He returned his gaze to the high mountain from which the helicopter had fallen. “What did the team up there see, anything?”
“Not a damn thing other than some blown up mannequins in burqas.” Chizinski was angry too. “They went up there after the Air Force bombed the hell out of the place, though, so you might say they disturbed the crime scene.”
“Damned AQ probably already snuck out the back door, don’t ya think?”
“Probably.”
After a moment, Eversoll had a thought. He looked at Chizinski and then back up at the ridge. “Sir, you think we can do an op up there?”
“No need. Everything we’re looking for is down there.” Chizinski pointed into the gorge. Two rappel stations had been set up, nylon ropes tied around the winches of two Humvees. They actually had to climb down ropes to get to the crash site. “That’s the only op we’re going to be doing for the next few days.”
Eversoll never removed his eyes from the top of the mountain towering over them like an impenetrable fortress.
I don’t believe it, Eversoll thought to himself.
Just then, a soldier clawed his way over the edge. He was a black sergeant whose face was streaked with mud. He scrambled over the lip of the cliff and went to one knee, then stood. Brushing himself off, he loosened the backpack he was carrying, then slipped it off his shoulders.
Eversoll watched him as he carried the bag toward them and then pulled several baggies from the inside, laying them on the hood of the Humvee.
“Five more identification tags. No more bodies. That thing burned, exploded, and then burned again, it looks like. After that, everything washed downriver.”
Sergeant Eversoll looked at the tags. He knew them all. Driscoll (married with a baby on the way); Burns (father owned a cattle ranch in Wyoming); Svitek (loved to write, even did some poetry); Jackson (his first roommate at Fort Bragg, just bought a house with his new wife).
And Garrett. It was the other tag. Soldiers carried two, one on the long chain and one on the short chain.
There was no doubt, Colonel Garrett was dead.
CHAPTER 5
Saturday for Amanda was filled with the brisk handling of chores to set up the house for the party. Finally, with a chance to relax, she pulled on the lever of the keg.
“Whoo-hoo!” Amanda screamed, as foam sprayed everyone near her, mostly young high school males seeking her affection. “Another one bites the dust!” She sang the lyrics to the Queen song as if she’d been raised during that era thirty years ago. “Another one down and another one down, another one bites the dust, hey, hey!”
Suddenly there were two football players wearing Hawaiian shirts doing the bump with her, but not to the lyrics she was singing. Rather, they were grinding to the heavy bass rap chatter of Snoop Dog filling her plush suburban home.
“Hey, guys,” Amanda said, teasing just a bit and then sliding from between them. She wore a see-through lace blouse over a light-green satin camisole that offset hip-hugger jeans. She was showing about six inches of midriff, which was enough to display the diamond bellybutton ring and a lean, narrow-hip figure honed by the best swimming coaches money could buy.
“Gus! The keg’s broken,” she called into the study. She opened the door and saw him intently focused on the computer.
“Broken?” Gus looked up with a smile on his face. “Is this your Southern way of asking for help?”
“Maybe.” She gave him a sheepish smile.
“Okay, I’ll get right on it.” Then he lifted a small digital camera off his desk and pointed it at her. “Hold it right there.”
Amanda hammed it up by scrunching up her hair in a mock sultry pose. He snapped one photo as Brianna Simpson came walking in the room.
“This would be better out by your new Alfa,” Amanda quipped. She was referring to Gus’s “other girlfriend,” the Alfa Romeo Spider parked at the curb.
“Not getting near Spidee,” he said, stowing the camera.
“Amanda, phone’s ringing,” Brianna said, waving the handset at her. Amanda turned and looked at her. They had been best friends since elementary school. Brianna was her swimming partner in the Spartanburg Swimming Club since either could remember. She was an average swimmer whose mother had ambitions beyond her daughter’s true potential. Amanda easily bested her in their races, making the friendship a challenge at times. Moreover, Brianna had once lived near Amanda but had moved away, as her mother had fallen on hard times when Brianna’s father had left them. Somehow, though, she was able to keep the swimming lessons going.
“Phone,” Brianna said, shoving her hand at Amanda as they exited the study.
Amanda’s look was either, how could you hear the phone over this noise? or, there’s a party going on, why do I care?
Either way, she grabbed the phone and waved at Gus to remind him. “Keg?” she mouthed, then did a pirouette and shuffled toward the hallway.
“How’s acting class coming along?” Brianna asked. It was the one activity that they did not do together.
Amanda stopped and placed the back of her wrist against her forehead, as if in distress. “Rhett, Rhett, what am I going to do? Where shall I go?”
One of the anonymous boys passing by stuck his face in between the two girls, looking a bit like Chris Rock, and said in a squeaky Pee Wee Herman voice, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Then, as he walked away, he muttered, “She’s pretty good.” And she was.
“Another one down and another one…” Amanda continued to sing as she made her way down the hall, shook her hair, and then put the phone to her ear. “Dominos, how may we help you?” Another teenage boy wearing dungarees that defied gravity by not falling below his buttocks smiled at her as she danced a small jig toward the foyer and out onto the front porch. Two white columns framed the entry.
“Hey, babe, how’s the party going?” Amanda shifted from dancing to swaying slowly as she maneuvered down the steps toward the perfectly manicured Saint Augustine grass lawn. A few guys and girls came and went freely in either direction. If there was one thing in her life that could keep her focused, it was the quarterback of the football team — and longtime boyfriend — Jake Devereaux.
“Great. When you getting here?”
“I’m here, pulling up now.”
Amanda walked down to the driveway, moved an orange cone she had placed behind her metallic silver Mercedes SLK-350 Roadster, and waved Jake’s Ford pickup truck into the circular drive. She ran up to the driver’s side, opened the door and threw her arms around his big neck.
“Three weeks to graduation, babe. Can you believe it!” Amanda had downed four beers and was a bit tipsy. Jake had secured a scholarship to the University of South Carolina, just down the road in Columbia, where Amanda planned to attend on a swimming scholarship.
“I know. Coach Rogers told me today that the Einstein who was going to be our graduation speaker cancelled.”
Amanda was uninterested. “As long as we get our diplomas, who cares?”
Jake cracked a grin. “Ever the deep one, aren’t we?”
“Nooo,” she said with a smile. “Take a poll. You know I’m right.”
“Probably, but you know I’ve always been a sucker for that kind of thing. Stuff has to have meaning, you know?”
“That’s why we’re the most awesomest couple,” Amanda said cutely. “Besides, we’ll be graduating, genius; that has meaning.”