Thompson turned to the third drill sergeant and fired again, this round hitting the man low in the belly at close range. The drill sergeant howled in agony and crouched over the wound but he kept coming, and Thompson fired again. The soldier’s skull split as the bullet smashed through bone and sent the soldier sprawling across the ground to land at Thompson’s boots, his shattered skull glistening with bright blood in the sunlight, pink bone protruding from his wound.
Thompson felt something wet on his lip and he tasted blood on his tongue as he licked at it. He briefly wondered whether it was his or that of his victims.
Thompson looked up to see the recruits in disarray, heard screams of agony and cries of alarm as a distant siren began wailing across the camp. Major General Thompson stepped over the bodies of the dead drill sergeant toward the platoons and began firing his pistol into their dense ranks even as many of them fled in terror. In his mind he instinctively counted down his rounds even as he saw dozens of recruits sprinting toward him with utter, desolate rage ingrained into their faces.
Thompson fired into them, saw men and women tumble to the ground as bullets impacted their bodies with dull thumps as though they had been punched. Five, four, three, two…
Thompson turned the pistol and pressed the searing hot barrel to his temple. He realized vacantly that he was smiling as he pulled the trigger once more.
II
‘He did what?’
Douglas Jarvis sat in a comfortable leather chair in one of the United States’ most secretive locations just inside the District of Columbia: Anacostia — Bolling Air Force Base and the home of the Defense Intelligence Agency’s DIAC Building.
Lieutenant General J. F. Nellis, the Director of the DIA, sat opposite him, both men scrutinizing files in their laps.
‘He drove into Fort Benning two hours ago, discharged four hand grenades into recruit formations beating the parade ground and then shot dead three senior NCOs and nine recruits before turning the gun on himself. That occurred approximately two hours after he rose early and executed his wife, three children and his own father. His mother was injured but survived the incident. She’s being cared for by the army and will be interviewed soon.’
Jarvis closed his eyes for a moment as he struggled to match the new information with what he knew about Major General Thompson.
‘I met him in Kuwait in 1991,’ Jarvis replied. ‘He was a lieutenant back then and a damned fine soldier, a patriot through and through. He’s climbed the star ladder like it’s been going out of fashion. This just doesn’t jive with the man I knew.’
‘Agreed,’ Nellis replied. ‘To point out that this is out of character would be an understatement to say the least.’
Nellis was a former United States Air Force officer who had recently been appointed DNI by the current president. Jarvis, who was a former Marine Corps officer and later an intelligence analyst with the DIA, had been selected by Nellis to run a small investigative unit designed to root out corruption within the intelligence community while remaining beyond the prying eyes of senior figures on Capitol Hill. Jarvis had been chosen due to his prior success in operating a similar unit within the DIA that had conducted five investigations into what were rather discreetly termed as “anomalous phenomena,” which had attracted the attention of both the FBI and the CIA and eventually been shut down. Jarvis had spent some twenty years working for the DIA and been involved in some of the highest — level classified operations ever conducted by elements of the US Covert Operations Service. Most of them he would never be able to talk about with another human being, even those with whom he had served. Jarvis knew the rules and had obeyed them with patriotic fervour his entire career.
‘How many did we lose?’ Jarvis asked finally.
Nellis sighed.
‘As well as the three drill sergeants, nine recruits have died in total and a further nineteen are in hospital, several of them with life — changing injuries that mean their army careers are over before they’ve even really begun.’
Jarvis rubbed his temples wearily. ‘Media?’
‘They’re all over it,’ Nellis replied. ‘We’ve initiated a ten mile no — fly zone over Fort Benning’s existing borders to limit the amount of footage the news crew helicopters can obtain, but right now we’re not even going to begin to conceal the core event. The US Army on site are handling the reporters, and for now are simply informing them that there has been a major incident and that details will be forthcoming.’
Jarvis knew what that meant: the public crucifixion of Major General Thompson’s reputation, attacks on what was left of his family, his friends, those who might speak out in his defense, the law suits from the bereaved families of the dead recruits, the law suits from the victims maimed or otherwise injured for life.
‘How long do we have?’ Jarvis asked.
‘The president has given us seventy two hours to figure out what the hell happened down there,’ Nellis replied. ‘After the investigations that you and your people have conducted in Peru and Nevada we have his ear and his support over and above any intervention by the FBI, CIA or NSA. He’s keen to find answers to what happened so that he has something to say to the press and the people when the inevitable announcements are made. Right now, all he knows is that one of our most decorated soldiers committed cold — blooded murder and then killed himself. What he needs to know is that this isn’t a case of domestic terrorism or the complete mental breakdown of one of our toughest and most senior military officers.’
‘Why do you want us in on the case?’ Jarvis asked. ‘Surely this is straight forward enough, no matter how appalling? Thompson went off the rails even though none of us saw it coming? It happens sometimes — even the media know that.’
Nellis said nothing as he opened a drawer on his desk and lifted out a small, sealed plastic bag that he kept in his grip as he replied.
‘Part of the rationale for involving the DIA, and yourself in particular, is the unusual nature of the case.’
‘Unusual, how?’
‘Firstly, the general had presented no outward signs of discontent with his role, his life and his future. In fact, he was extremely upbeat and looking forward to a position on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, which given his career success seemed highly likely to be approved by the Senate. We’ve spoken to members of his family who weren’t present at the home, and believe me they’re not only beside themselves with grief but are utterly unable to understand why he would have done something like this.’
‘Mental breakdown?’ Jarvis suggested. ‘Post — Traumatic Stress Disorder or some other form of mental distress that he kept from them?’
‘No evidence of that,’ Nellis replied, ‘and in fact he routinely sought advice after serving in combat theatres. He wasn’t afraid of talking about his experiences and frequently encouraged other officers to do the same. He just doesn’t fit the profile of somebody bottling up rage.’
‘There must be something,’ Jarvis insisted, ‘a trigger action of some kind?’
‘US Army Doctor Gordon Shrivener conducted an emergency autopsy of Major General Thompson within an hour of the shooting,’ Nellis explained. ‘During the attack, several witnesses reported noticing that the general was suffering a nosebleed.’
Jarvis thought for a moment. ‘Maybe some kind of brain event, a stroke or something?’
‘That’s what the doctor thought, until he found this.’
Nellis slid the plastic bag across the table to Jarvis, who leaned forward for a better look at it.