Train put the phone down slowly. On leave? Now what the hell? He tried to ‘ rationalize that bit of news, and then it made sense. If there was political heat coming down on the Fairfax cops to back off this case, then having the lead detective slip off on leave might just solve everyone’s problem. Mcnair was probably working off-line, much like he and Karen were. And if Mcnair turned up in the wrong lace at the wrong time, he could always be severely chassed. Absolutely severely, County Commissioner, sir. It’ll never happen again, sir. A smoothy like Lieutenant Bettino would be quite capable of that.
He got up and went out to the kitchen, where Kyoko was poring laboriously over the household accounts through a pair of oversized reading glasses. Train realized with a pang that she was getting old.
“Any coffee left?” he asked.
She got up immediately and went to fetch the making for fresh coffee.
He carried the coffee back to the study and waited for the caffeine to do its work, still speculating about Mcnair. Then he had another thought: Suppose Mcnair was freelancing and had gone directly after Jack Sherman. He called the maintenance division at Quantico. No answer.
Saturday, stupid, he reminded himself as he hung up. So then Jack ought to be at that trailer up on snake hill or whatever it was called. I’d still like to drag that little prick back here and let the good admiral have his confrontation after all. Although, from what he had seen of that little viper, he didn’t give much for the admiral’s chances of achieving any sort of reconciliation. But over and above that, he felt a strengthening need to do something and not just sit here waiting for the bogeyman, or for Mcnair.
You promised Karen not to leave the house, an inner voice chided.
He thought about that for a minute. Actually, I never did.
Promise, that is. She just thought I did. He got up and beckoned the dog. “C’mon, Gutter. Let’s go rat hunting,” he said. He wondered how they were doing at the Pentagon.
“Very well,” Carpenter said, glaring at her. “Commander Lawrence is so appointed.” He appeared to be ready to say something else, then turned on his heel instead and followed Vannoyt into the inner office. Sherman gave Karen’s arm a little squeeze and they followed the two flag officers in.
Kensington was, as usual, in full uniform, but he was not at his desk.
He was standing with his back to them by one of the large windows overlooking the Pentagon helipad.
Vannoyt walked to the center of the room, cleared his throat, and announced that Admiral Sherman was here as requested.
“Directed,” Kensington said, continuing to face the windows. “Not requested. I don’t desire. I don’t solicit. I don’t request. I direct.”
“Yes, sir,” Vannoyt said, sounding to Karen like’a chastened ensign.
Kensington turned around and fixed Sherman with an eagle eye, and only then did he see Karen.
“Why is she here?” he demanded.
“I’m Admiral Sherman’s counsel, sir,” Karen said.
Kensington looked at Admiral Carpenter as if to ask why he had not been told that Sherman was coming with his lawyer. The JAG’s face was tense.
“I just found out about this, Admiral,” he said. “Admiral Sherman is within his rights to request counsel under these circumstances.”
“I don’t want her in here,” Kensington snapped-“
“Um,” Carpenter began, but Kensington shut him off yvith a gesture and turned to Sherman.
“Admiral Sherman, I want to talk to you privately. Off the record, if that’s what it takes. I want you to listen to what I have to say, and then you can decide if you want your lawyer here to hear it, in which case I’ll say it again, for the record, and in her presence.”
Sherman looked to Karen. Her first instincts were to refuse to leave. On the other hand, that would just provoke an impasse. These senior officers could get Sherman by himself anytime they wanted to, just by issuing some well-timed direct orders taking her out of the building.
She had to swallow to find her voice.
“I advise you to commit to nothing beyond what the admiral has just proposed,” she said to Sherman. “And if you don’t want to go along with this, you have the right to request formal proceedings.”
“If you do, those proceedings might be called a courtmartial,” Carpenter said. “I advise you to listen to what Admiral Kensington has to say. I remind you that he just off the phone with the Vice Chief of Naval Operations.”
“Very well,” Sherman said. His voice was firm, but he had that mousetrapped look on his face again.
“Then I’ll wait outside,” Karen said, looking at Vannoyt.
“In the outer office, if you think there’s room.”
Vannoyt glared at her and Karen left, closing the door forcefully behind her. The EA looked up at her with the beginnings of a smirk on his face, saw her expression, and retreated back to his paperwork. Karen went to the far end of the outer office, over by the front door, sat down, and tried to compose herself Her professional talent and good looks had carried her a long way into the inner and senior circles of the Navy JAG world, but she had just learned that there was-at least one private club of which she was definitely not a member.
And her move to become Sherman’s counsel-where the hell had that come from? It changed everything. She was no longer working for Carpenter as far as the Sherman case was concerned. It also split her efforts from Train’s: Train was working for the JAG. You better call him. Tell him what’s happened.
She got up and asked to use a phone, and one of the yeomen turned his telephone around on his desk. She dialed Train’s number in Aquia.
Hiroshi answered.
“He’s not here,” Hiroshi said. “He took your car.”
Karen swore softly under her breath. “Going where, Hiroshi?”
“Cherry Hill. He took Gutter.”
Karen thanked him, hung up, and went back to her seat.
I knew it. He is going after that kid. At least he has the dog with him.
She hoped that the kid was all he ran into up there in the weeds. She concentrated on summoning up what she knew about the military law of individual rights. That’s almost an oxymoron, she thought.
Train drove slowly up the dirt track, finally coming upon two more trailers sprawled across a muddy clearing. He saw three large motorcycles parked under a makeshift lean-to.
Two men were changing the rear tire on a fourth motorcycle by the side of the dirt road, and the larger one of them straightened up as the Explorer came into view.
Train slowed as the big ihan moved into the lane to block the way. He looked to be in his early forties, and he was dressed in greasy jeans, combat boots, and a filthy sleeveless undershirt. Emphasis on big, Train thought as he stopped.
Gorilla-sized, maybe slightly less intelligence. He had a full flowing black beard that reached his chest and an oily ponytail of equal length hanging down his neck like a drowned rat. His glaring eyes bulged dangerously The other man looked positively anorexic, with thin, pale arms showing below an olive drab T-shirt that flapped over ancient Army fatigue trousers and scabrous sandals. There was something wrong with his face, as if it had been knocked sideways a long time ago and badly reset. Train thought he saw a thin line of drool visible on his chin. He remained crouching by the bike, watching the bearded one’ the way a smaller dog watches a larger one around the food bowl. - Train stopped the Explorer and ordered Gutter, who was lying in the rightrear seat, to stay down. Then he got out, leaving his door open. “The hell you want?” demanded the big man after spitting a brown glop of chewing tobacco into the dirt right in front of Train. His pawlike hands were twitching as if they were longing for the feel of an ax handle.