33
Paul Bonner adjusted the brace so the metal collar was less irritating. The flight from Westchester airport, in the cramped quarters of the plane’s bucket seat, had caused considerable chafing on his neck. He’d told his fellow officers in the adjacent Pentagon rooms that he’d jumped the skiing season in Idaho and regretted it.
It wasn’t what he was going to tell Brigadier General Lester Cooper. He would tell Cooper the truth.
And demand answers.
He got out of the elevator on the fifth floor—Brasswares—and walked to his left. To the last office in the corridor.
The Brigadier General stared at Paul’s bandaged arm and neck and tried his best to hold his reaction in check. Violence, physical violence, was the last thing he wanted. They wanted. The Young Turk—accustomed to violence, so prone to seek it out—had taken action without authorization.
What, in God’s name, had he done?
Who had he involved?
«What happened to you?» asked the Brigadier coldly. «How seriously are you hurt?»
«I’m fine… As to what happened, sir, I’ll need your help.»
«You’re insubordinate, Major.»
«Sorry. My neck hurts.»
«I don’t even know where you’ve been. How could I help you?»
«By first telling me why Trevayne’s Patrols were removed by untraceable orders so Trevayne could be led into a trap.»
Cooper shot up from the desk. His face was suddenly white with shock. At first he couldn’t find the words; he began to stutter, and once again Bonner found the impediment astonishing. Finally: «What are you saying?»
«My apologies, General. I wanted to know if you’d been informed… You haven’t been.»
«Answer me!»
«I told you. Both sixteen hundreds. White House security men. Someone who knew the I.D. codes ordered them out of the area. Trevayne was subsequently followed and set up for execution. At least, I think that was the objective.»
«How do you know this?»
«I was there, General.»
«Oh, my God.» Cooper sat down at his desk, his voice trailing off inaudibly. When he looked up at Paul, his expression was that of a bewildered noncom, not that of a brigadier who had acquitted himself superbly in three wars; a man Bonner had held—until three months ago—in his highest esteem. A commander, with all that the name implied.
This was not that man. This was a disintegrating, frail human being.
«It’s true, General.»
«How did it happen? Tell me what you can.»
So Bonner told him.
Everything.
Cooper simply stared at a picture on the wall as Paul related the events of the previous night. The picture was an oil painting of a remodeled eighteenth-century farmhouse with mountains in the distance: the General’s home in Rutland, Vermont. He’d soon be there … permanently, thought the Major.
«No doubt you saved Trevayne’s life,» said Cooper when Paul had finished.
«I operated on that basis. The fact that I was fired upon convinced me. However, we can’t be sure they were there to kill him. If De Spadante lives, maybe we’ll find out… What I have to know, General, is why De Spadante was there in the first place. What has he got to do with Trevayne?… With us?»
«How would I know?» Cooper’s attention was back on the oil painting.
«No Twenty Questions, General. My tour of duty’s been too inclusive for that. I’m entitled to something more.»
«You watch your mouth, soldier.» Cooper pulled his eyes off the painting, back to Bonner. «Nobody ordered you to follow that man to the state of Connecticut. You did that on your own.»
«You authorized the plane. You gave me your consent by not countermanding my proposed intentions.»
«I also ordered you to phone in a progress report by twenty-one hundred hours. You failed to do that. In the absence of that report, any decisions you made were of your own doing. If a superior officer is not apprised of a subordinate’s progress—»
«Horseshit!»
Brigadier General Lester Cooper once more stood up, this time not in shock but in anger. «This is not the barracks, soldier, and I’m not your company sergeant. You will apologize forthwith. Consider yourself fortunate that I don’t charge you with gross insubordination.»
«I’m glad you can still fight, General. I was beginning to worry… I apologize for my expletive, sir, I’m sorry if I offended the General, sir. But I’m afraid I will not withdraw the question … sir! What has Mario de Spadante got to do with Trevayne’s investigation of us? And if you won’t tell me, sir, I’ll go higher up to find out!»
«Stop it!»
Cooper was breathing hard; his forehead had small rivulets of perspiration at the hairline. He lowered his voice and lost much of his posture. His shoulders came forward, his stomach loose. For Bonner, it was a pathetic sight. «Stop it, Major. You’re beyond your depth. Beyond my depth.»
«I can’t accept that, General. Don’t ask me to. De Spadante is garbage. Yet he told me he could make just one phone call to this building and I’d be a colonel. How could he say that? Who was he calling? How? Why, General?»
«And who.» Cooper quietly interjected the statement as he sat down in his chair. «Shall I tell you who he was calling?»
«Oh, Christ.» Bonner felt sick.
«Yes, Major. His call would have come to me.»
«I don’t believe it.»
«You don’t want to believe it, you mean… Don’t make hasty assumptions, soldier. I would have taken the call; it doesn’t mean I would have complied.»
«The fact that he was able to reach you is bad enough.»
«Is it? Is it any worse than the hundreds of contacts you’ve made? From Vientiane to the Mekong Delta to … the last, I believe, was San Francisco? Is De Spadante so much less reputable than the ‘garbage’ you’ve dealt with?»
«Entirely different. Those were intelligence runs, usually in hostile territory. You know that.»
«Bought and paid for. Thus bringing us nearer whatever our objectives were at the given times. No different, Major. Mister de Spadante also serves a purpose. And we’re in hostile territory, in case you hadn’t noticed.»
«What purpose?»
«I can’t give you a complete answer; I don’t have all the facts; and even if I did, I’m not sure you’d be cleared. I can tell you that De Spadante’s influence is considerable in a number of vital areas. Transportation is one of them.»
«I thought he was in construction.»
«I’m sure he is. He’s also in trucking and waterfront operations. Shipping lines listen to him. Trucking firms give him priority. He gets cooperation when it’s necessary.»
«You’re implying we need him,» said Bonner incredulously.
«We need everything and everybody we can get, Major. I don’t have to tell you that, do I? Go up on the Hill and look around. Every appropriation we ask for gets put through a wringer. We’re the politicians’ whipping boys; they can’t live without us, and they’ll be goddamned if they’ll live with us. The only supporters we have belong in fruitcake farms. Or in the movies, charging up some goddamn San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt… We’ve got problems, Major Bonner.»
«And we solve them by using criminals, gunmen? We enlist the support of the Mafia—or aren’t we allowed to use the term anymore?»