Stafford swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked in a strained voice. The smell in the bunker seemed to be getting stronger.
The tall figure stepped back away and looked around, as if listening for something. Then he turned back to Stafford. “These are the most lethal man-made substances on the face of the earth, Mr. Stafford. We are experts in containing and handling them, and we are terrified of them.
Nevertheless, we feel very strongly that we do not need your help or anyone else’s help with any aspect of these weapons. Any aspect at all.”
He paused for a moment. “Unless, of course, you know something we do not, Mr. Stafford. Unlikely as mat seems to me, we felt it only appropriate to ask. Once.” The figure stared down at him. “Well?” it said.
Stafford was tongue-tied. Do it, his brain screamed at him. Tell them what you know. But he couldn’t do it. He was afraid. This was a part of the Army he had never seen, and there was a ruthless edge to the tall figure’s voice. He did not want to end up being held incommunicado out here, and his instincts were to keep his mouth shut. First get free.
Then regroup, find some way to warn them. From a distance.
“Just so, Mr. Stafford. The Army appreciates your cooperation in conning here tonight. We have one last detail to attend to with you, but for right now, you may return to your vehicle.”
The figure pointed Stafford toward the entrance to the bunker. Dave had to resist the impulse, a very, very strong impulse, to bolt. He had not missed the sarcasm about his cooperation. As if he had had any choice in the matter, which was, of course, the point the man was making.
Mustering as much dignity as he could, his useless arm stuck in a pocket, he picked his way among the huge bombs, nearly twisting an ankle and losing his balance when he stepped into the indentation of the rail line running down the center of the bunker. When he reached the inner doors, the guards motioned for him to proceed to the Humvee. He got back in, as did his escorts, and the vehicle doors were closed. They drove back out to the service road between the line of bunkers. The last image he had of the bunker was a small crowd of suited figures silhouetted in the lighted entranceway of the bunker, all looking his way as the Humvee, pulled away. V
General Carrothers pulled off his hood and mask once he was back inside the ammunition transport carrier. Beside him, Major Mason did the same.
The car operator, isolated in the control cab of the car, remained suited up as they proceeded back toward the main gates, following the route taken by the Humvee containing Stafford.
“Did it work, General?” Mason asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. He should have been scared shitless in there.
Instead, I think he was processing. He was a little scared, of course, but I had the impression he knows more than he’s telling. He even tried to bluster a little bit He may be too cool a customer for what I have in mind. Don’t forget that little caper with the car from the motor pool.”
“Do you think he’s in a suitable mental state to be fluttered?”
“I don’t know. The FBI guy is supposedly set up and waiting for him right now.”
“Suppose he refuses to take a lie-detector test, General?”
Carrothers’s face hardened. “Then I’ll let him spend a couple of nights underground in one of the bunkers. One of the really old mustard gas bunkers.”
Mason shivered involuntarily. “Christ,” he said, glancing over at the control cab. “I’d go out of my mind, and I know these weapons are safe.
But a lie-detector test wouldn’t be worth much after an experience like that, sir.”
“I don’t really give a shit about the results of the test, Major. I’ve given Smith the two questions I really want answered, and he’s salted them into a laundry list of CW related questions. The only truth I’m after is how sensitive he is to those two questions. That will tell me what I want to know.”
Mason glanced again at the back of the driver’s head as the transport approached the security gates and was switched out onto the main rail line. “And if he does know? Do we just let him go?”
“Actually, yes. We have no legal justification to hold him, although we don’t have to let Stafford know that. If we get an indication that he knows something, turning him loose might be to our advantage: My guess is he’ll try to find the cylinder. If in fact someone’s taken it, an individual investigator like Stafford might be more effective than I we are.” I “Sir?” I “Because we can’t admit we’re looking, Major, that’s why.”
“Yes, sir, I understand that. But if he’s loose, he can talk. Complain to his superiors. Maybe go public.”
“General Waddell talked about that possibility when we first found out about DCIS snooping around that DRMO. The general has been talking to the head of DCIS. This Stafford apparently has made some significant enemies up in D.C. General Waddell said DCIS can be neutralized if necessary, although I’m not sure how that would be managed.”
Mason was perplexed, and Carrothers caught the expression on his face.
“See, Major?” he said. “Even brigadier generals don’t know everything.”
Mason snorted. “Only second lieutenants know everything, General,” he said.
Carrothers laughed. “You’ll go far, Mason.”
“You want me to what?” Stafford exclaimed. “No fucking way!”
The stumpy lieutenant colonel standing in front of him nodded patiently.
They were back in the windowless room again, accompanied by two more oversized MPs. This time everyone was back in regulation working fatigues. The lieutenant colonel had identified himself as the Anniston Depot’s provost marshal. He had just asked Stafford if he would submit to a polygraph test. The provost marshal had made it sound as if he was asking him to have a cup of coffee.
Stafford was getting tired of all the games. He knew instinctively that the little seance in the bunker had been intended to intimidate him, although to what exact end, he wasn’t entirely clear, and he really wanted to know who that tall guy in the chem suit had been, especially after watching everybody come to attention when he’d first arrived. But even more importantly, these people had no legal authority to hold him in the first place, much less to ask him to take a lie-detector test.
“What’s your name again, Colonel?” Stafford asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” the lieutenant colonel said, even though his name was spelled out in black letters right there on his shirt. Stafford pressed on.
“Because my business is law enforcement, Colonel,” Stafford said, his voice rising. “Federal law enforcement. Right now I am planning to file charges of kidnapping, illegal search and seizure, attempted intimidation of a federal law-enforcement officer, and obstruction of justice against every officer in the chain of command at this post between you and the CO, you included. I work for the Defense Criminal Investigative Service — Defense, as in Department of Defense — which organization is senior to the Department of the fucking Army, in case you’ve forgotten.
Now I want a vehicle to take me back to Atlanta and I want it now. And then you and your cohorts here need to go find a good lawyer.”
The lieutenant colonel looked at him impassively. “And if we don’t?” he asked.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t get you that vehicle. Don’t let you out of here. Don’t tell a fucking soul that you’re here. On a restricted special weapons reservation. Where nobody comes unless we let them. What then, Mr. Big-Deal Federal Agent with One Arm?”
“Then my boss will find out I’m missing, and he’ll tell every cop in Atlanta that another cop’s gone missing. They’ll end up here at your front gates eventually.”