“Yes, ma’am.”
Turk went to the chair quickly and sat down. He watched Ginella close her door, then walk over to her desk.
She was all business. That was a relief.
Or was it?
“I understand you were out with Captain Pike last night,” said Ginella, sitting down.
“We went to dinner.”
“Had a good meal?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
“Listen—”
“I just spoke to Colonel Freah on the phone,” said Ginella. “He showed you the e-mail, I understand.”
“Yes, and it’s bullshit,” said Turk.
“Is it, Captain?”
“Absolutely. I told you what happened.”
“If you didn’t miss the missile, where did it come from?”
“I don’t know.” Turk clenched his fists, then struggled to unknot them. “I — it wasn’t on that hill when I passed. There’s no way it came from that hill.”
“No way?”
“No. Maybe somebody climbed up there after I passed,” said Turk. “I don’t think so — it wasn’t with the kids.”
“You don’t think they might have hidden the missile launcher somewhere?”
She was pushing this ridiculously hard. Turk wondered when she would drop the charade.
And what would he do then?
“Well? Could it have been hidden?” she asked.
“Maybe,” said Turk reluctantly.
“I see.”
Ginella’s eyes bored into him. Turk tried to hold her stare but found he just couldn’t. He blinked, looked down at the floor, then back up.
“You’re worried that if the report is written this way, it’ll hurt your career,” said Ginella.
“It’s not the truth. That’s my concern.”
“Understood. You can go, Captain.”
“Are you going to change it?”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
“But—”
“Dismissed, Captain. I don’t need you in the squadron anymore. Thank you for your help.”
“Listen, this is all—”
Ginella stared at him. What was she thinking? Was she actually trying to blackmail him? Or was she just being a tough commander? Grizzly thought he’d screwed up — maybe she was just taking his word over his own.
Most squadron leaders would let it go. On the other hand, if she really thought he had messed up, she did have a duty to press him on it.
But…
“What is it you want to say, Turk?” Ginella asked.
“I–I just want to say that I know what I saw.”
“I’ll take it into consideration.”
Unsure what else to do, Turk started to leave.
“One last thing, Turk,” said Ginella as he opened the door. “It’s always best to answer your phone.”
It took every ounce of his self-control not to slam the door on the way out.
8
Rubeo hadn’t known exactly what to expect from the families hurt in the attack, but he thought he would see some outer sign of grief or at least chaos; if not direct mourning, then some sadness or grim resolve. But the family the boys took him to see were cheerful, happy, and grateful to have visitors.
Which was strange, because there were eight of them crammed into what looked like a 1960s travel trailer, the sort that would be used back in the States only as a derelict hunting shack, if not the target on a shooting range.
Two of the family members — the mother and a girl about three years old — had been wounded in the bombing, which damaged one wall of their house. The mother had a cast on her arm and her head was bandaged. The little girl’s leg was in a cast. They spoke freely about the accident, telling Lawson — he had instantly made friends, with the help of the boys — about the disaster.
Rubeo listened attentively, interested in every detail. The sudden explosion, the darkness from the cloud, the grit falling down, the surge of fire — listening somehow made the strike more scientific to him, more real. If it was real, it could be understood more readily.
Curious neighbors began gathering outside. Jons was getting more and more agitated. He’d posted Abas and the Filipinos a short distance away, with their guns out, but the team would be very easily overcome if a large crowd gathered and became hostile.
“What about the other day?” Rubeo asked the woman. He made Halit translate. “Ask her about the riot.”
“Thieves hired by the government. Many of them soldiers,” said Halit.
Rubeo looked at Lawson. “More or less, I think,” he told him.
“Find out if they have a bank account,” said Rubeo.
“I can tell you without asking, they don’t,” said Halit.
“Look around,” said Jons. “These people don’t have anything.”
Rubeo dug into his pocket for his roll. He unfolded ten ten-euro notes.
“See if you can find some contact information,” he told Halit. Then he bent toward the grandmother and slipped the money into her hand.
“I have to go,” he said as she stared wide-eyed at the bills.
“What are you going to do?” Jons asked a few minutes later in the truck as they left the village, heading west in the direction of the missile site.
“We’ll find the people who were victims,” said Rubeo, “and get them new homes.”
“The allies will handle compensation.”
“What I do is independent of the government.”
“Ray, this is not a good place.”
“I’m not going to stay here and do it myself, Levon. You needn’t worry.”
“Yeah, OK, good. It’s not a horrible idea.”
Jons, clearly relieved, checked his mirrors quickly. They were in the lead, their escorts a few dozen yards behind.
“It’s just going to be tough to figure out who truly deserves it, you know?” added Jons. “Once word gets out. Especially here, with the government crumbling. Everybody’s going to have their hand out.”
“It doesn’t look particularly endangered to me,” said Rubeo.
“Don’t fool yourself. They don’t have much of a grip. Things can turn around in an instant.”
Rubeo looked out at the countryside, a vast roll of undulating sand. The encounter with the families had taken his mind off the problem of the UAV and what had gone wrong.
He wondered why he hadn’t thought of helping the people before. It was an obvious thing to do.
Dog was right. That was why he suggested I come. He didn’t say it, because he knew I would only appreciate it if I reached the conclusion myself.
So good at giving others advice, at balancing their problems against the world’s. But he couldn’t overcome his own demon.
His loss was far greater than theirs.
“I want to go back to the radar site,” Rubeo told Jons. “There are two other structures I need to look at. I want to see what’s in there.”
“Inside them?”
“Yes. I need to know if they have equipment in them.”
Jons frowned.
“You think that’s a problem?” asked Rubeo.
“It’s a big problem. We’ll never get inside there. I don’t even want to go close — they’ll be on their guard after finding the two UAVs. We can’t, Ray. Absolutely not.”
“I wasn’t considering marching up to the gate and demanding access,” Rubeo told him.
What he had in mind, however, was every bit as dangerous — they would sneak in from the south side of the facility, go to the building, and inspect it firsthand. Ten minutes inside each should be enough to eliminate the possibility of anything having been beamed from it. Once that was done, he could pursue what he saw as the more promising theory. But interference had to be ruled out first.