“No, don’t,” Julie told Hays. “Don’t say anything at all. We don’t have to say anything, do we, Liz?”
Liz frowned. “No, you don’t, but-”
Before she could explain, Jim interrupted. “I just got off the phone with the dant. He ordered me to back out of the Dell investigation. He said that there had been a SecNav determination as to what happened to Dell.”
“Then that’s it, isn’t it?” Julie said, trying for a confident look. “It’s officially over?”
“For Dell, it was over when he hit the concrete,” Branner said, producing a painful silence at the table. “But not for you, apparently.”
Jim leaned forward. “I asked if there were any outstanding accountability issues. The dant said there was one, and it involved you, Midshipman Markham.”
“Goddamn it, why?”
“You want the technical answer or the real answer?”
Julie looked again at Tommy Hays, who just shook his head in bewilderment.
“Let’s hear the real answer,” Liz said.
“The real answer is that a midshipman died in Bancroft Hall. Someone must be held accountable for that. The official ruling will probably be a DBM-accident. Plebe went up on the roof and fell off. Internally, they know there’s more to it. Within the Academy, they’re probably going to use a fig leaf, say that the system just overwhelmed a plebe. But we know that’s not the whole story, is it, Midshipman Markham?”
Julie just stared at him.
Branner leaned forward. “You told us you didn’t know Dell other than as a summer plebe. But isn’t it true you were secretly mentoring Brian Dell?”
Julie set her jaw and didn’t answer. Hays closed his eyes, as if he was expecting to be slapped. Liz asked Julie if this was true.
“It might be,” Julie said very slowly.
“ Might be? You told me you didn’t really know Midshipman Dell,” Liz said. “Other than as a plebe among plebes.”
Julie stared down at the table.
“Well, here it is, Julie,” Jim said. “The dant is going to fire up the Brigade Honor Committee. Somehow, some way, they’re going to pin something on you relating to what happened to Dell. If they don’t know about your helping Dell, they will once a BIO starts asking questions, right? Especially if he talks to Mr. Hays here. My guess is that you won’t be found directly responsible for whatever it is they’re going to ‘conclude’ about Dell’s death, but you’re going to get tagged with something.”
“That’s not fair!”
“It’s not fair, but it’s preferable to having the system get tagged. There’s always accountability, right? It’s the cornerstone of their whole program. So if it can’t be them, it’s going to be you.”
“Unless…” Branner began. Julie looked at her.
“For Christ’s sake, Julie,” Tommy Hays said. “Tell them. They think Booth may have done it. Tell them.”
Julie got out of her chair and went to the door. It was obvious she just wanted to bolt from the room. Jim saw Branner pushing her chair back surreptitiously, but nobody else moved. Then Julie turned around to face all of them.
“I’ve been on the Academy swim team since plebe year,” she said. “I’m a freestyler. So is Dyle. But I’m not in his league. Nobody is.”
“He’s a classmate?” Liz asked.
“That’s right. Dyle Jones Booth. We don’t compete, of course-he’s on the men’s team. But Dyle is…different. As a competitor, as a team member. He’s big. He was big when he got here, and he’s bulked up over the past four years. He’s going Marine option. Always was. He plays the part. Tons of gung ho bullshit, but you get the sense he does it just to fool the officers.”
“Are they fooled?” Jim asked.
“Yes, I think they are. I mean, the Marine officers eat that stuff right up. Dyle’s loud and he’s big and he’s way enthusiastic about everything military-marching, drill, shooting, hand to gland, spit and polish, giving commands. All that ‘Hoo-ah’ noise. He’s effective because you wouldn’t dream of not doing what he says.”
“Because there’s always an implied threat?”
“Not implied, Mr. Hall,” she said. “It’s right out there. It’s in his eyes. In his body language. And you get the impression he’d almost prefer it if you crossed him. Like he lives for that. ‘Go ahead, punk, make my day,’ that kinda deal.”
“What’s your connection, other than through the swim team?” Branner asked.
“Well, he’s in my batt.”
“He a striper?” Jim asked.
“No, sir, he’s not a striper. There’s something about him that I think bothered the Navy officers. He’s too much. Too loud. Over-the-top. Plus, behind their backs? He scoffs at the whole striper scene. Thinks it’s childish, boys ordering boys around. When he realized he’d never be one, he made like it wasn’t important anyway. Goes around counting the days until he gets to go to Quantico and starts what he calls his ‘real life.’”
“You think the officers are afraid of this guy?” Jim asked.
“No, sir, not exactly, but they know he’s different. On the other hand, he’s been a big-time medal winner for Navy in swimming, he’s beyond physically fit, and he’s a poster boy for the uniform. I think they’re mostly anxious to graduate him and then let the Marines deal with him.”
“And the plebes? How does he deal with the plebes?”
“They’re scared shitless of him,” she said, slipping back into her chair. Tommy Hays nodded emphatically.
“The system here is different from when you went through,” she said, speaking directly to Jim. “Now they try to teach leadership from the ground up. It begins in youngster year, when every youngster is responsible for mentoring one plebe. Every second-class mid is responsible for supervising two youngsters, and the firsties supervise the whole thing in the company structure. The plebes learn to follow; the upperclassmen learn to lead, to take care of their people. It’s a good system. It’s a smart system. But Dyle plays outside the system.”
“How so?”
“Dyle quit running the plebes, directly, about midyear. Now he menaces them. Shows up in their rooms after hours. He shadows them. Gets on a plebe and stays on him.”
“Why don’t the other upperclassmen call him out over this-he must be disrupting the company chain of command.”
“You don’t call out Dyle Booth,” Hays said. Everyone looked over at him. “Nobody in his right mind would do that.”
“Where’s his company officer?” Jim asked.
“He’s a Marine captain,” Julie said. “He goes around full bore, too. He thinks Dyle Booth is superman.”
“What happened between you and Booth?” Branner asked Julie.
“Dyle wanted me to go out with him. Not here, but when we went to away meets at other colleges. He said we were the best of the Navy freestylers and we ought to get together.” She shivered. “When he came on to me, it brought to mind images of those Nazi super-race breeding programs.” She paused for a moment. “I told him no. I told him he gave me the creeps. Besides, he knew I was seeing Tommy.”
“But he persisted?” Branner asked, prodding her.
After another moment’s hesitation, Julie said, “Yes.” Her voice was now almost down to a whisper. “There was this one away meet, down at UVA. Tommy and I had been arguing-over the future. There was this big frat party. Believe it or not, I’d never been to one of those. They party pretty hard down there in Charlottesville. I…I got a little drunk.”
She stopped and looked over at Tommy, as if seeking some moral support. But then she continued. “Actually, I got really drunk. Tommy hadn’t gone down there, because he was still pissed off at me. But Dyle was there. He had a bunch of sorority girls hanging all over him, but he made it clear whom he wanted that night.”
“Okay,” Branner said brusquely. “So you had a one-night stand with supermensch. Big deal. Shit happens. What then?”
Julie blinked at the way Branner dismissed the significance of what she was saying. “Eventually, I told Tommy. He kind of went off. As he had every right to, I guess.” She looked sideways at Hays, who was red-faced now, staring down at the table. “But Dyle was so triumphant. I think it was always about that-another trophy for him. He kept making comments. Every time we ran into each other, he’d have to say something embarrassing. People were talking.”