Roarke shook his head. “Sony. Maybe I should start again.” She agreed. “Good morning, Captain. How are you today?”
“Quite fine, in fact, Agent Roarke,” she said, with an exaggerated delivery. “Thank you for asking. And you’ll be happy to know that I’ve been working rather hard since you called from the road yesterday. It’s been productive. I’ve come up with a good deal.”
Roarke kissed her forehead. “That’s nice,” he said in an equally affected tone. But his eyes lit up and he couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Now what the fuck is it?”
The Army intelligence officer laughed. “Eager are we? Here it is.” She unlocked a drawer and removed a stack of files “Take a look.”
Roarke obliged, joining Walker on her side of the desk. The top page was a summary of the attack in Baghdad. Pictures followed on subsequent pages. He leafed through them coming to the findings marked U.S. Army EOD/Report/Baghdad, Ghazalia district. It was signed and dated by the EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) senior officer. Walker had highlighted the most important points in a bright yellow marker, which Roarke scanned.
…anonymous report six…Army Rangers respond…squad entered…command reports pairs cover building quadrants-sudden explosion…estimate 2,000 lbs…remote detonation — building reduced to rubble — brick, furniture, air conditioners, other debris one-hundred yards away — trees ignited — collateral damage — partial destruction of nearby buildings — car hurled by blast into passing truck — RECOVERED unexploded artillery shells, wires… 1st Armored Division secured site…KIA six…
The remainder of the details included the itemization of body parts, skull fragments, and other coldly clinical information. Roarke let out a heavy and needed sigh. The description put him right in Baghdad, making him an eyewitness. It reminded him of too many things he’d seen himself. He returned to Walker’s findings.
…dental reports…identities confirmed — exception, US Army Lt. Richard Cooper — search ended —
It went on, but Roarke had read enough. “Your take, Penny?” There was nothing but sadness in Roarke’s voice.
She’d read everything a number of times anticipating his questions. “It was a complete investigation. By the book. Thorough forensics. I found no oversights.”
“And they found no body.”
“It’s not unusual given the size of the blast.”
“Is it impossible, though?”
“It’s not impossible. He could have been at ground zero. Between the heat and the force of the blast, he could have been instantly incinerated.”
“And if he wasn’t at ground zero? If he was at the opposite end of the blast? Protected somehow. Covered. Behind something that shielded him?” Roarke asked.
“Possible.”
“Do we know where he was at the time of the blast? His proximity to the bomb?”
“Well, now you’re going where I went. We don’t. But apparently no one was at the precise point of detonation based on the SOP that the men moved in pairs.” She pointed to a schematic included in the report. There were X’s for five of the six bodies. All died in pairs except for one GI near the back of the building.
Roarke’s eyes widened with anticipation. He stared at the layout. “Is that a supporting column?”
“Looks like it could be,” she responded.
“And given the fact that only one body was recovered in that part of the building, is it reasonable to believe that Lt. Cooper could have been the other man in the pair…that he could have been protected from the explosion by that column?”
Penny raised her eyebrow now validating his belief. “He got out. He ran out!”
“Or he was thrown out by the explosion. Either way, he’s alive!” Roarke concluded.
Next, Roarke visited Touch Parsons. He handed over various pictures of Bill, Gloria, and Richard Cooper. “Good boy, Roarke. You even got me different ages.”
“Of course.” The FBI man had drummed the idea into Roarke. Shots of parents over the years vastly helped map the facial structure of a child into middle age. The last photo of Richard was age 24, in uniform. He asked Parsons to add 13 years to his face, then morph the new extrapolation into various interpretations based on the eyewitness descriptions of Depp.
“Well, well, I think you’re finally getting it, Roarke,” Parsons said. He moved over two half-filled cups of cold coffee and a plate of Entemann’s coffee cake crumbs to make room for Roarke’s material.
“Funny, my teachers thought I was a slow learner, too.”
Parsons said his usual hmm a lot as he looked at photographs. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who this guy really is?”
“Nope,” Roarke offered.
“Why did I even ask?” After more hmm’s he continued, “When do you need this by?” He followed up his question even before Roarke could get the answer out. “Why did I even ask? Immediately.”
“Sooner.”
Parsons got to work, narrating the entire process for Roarke. “I’ll scan these, then I’ll really start playing. There are remarkable similarities to the sketches. I can see why you think this might be your guy.”
“Is my guy,” Roarke corrected him with great certainty.
“Ah, you’re getting cocky. But remember, nothing will hold up in court. But if I do say so myself, you’re going to end up with some fucking incredible pictures that will look great on the front page!”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
“This is the man you’ve been calling Depp?” Morgan Taylor asked. He studied the Army photograph Roarke brought to the White House.
“Yes. His name is Richard Cooper and officially he’s dead.”
“According to?”
“The United States of America, boss.” Roarke ran the entire story for the president. He concluded by adding, “And we created this monster who’s out for revenge. He’s not just killing people for money. He’s taking jobs that will cripple, maybe even destroy us. That makes him more dangerous.”
“How so?” the president asked.
“Because he’s extremely careful. He’s not out to build a bank account. This is a means to an end. Somehow he hooked up with the right person who shares his anger and has ample funds to keep him going.” Roarke now offered another belief that he had kept to himself. “And call me crazy, but I have a hunch it was back in Iraq.”
Taylor tilted his head to the side and pressed his lips together. There was nothing in the reaction for Roarke to read. He kept his eyes on the president as he walked to his humidor on a table near the wall. Taylor kept a stash of cigars, which he rarely smoked. Roarke watched him light up and take a long puff. Taylor held the humidor open for Roarke, but the Secret Service agent politely declined with a wave of his hand.
After a second long drag, the president examined his cigar. “You know why I like to smoke, Scott?”
“Yes, sir, I think I do. It gives you time to think. It makes you slow down.”
“You do know me. But it also makes me feel like I’m doing something a little bit wrong in the White House. It is a federal building and the laws do not permit smoking.”
“I’m sure your successor will pardon you.”
Taylor chuckled. “My successor? Now will that be Henry Lamden if he recovers? Perhaps someone new to the White House after the next election? Or maybe even the Speaker of the House, should something happen to me?”
Roarke suddenly looked stunned. The thought of Duke Patrick as president had never crossed his mind. But he was next in the line of succession.