Rebel in Time

'All right, Major. It will take me about a half an hour to clear my desk and get all my papers together—'

'No. All of the records stay here — and you get out as of now. The troops outside don't know it but I know what's going on around here. I know that you are just a sergeant attached to one of the spook outfits. When I said you were relieved, sergeant, I meant it. In every way. I don't hold with all the goddamn undercover agencies that proliferate under the present administration. The Army can conduct its own investigations of an officer, that's what we have military intelligence for. You took over this investigation at a low level, something to do with gold. That's finished now. This is a major case. You're out. The records stay here. I hope that I've made that clear. Dismissed, sergeant.'

Troy opened his mouth to speak — then slowly closed it. He had received his orders. That was it. Period. There was nothing that he could say that would change the situation. The work he had done, the work that still needed doing, the theories he had, none of this was relevant. He was out and that's all there was to it. He had no choice, no choice at all.

He snapped to attention and saluted; Major Van Diver returned it. Then he turned on his heel, went to the office door, opened it, and walked out. Through the office, not looking to the left or right, and out to the parking lot to his car. He started it up and drove slowly down the drive to the gate, watching it swing wide at his approach. The guard nodded and he waved back as he drove past. Only after he was well clear of the grounds did the knot of tension in his midriff slowly begin to ease away. He smiled, then laughed aloud as he drove.

'I've been relieved!' he shouted as the buildings grew smaller in his rearview mirror, then vanished from sight. 'New orders cut. The specialists taking over! Well go ahead, you government issue assholes. You pinheads are never going to find out a thing. You're dumb. You relieved me — but you never even thought to take back my security pass.'

He patted the pocket where it lay. By the numbers, he knew how they would work. Knew how little they would find out. Let them. This case was his and he was still working on it. Or was he? That was really up to the admiral. He would have to see him at once; he headed for the District. On the way in he passed a barbecue drive-in and realized that he hadn't eaten for over six hours. After finishing a sandwich he telephoned the admiral's secretary from the phone booth, in the gas station next door. Yes, the admiral was in. He would see Troy in thirty minutes.

Admiral Colonne did not seem surprised in the slightest by the Army's action in relieving Troy. He sucked on his pipe and nodded as he listened to the details.

'SOP,' he said. 'This agency has performed its function, we have watched the watcher and have made our report. Now the watchman is gone. End of our responsibility. The regulars move in and we step aside. Standard operating procedure. The case is closed.'

'I'm sorry, sir, but I don't believe that it is. You assigned me to investigate the colonel, to determine the reason why he was buying all that gold. That fact hasn't been determined yet. In the meantime McCulloch has disappeared, after committing a number of crimes which the police and G2 are investigating. All well and good. But the original case is still open and unsolved.'

The admiral nodded. 'I can understand your point of view. But what do you think you can possibly accomplish — that other departments can't?'

'I can find out what really happened. I've had some good results so far, you've seen my report. And I've really only just started. There has to be a tie-in between the gold, the murders and the thefts. When I find the answer to one I'll know the answer to them all.'

'You believe that you can do this?'

'I think that I can, sir. After all of the time and energy already invested in this case, I'm only asking for a bit more time. At least the chance to try. Am I still on the case?'

The admiral gazed through the cloud of smoke for a moment in silence. Then nodded. 'You are. I agree with your thinking. As far as this department is concerned the investigation of Colonel McCulloch is still in the active file. What do you intend to do next?'

'Ask the admiral's permission to contact all of the agencies who submitted documents on the investigation of McCulloch. I want copies of their reports. That major booted me out so fast I couldn't even take along my notes.'

'Impossible. Although you and I think differently, QCIC is officially locked out of this investigation. Even if I requested the information the other agencies involved would be sure to refuse.'

'Damn!' Troy jumped to his feet and paced the length of the conference room. Slamming his fist into his palm, over and over again. 'That tears it. I'll never get the man without those records. I'm stupid. I should have made copies of the documents the instant they arrived.'

The admiral nodded agreement. 'You've come late to the decision that I reached decades ago. Establish a working routine. The instant a paper comes through the front door a copy is made for the files. I'm sure that after this little object lesson you will agree on the intelligence of that procedure…'

'Did you — were copies made of all these files?'

'Of course. I said that it was standard procedure. I'll have duplicates of them made now and sent to that cubby in the basement that you have been using for an office.' He raised his hand. 'No don't thank me. QCIC is my department. I want to see this case resolved to our satisfaction just as much as you do.'

Troy could not contain his enthusiasm. 'It's tremendous, I have to thank you, you've saved my bacon. I'm going to crack this thing yet.'

'I look forward to receiving your report.'

Troy started to leave, then turned before he reached the door. 'May I ask you a personal question, sir?'

'You may ask. There is no guarantee that I will answer.'

'It's not really that personal, more a point of information. It's, just what did you do in the Navy? I'm not knocking the Navy, don't misunderstand me, in fact the way you run this intelligence operation, maybe I have been wrong about Navy organization.'

'Then again maybe you haven't. The Navy does have a tendency to work by the book and to show little imagination. Perhaps that is why I am here. Then again — perhaps I never was in the Navy at all. Consider yourself, you have never been a lieutenant — but you're wearing the uniform of one right now. I suggest we leave it at that for the time being. I look forward to receiving your progress reports.'

It was probably the best answer that he could expect. Troy went down to his cubby and buried himself in the work. The papers gradually spread out to cover the desk, and even slopped over onto the floor as he tried to arrange them in some sort of coherent order. It was only after he had worked his way through the entire, laboriously detailed FBI report, that he hit paydirt. A three page evaluation of McCulloch's personality that had been analysed from his personal history and medical records by a government psychiatrist.

It was heavy going, and very Freudian. Much was made of the colonel's having left home at an early age; this opportunity to speculate about maternal rejection and sibling rivalry led to some fancy theorizing. Troy flipped through the pages until he came to the summation.

It is my conclusion therefore, tempered as I have stated earlier by the regrettable fact that I have never met the subject, that he has a strong paranoid personality, whose adjustment to life is further hampered by schizophrenic interludes. He feels that he has been passed over by others less qualified than he, that his lack of success is not his own responsibility, but rather the fault of society. His service in the structured military has enabled him to operate in a reasonably satisfactory manner despite these handicaps. But his military record, and the charges of murder during active service in Vietnam, even though the charges were later dropped, is evidence of strong homicidal tendencies. It is not that he does not know right from wrong, but rather that he believes himself right at all times and wishes to impose his will on those he knows to be wrong. Most important, in a serving officer, are his repressed but still violently held anti-Negro sentiments. His early membership in the Klan supports this conclusion. His deepest motivations are those of hatred. I firmly believe that he will not suppress these feelings much longer.