“I hear that condescending tone in your voice, the one men use when they think they’re around a woman whose emotions are out of control. I just want to make sure we both know where things stand here. We are conducting an investigation. I appreciate your bringing a guard dog. I really do. But you can’t go holding out on me because you think I’m just a frail little thing who’ll fall apart at the first hint of physical danger, okay? I believe you were talking about my not sharing information with you just the other day, rights”
Train put both hands up in mock surrender. “I only felt that way because you’re a lawyer,” he said with as straight a face as he could muster.
“But that’s ridiculous! And besides, you’re a-oh, you bmtard!” But she was smiling again. “I’m sorry. I guess I am being emotional.”
He wanted to reach out and hold her hand. “It’s kind of like you stepped over a black snake,” he offered. “And then you find out the next day that it wasn’t a black snake, but a cobra. Anyway, I definitely won’t tell you what Admiral Carpenter said this morning. About keeping you safe being a big part of my mission in life.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Did he say that?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything about that, remember? Yeah, he said that. There’s more. My FBI buddy told me that the Navy had been warned off the Galantz problem through intelligence channels. Carpenter, for reasons unknown to me, failed to tell me that, which I think means he wants us to stay in this game, at least for a while. He says it’s because Sherman deserves a chance to clear himself.”
She put the bottle of mineral water back in the refrigerator. “I should hope so. I can’t believe how they’re treating him. Just because he’s been accused-no, not even that, because he’s been sideswiped by two homicides. Hell, even the cops don’t think he did them.”
Train got off the stool and headed for the phone. “I don’t understand, either, but for now we press ahead, agreed?
Let’s see what the database termites can do with John L. Sherman.”
He called into NIS while Karen went up to change her clothes. He asked for an urgent open-filter screen on an individual and gave the terminal operator Jack Sherman’s name and Social Security number. He went on hold for two minutes. Then the operator came back to him.
“Okay, Mr. von Rensel. I can transmit all this to your PC over in the Pentagon, but they said you wanted a verbal right now, so here’s what I’ve got on this guy: bank records, credit -cards, home and work address, military service records-that’s admin, pay, and health-make and mod of vehicle, prior arrest records-that was as a juvie-sexual preferences, firearms purchases. for the past two years, and let’s see what else, here.”
Train was astonished. He hadn’t pulled a data dump from the NIS database for three years, not since the Malone case over at the Naval Research Labs. “Should I be calling you database or Big Brother?” he said. “Since when does NIS have this level of detail on a guy?”
“Since the government became a customer of the telemarketing data banks, just like everybody else is. Total access on demand. Shit, that’s not the half of it. You wanna talk about people who keep score, those sumbitches know everything, and I mean everything. Scary, isn’t it? You wanna know where he went for the past year? We’ll take a look at his gas credit cards. How about how well hislemme see, here-his Kawasaki Vulcan Eight Hundred runs since he’s owned it? He’s used a Visa card at the auto-parts store there in Triangle three times this year alone. Wanna know what he bought?”
Train just shook his head. “Orwell was right,” he muttered.
“Who’s this Orwell guy? You wanna see if he’s in the system?”
Train smiled. “That’s okay. Look, right now I need to know where Sherman lives, and, if possible, where he works.”
“Right. He lives in an area called Cherry Hill. Th#t’s near Triangle, Virginia. No property-tax records on him, so he’s a renter. Hang on one and lemme check something. Stand by. Yup, here’s a catalog listing. For guns, no less. Good deal, huh? Now lemme find out which delivery service delivered and when.” There was another minute’s pause.
“Right. The guy’s actual address is number four Slade Hill Road. He also has a PO box at the Triangle, Virginia, post office. Now, work address: the helicopter-repair activity at the Quantico Marine base.”
“What’s he do there?”
“Lemme get his tax return up here. Stand by. Okay. His most recent tax return lists his occupation as rigger. Hminm.
The W-2 doesn’t show a govemnwnt check. Not sure what a rigger is.”
“General roustabout job, usually on the flight line. If he’s in maintenance, he’ll be the guy in the tractor, pulling air craft to and from the maintenance hangars. Something like that. “
“Okay, ‘lemme check current wants and warrants.
Hmmm. He’s lucky to have a government job, given this DUI record.”
“Oh yeah? A boozer?”
“Two offenses, one prior license suspension, now lifted.
But carrying nine points even now on his license. And on a motorcycle, too. Brave dummy, drinking and driving a bike.”
“Okay, thanks,” Train said. “Shoot me a summary this afternoon if you can. The locators were the urgent part.”
Train hung up as Karen came back downstairs, now in her uniform. “Who was that?” she asked, brushing her stilldamp hair as she came into the kitchen. He almost lost his train of thought. She looked divine, her complexion glowing, her damp hair suggestive of what she might look like after some more convivial physical activity. His speculation on the nature of which specific strenuous physical activity caused him to hesitate just long enough for her to raise an eyebrow in one of those “Hello, did you hear my question?” looks. He had to work at it to find his normal voice.
Damn woman noticed that, too.
“That was NIS database. Jack Sherman works down at the Marine Corps airstrip at Quantico. What do you say we go pay him a visit?”
“Yes, I think that’s next. I wonder, should we take the admiral along?”
Train shook his head. “I think not. There’s no love lost there. Besides, isn’t the admiral supposed to be meeting with the police auditors today?
Hell, maybe that’s why he’s on leave. No, I think we-move first, see what we’ve got here.
I’ve got pretty good locating data.”
“That was fast,” she said, looking around for her uniform hat and purse.
“They had him on file?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied. “And you might not want to.
Let me get Gutter situated. Then we can I I go.
Because Train knew the base, they went in his Suburban.
On the ride down to Quantico, Karen briefed Train on what Admiral Sherman had told her about his son. Then she wanted to know more about sweepers. Train was quiet for almost a minute.
“Sweepers don’t officially exist, any more than the people they are used to control officially exist. I heard about them when I was on loan with the FBI, and even those guys talk about them as if they were myths. But supposedly there are only about a dozen of them, all embedded in deep cover at strategic locations around the world. Washington, Tokyo, London, Berlin-hell, probably even in Moscow. Wherever there might be a need for ‘wet work,’ as they call it, there’s probably a sweeper hidden in a hole somewhere. During the Cold War, the other side had them, too.”
“All men?”
“Don’t know. Probably not. These are individuals with no identities other than the ones they assume-people with a wide range of prepositioned assets at their disposal. I’m talking cars, safe houses, surveillance equipment, cash. Because if those people turn a sweeper on, they’re usually in a hurry or in a mess.”