I gave Bradley Chalmers a lot of thought too and decided to make good on an earlier promise I made to myself to put him, Wu, and De Silver together for their mutual benefit. Assigned to that Senate oversight committee, Lieutenant Colonel Wayne was uniquely placed to help with this, if he was inclined to.
When they released me from the medical center, I went straight over to OSI.
“Yo, Vin, ‘sup?” Arlen glanced up from his keyboard when I walked in. He came around his desk, wearing a big smile, holding out his hand.
I held up my right hand where he could see it, but not shake it. It was bruised and swollen, and that was the good one. The left was in plaster, those knuckles finally getting the attention they deserved. “OK with you if we also skip the friendly, welcome-home pat on the arm?”
“Oh, right. I forgot. How many stitches?”
“Enough to knit a scarf.”
“Shit… How's the CIA woman?”
“In bed with a drip.”
“She hitched to a Company man?” said Arlen with a grin.
I looked at him.
“I know, I know. Sorry, Vin. Poor-taste humor. Been around you too long, I guess.” His grin vanished as his eyes examined my face, taking in the damage. “You gotta stop putting your body on the line, buddy. You ain't gonna go the distance.”
“That's for damn sure,” I said.
“I kinda heard a little of what's been going on. You did an amazing job,” he said, shaking his head.
I gave him half a smile, which probably looked as uncomfortable as it felt. I'm not great with compliments.
Arlen brightened and took a seat on the edge of his desk. “Got a call from a Lieutenant Colonel Clare Selwyn a couple of days back.”
“Oh, yeah? Any message?”
“Sends her regards. Told me to tell you that local law enforcement have taken one of the suspects into custody.”
“Did she say who?”
Arlen checked a pad on his desk covered in graffiti and numbers. “A Juan Demelian. That's your Ruben Wright investigation, right?”
“Yeah. Selwyn say anything else?”
“Wants you to give her a call.”
“OK.” That was something I'd intended to do anyway.
“We've got all kinds of people from upstairs — starting with General Howerton — leaning on us for a written report.”
“It's coming.”
“How much time will you need?” he asked.
“Can you get me till the end of the week? Still got a loose end or two.”
“See what I can manage, but don't count on it. And I got the note you sent through about the security-camera footage at the cafeteria. The bank statements you asked me to get have come through, too. All that have anything to do with those loose ends?”
“That's them,” I said.
“Well, Pentagon Police's idea of security is not to let anyone look at anything, ever. Crude, but effective. I've been promised the disks will get here in about an hour. The proviso is that they're returned tomorrow oh-eight-hundred sharp, and that no copies are made. Can I ask what you're hoping to find?”
“Once and for all I'm going to nail the criminal responsible for the coffee in the Pentagon cafeteria.”
“ Vin…”
“If it turns out my hunch is right, you'll be the first to know, sir. Where've you set me up?”
“Your office.”
“Thanks.” I turned to go.
“And again, good job in Thailand,” he said.
I wasn't so sure. I'd helped stop that genie leaving its bottle, which was something. But it was a genie my tax dollars helped fund into existence in the first place. The realization reminded me of the World-According-To-Staff-Sergeant-Butler speech. Maybe, if I found what I hoped I'd find on those disks, I could prove Butler wrong.
“Before you go, those ass-lickers from the GAO, have been asking about you again and I don't think it's to see your vacation snaps. And here's that code you wanted. Took some doing.” He glanced conspiratorially left and right, then whispered, “You didn't get this from me, OK?” He handed me a folded sheet of paper laser-printed with a long line of numbers and letters on it. “Careful, Vin,” he warned. “That there's dynamite. Make sure it doesn't blow up in your face, or mine.”
I nodded. “Thanks, buddy.”
“The bank statements are on your desk. Also, like you asked, we sent someone over to the Sofitel to see if anyone recognized Sean Boyle. Your hunch was right. Only seems they knew Boyle by a different name. Makes for interesting reading. The report's on your desk, too.”
“A different name?”
He nodded.
I left his office and walked into mine down the hall. Fluorescent tubes hummed in the false ceiling. A few things had changed since I was last here. There was a fine layer of dust on the folders in my in-box. And on a small stand with wheels on its base there was a compact color monitor that looked like it had sat in a pawnshop for years. The shelf beneath it held an equally decrepit CD player.
The report Arlen mentioned lay waiting on the desk. I sat and read the three pages written by the special agent who'd paid the Sofitel a visit, then spent half an hour reviewing those bank statements. Everything was pointing me in the one direction and I shook my head at the audacity. I needed one more piece to be certain of the woman's involvement. That, I hoped to find on the Pentagon's security recordings.
The disks still hadn't arrived so I turned on my computer. There were forty-seven unread e-mails. I isolated the ones from the General Accounting Office — nine in all. I pulled up the expense form and filled it out, loading it with every possible expense and doubling a few while I was at it. While I was doing that, a brown package the size and shape of a shoebox arrived. The delivery guy, a cop in plainclothes, dropped it on my desk. I signed the form he waved under my nose, which sent him on his way. I ignored the package for the moment and returned to the expense form. I referred to the line of code Arlen had given me and copied the string of numbers and letters into the box. Then I hesitated. How much did I dislike Chalmers?
“This much,” I said softly, clicking send. The processor made a sound like a beetle scratching on a wooden floor and the e-mail scuttled on its way.
I trashed the rest of the e-mails, most of which were the usual banal office circulars pertaining to the proper requisition and use of stationery, which photocopier was down, et cetera. And then I gave Clare Selwyn a call. She answered on the fifth ring.
“Colonel Selwyn.”
“Clare. It's Vin.”
“Hey, stranger. Where you been?”
“Here and there. You?”
“Same.” There was a pause. “Vin, I heard through the grapevine a certain SAS sergeant went home in a box, and that you put him in it.”
I didn't say anything.
“And I heard you got yourself pretty banged up too. You OK?”
“I broke a couple of fingers but they've been glued back on.” I changed the subject. “Hey, listen, thanks for following through on all those things for me. Made a big difference.”
“That's OK — hope you didn't get it all too late.”
“No — worked out fine,” I said.
“Oh, did I tell you we found more of Ruben's drugs … no, I didn't. Agent Lyne found them.”
“Oh, yeah? Where were they?”
“He took Ruben's Harley for a ride. Got a flat. Found them stuffed in a tube clamped to the frame.”
“Was he looking for the spare tire?” I asked.
“Probably,” Clare said with a laugh.
“Will you give him a pat on the back from me?”
“Will do.”
“I got the news about Demelian being arrested,” I said. “He confessed? Should be able to get him on conspiracy to murder, and fraud too.”
“Vin, there's a problem.”
“What sort of problem?”