‘Maybe . . .‘ Simmons said.
‘Maybe what, Simmons? Maybe Cody didn’t die, that what you’re saying?’ Hatcher knew he had Simmons going, could almost feel his pain. That was part of it, knowing when they were going to break, keeping the squeeze on.
‘I never said he died,’ Simmons cried, ‘I never said that at all. He could of got outa there without me seeing him. They were shooting at us, there was a lot of fire. . .
‘Bullets come close, did they?’
‘They were chewing the Huey up three feet from my face.’
‘So it was time to split, right?’
Simmons turned away from him. Outside, the familiar whine of the chopper could be heard as the pilot cranked it up.
‘I gotta go.’
‘Then I’ll wait until you get back.’
‘Jesus, what the hell do you want me to tell you?’
‘The truth.’
Simmons slammed the heel of his hand against the doorjamb.
‘Damn it! Damn it all. Damn you.
‘Been eating at you, has it?’
Simmons didn’t answer.
‘Look at it this way, if you did see somebody running away from the plane that day, maybe we can still find him.’
Simmons moaned, ‘I still get nightmares. Nothing’s worked for me. My wife left me. . . . It all turned to pig shit.’
‘Maybe this’ll help clear up these dreams,’ Hatcher suggested, but Simmons shook his head.
‘So you came up here to forget it?’
Simmons nodded mutely.
‘And it didn’t work.’
Tears suddenly flooded Simmons’s eyes. He tried to blink them back, but they slowly drew streaks down his face.
‘I keep thinking, maybe we coulda got him outa there, but they were shooting us to pieces, so I told them “Let’s get outa here, I don’t see anybody” and God damn it . . . started tearing me up before we even got back to the base and it never stops and I can’t stand to . . . can’t talk about it, see people I knew over there, I was just scared, man, that’s all.’
‘So Cody got out of the plane,’ Hatcher said bluntly. Simmons was weeping softly arid he was trying not to show it. He leaned against the window, watching the chopper stir snow clouds as it warmed up. Simmons took a deep breath and sighed.
‘One of ‘em did,’ he said finally.
‘They think they found some of the gunner’s remains at the site,’ Hatcher said, ‘But they never found Cody.’
Simmons faced Hatcher, his face twisted with grief. ‘What the hell happened to him?’ he asked, his voice quivering with guilt.
Hatcher shrugged and shook his head.
‘If you ever find out —, Simmons started, and the voice from the plane yelled again, ‘Simmons, what the hell’re you doin’? We got work to do.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Hatcher said, ‘There’s one other thing. Does Thai Horse mean anything to you?’
‘You mean heroin?’
‘That’s all it means?’
‘That’s all it means to me.’
‘Thanks. You better get going,’ Hatcher said.
As Simmons walked toward the office door Hatcher stood up and touched his arm. ‘Listen to me for a minute,’ he said. ‘What happened in-country, that doesn’t count over here. You forget that. That was another life. What you did? That could happen to anybody. And if you did cost Cody his life, you probably saved the lives of the pilot, copilot and you. Three for one, that’s a fair enough trade.’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ Simmons said. ‘It doesn’t help.’
‘Conscience can be a terrible companion,’ Hatcher whispered.
‘That doesn’t help either,’ Simmons said bitterly. He pulled his cap down tight over his head and left the room. Hatcher watched through the window as Simmons ran through the snow toward the chopper. He thought to himself, Okay, so Cody could have gotten out. And if he could’ve gotten out, he could still be alive and that means he’s not dead for sure.
So where’s he been for fifteen years?
‘You lost him? You lost him,’ Sloan said softly but firmly. ‘How can you lose anybody in — What was the name of that place again?’
‘Shelby,’ Zabriski answered. ‘He didn’t come back to Billings, Colonel. He took a feeder into Spokane and from there to Seattle, then he caught a flight into L.A.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘L.A. International. He’s going out in the morning.’
‘Where?’
‘San Diego.’
‘San Diego! What the —, Sloan hesitated for a moment, then: ‘Wait a minute. I’m putting you on hold, just hang on.,
Sloan punched the hold button, and turned to one of four computer operators who worked in his tiny headquarters.
‘Holloway, I need a current location on two Navy men.
Lieutenant Commander Ralph Schwartz and Commander
Hugh Fraser. And I got a man holding on long distance’
Sloan spelled the two names.
‘Gimme a minute, sir,’ Holloway said. Sloan drummed his desk nervously and leafed through the copy of the Murphy file while Holloway typed questions into his computer. Sloan’s operational headquarters was three rooms in. a small office building four blocks from the White House. There was a small waiting room manned by his secretary, the main terminal room, which had four computer terminals connected to a network of phones and satellites, and Sloan’s private office, which did not contain a single personal item of any kind.
It took less than two minutes for the sergeant to get the answers.
‘Coming up now, sir,’ the sergeant said. ‘Fraser retired eighteen months ago, Colonel. He’s VP of a small charter airline in Seattle. No current civilian address on tap. On the other one . . . uh, here we go Ralph Schwartz: he’s full commander now, sir, director of flight instruction at NAS San Diego.’
‘That’ll do it, Sergeant, thanks,’ Sloan said and switched back to Zabriski in L.A. ‘Okay, I got it worked out. Cancel the surveillance and come back in.’
‘Cancel the surveillance?’ the agent asked, surprised.
‘Cancel it,’ Sloan said and hung up. He started to laugh. That son of a bitch, he thought, he’s playing games with me, showing me he still has the stuff. The whisper man had made no attempt to cover his tracks, he just wanted to see how long it would take to catch up with him. Sloan looked at his watch. It was 7 P.M., 4 P.M. on the coast. Hatcher had covered a lot of ground in twenty-four hours.
Another computer operator interrupted his thoughts.
‘We have a computer call coming in, Colonel.’
‘Who from?’
‘M base.’
The caller was using a computer modem to make the call. It was a method for securing the telephone line on risk calls. The computer screen in front of the operator scrolled out several questions requiring responses.
Code number:
Daily code:
Operation code:
Level clearance:
Call target code name:
Your code name:
Your clearance number:
Voice check:
An incorrect response anywhere along the line would result in an instant disconnect and a freeze on the calling number so it could be traced. Numbers and names appeared across the screen as the caller answered the questions.
‘He’s cleared the voice check,’ the operator said.
‘Put the call on the green box,’ Sloan ordered and went into his office. He closed the door and unlocked a drawer in his desk. It contained a phone with a device that scrambled transmission both ways and then unscrambled them on a one-to-one line. There were two small lights on top of the box. A green light assured Sloan that the line remained clear. If the other light, which was red, lit up, the call was immediately terminated.