Skibicki flipped open his spiral notebook one more time.
“Let’s find out. Last I knew Rison retired to New York.
Up in the Adirondacks.” He checked his watch.
“It’s just after two in the afternoon there.” He turned on the conference room speakerphone, punched in the number, and waited.
After two rings, the other end was lifted and a strong, but very guarded voice came out of the box.
“Hello?”
“Colonel Rison?”
“Yes? Who is this?”
“This is Sergeant Major Skibicki calling from Fort Shafter in Hawaii.”
“Earl Skibicki?” The voice warmed considerably.
“How are you doing, you young fool?”
“I’m not so young any more, sir.”
“Hell, none of us are, son, none of us are. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got some people here that want to talk to you. You remember Mike Watson, RT Kansas?”
“Hell, yes, I remember him.”
“Well, I’m with his son. Boomer Watson. He’s a major now, assigned out of Bragg.”
“I guess from the echo I’m on a speaker,” Rison said.
“Yes, sir,” Skibicki answered.
“Well, Major Boomer Watson, your dad was one hell of a soldier. Who else do you have there?”
“I’m Major Benita Trace, sir. I’m a friend of Boomer’s.”
“What can I do for you?” Rison asked.
Skibicki gestured at Boomer, who took the cue.
“Sir, this is Boomer Watson. I appreciate what you said about my dad.
The sergeant major told me about his last mission.
We have a problem and Sergeant Major Skibicki says you might have some information that could help us out.” That earned a glare from Skibicki, but Boomer didn’t have time to play games.
The voice hesitated.
“What do you need to know?”
Boomer took the plunge cold.
“Sir, have you ever heard of an organization called The Line? It’s a group of—”
“Wait a second,” Rison’s voice snapped.
“Skibicki, you still there?”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant major sat up straight in his chair.
‘ “Verify for me the name of the mascot at the B-50 base camp in early ‘sixty-eight.”
Skibicki nodded.
“We had a mangy old dog there named Crazy, sir.”
“And who did what with the dog every Friday night he was in camp?” Rison demanded.
Skibicki glanced at Maggie and Trace.
“Uh, well, sir, Howie Mendenez used to get plastered, then take the dog in the club and—”
“All right, that’s enough.” Rison interceded.
“You’re Skibicki, but I won’t talk about this over the phone.”
Boomer leaned forward. “Sir, this is important. We need to—”
“No, young man, you listen to me. You want to know about that organization, you come here and talk to me.”
Boomer looked at Trace. She shrugged. He turned back to the phone.
“Sir, that’s not possible right now. We—”
“It mustn’t be that important to you, then,” Rison replied sharply.
“It’s very important to us,” Boomer protested.
“But we’re in Hawaii and we need to know now. There are things going on that are vital to national security.”
There was a loud snort of derision.
“I’ve heard that bullshit before. I don’t who the hell you or the young woman are. I know who Skibicki is, but they’ve turned others on me before. I won’t talk over the phone.” He paused.
“You want to see me, you come to me.”
“Wait one minute, sir.” Boomer hit the hold button on the phone, then turned to Trace and Skibicki.
“What do you think?”
“I think if you want to know what the colonel knows, one of the two of you ought to go talk to him,” Skibicki said.
He pointed at Trace.
“I think she ought to go. We’re going to have to guard her if she stays here. This way we can get her to the mainland and out of sight for the time being, while we figure out what is going on.”
“We don’t have much time,” Trace added.
“Can you go?” Boomer asked.
Trace nodded.
“I can get leave this evening. If he’s in New York, I can see Mrs. Howard. Maybe she does know more.”
Boomer took it one step further. “Will you go?”
“This is so crazy,” Trace said.
“I know everything you say fits a pattern but-“-“
“People have died.
Trace,” Boomer said.
“That we know for sure.” He pointed at the phone.
“Rison acts like he’s heard of The Line.”
“Rison does know something about The Line,” Trace agreed.
“And I guess I’m the one who started all this with my manuscript. I want to know what he knows.”
Boomer reached over and turned the phone on. “Major Trace will come to talk to you, sir. She can meet you in New York.”
“I won’t be here,” Rison said.
“Meet me Saturday in Philadelphia.”
“Philadelphia?” Boomer asked.
“Yes. The Army-Navy game. I’ll be seated in section GG. Row Twenty-three. Seat One.” There was a click, then a loud dial tone buzzed through the room.
Boomer turned off the phone.
“Rah-rah-rah-boom. On brave old Army team,” he began to chant in a derisive voice.
“I’ve heard it before,” Trace snapped.
“What are you two going to be doing while I’m seeing Rison?” she demanded.
“We,” Boomer said, “are going to try and find out several things. We need to know the departure airfield for the plane. That will give us a good idea who’s dropping in. So while you’re in Philly enjoying the game, we’ll be greeting our incoming guests.”
Trace pulled out her wallet, removing her credit card.
“Let me call the airlines and see what they have leaving this evening for the mainland.” She paused.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Boomer stood up.
“Believe.” He pointed at the phone.
“Rison knows about The Line and I think The Line is here on this island. We’ve got six days to uncover what they have planned.”
CHAPTER 10
“Think I ought to take this?” Trace asked, holding up a black sweatshirt with a large number twelve silkscreened onto, it. The Army mule, hooves kicking, was on each shoulder.
“This is from my firs tie year, December eighty two We all took off our dress gray in the fourth quarter to cheer.” She laughed at the memory.
“We got our butts kicked.”
“That was the game ut in California wasn’t it?” Boomer asked.
“No, it was in Philly. We lost twenty-four to seven that year.”
Boomer vividly remembered the four years of Army football he’d watched.
Every cadet did, because, like it or not, you were a fan once you were a cadet. The Academy took the money for season tickets out of every cadet’s pay.
A plebe who didn’t go to a home game wouldn’t have lasted the first semester hazing.
Of course everyone went. What else was there to do on Saturday afternoon at West Point? The one concession the Academy made for home football games during Boomer’s time was shortening Saturday morning classes. But that wasn’t so the cadets could get ready for the game.
It was so they could get back to the barracks and change into full dress uniform for the parade for the American public prior to every game.
The culmination of every season was the Army-Navy game. The team could lose all ten prior games, but all that went out the window when the classic interservice showdown rolled around. Boomer had never particularly enjoyed having to stand during every game, another great West Point tradition. He especially remembered standing in the fourth quarter during a 55-0 drubbing by Baylor his plebe year. Not his idea of fun.