard work, they found it. Two years earlier, while attending staff college, Salazar had written a paper titled: “The Role of Military Intelligence During a Civil Insurrection.”

According to the scenario that Salazar and his classmates had been ordered to address, a loosely linked alliance of right-wing hate groups, religious fanatics, and gun nuts had taken control of Texas and Oklahoma, producing a conflict similar to the one that was under way. And the tactics that Salazar put forward bore a strong resemblance to those that Hale was using. That included the creation of a unit designed to target teams like hers!