Cassidy shot the cutesy, pug-nosed girl a fake smile and sat down on one of two chairs. Unlike the last time she had met with Vanderspool, her crab supply was sufficient to get her through the next few days. Then, with the new stuff that she was about to receive, Doc figured she’d have some cushion. And that would feel good.
“You can enter now,” the corporal said, as a well-dressed civilian left.
Cassidy said, “Thank you,” and made her way along the left side of the car. More than half its width had been walled off to create an office for Vanderspool. The door consisted of a curtain that was pushed to one side. Doc knocked on a side window, heard Vanderspool say, “Come!” and entered a long, narrow space with an executive-style desk at one end of it.
She was about to come to attention but Vanderspool waved the formality off. The officer was in his military mode, as was apparent from the fact that he addressed her as “Cassidy,” rather than “My dear.”
“Have a seat, Cassidy,” Vanderspool said, as he pointed at the chair in front of him. “I must say that I’ve been looking forward to this meeting. Having scanned all the after-action reports, I know Overseer Brucker was killed during the raid on KIC-36. What I don’t know is how he died. Did his heart fail? That’s what Sergeant Findlay told the debriefers. Or was there some other cause?”
Cassidy answered the question by giving Vanderspool a blow-by-blow account of Brucker’s death, starting with the leg wound, and finishing with the words she had whispered into his ear. “Damn!” Vanderspool responded happily. “I love it! I assumed you’d have to shoot him. Could you tell if he understood?”
Doc nodded. “There’s no doubt about it, sir… . His eyes bulged, and he tried to say something, just before his heart stopped.”
“Then it was a heart attack,” Vanderspool exclaimed. “Well done… . You saw those POWs. The bastard deserved it.”
Cassidy had to agree, although the message she’d been asked to deliver to the dead man made Vanderspool’s motive very clear—it wasn’t a desire to seek revenge on behalf of the prisoners, but for himself. Just how dirty is this guy? she wondered. Business deals with Kel-Morians, spying on his own battalion, resocialized marines popping up all over the goddamn place …
“Here you go,” Vanderspool said, as he opened a drawer and withdrew a small metal box. “It’s payday. But be careful,” the officer added, as he pushed the container across the surface of the desk. “I wouldn’t want you to die of an overdose.”
“Thank you, sir,” Doc said dryly, as she accepted the box and slipped it into a pocket. “Your concern is very touching.”
“Watch your mouth, Cassidy,” Vanderspool warned sternly. “And remember your place. You may be useful, but you’re a crab junkie nonetheless, and a disposable one at that. Now, what else do you have for me?”
Doc’s lips were suddenly dry and she ran her tongue across them. “It’s about Private Kydd, sir.”
Vanderspool frowned. “The sniper?”
“Yes, sir. The way I understand it, Kydd was at basic with Raynor and Harnack. Back then Kydd claimed to be a guy named Ark Bennet. According to the story he told people at the time, he was drugged and sold to a Marine Corps recruiter.”
Vanderspool’s eyebrows rose. “Did you say Bennet? As in Bennet Industries?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know anything about Bennet Industries—but I’m sure the name was Bennet. Anyway, when we came back from the raid on Brucker’s base, two MSS agents were waiting to interview Kydd. And later, after he returned to the barracks, he told Tychus that the agents were checking to see if he was Bennet.”
“And?”
“And he told them he wasn’t,” Cassidy continued. “Because somewhere along the line he changed his mind and wants to stay in the service.”
“So he is Bennet?”
“That’s what both Findlay and Raynor believe,” Doc reported. “I wasn’t sure whether the Kydd situation would be of interest to you. But I brought this along just in case.”
So saying, Cassidy removed a plastic-encased slide from her shirt pocket and placed it on the surface of the desk.
Vanderspool eyed the object as Doc pushed it toward him. “What have we here?”
“That’s a sample of Kydd’s DNA,” the medic replied simply. “I had to sample the entire squad in order to get it. They believe it’s part of a routine medical test.”
“You are a clever little bitch,” Vanderspool said appreciatively. “Is there anything else?”
“I’ve noticed that he has a thing for Sanchez … follows her around like a puppy dog.”
“Okay. The Kydd thing is intriguing though unimportant. Keep it to yourself, however… .” Vanderspool said, as he toyed with the test tube. “Dismissed.”
Doc rose, did an about-face, and left the officer. The session had gone well, all things considered, and she felt relieved.
As Doc left the car she was shocked to see Tychus standing on the platform waiting for her! Did he suspect? No, judging from the big smile on his face, Tychus had other things on his mind. “Hey, babe,” he said, as he draped a massive arm around her shoulders. “I heard you were here.”
“Yeah,” Doc replied. “You know how the personnel people are… . I had to sign some form or other … what a pain in the ass.”
“And that’s what I was thinking about,” Tychus said with a wicked grin. “Not the pain … the other part. Or both. What would you say to a first class dinner at my place—and a roll in the hay to follow?”
Cassidy gave him a back-handed blow to the gut. It was like hitting a rock. That was one of things she liked about Tychus. He was built, and in spite of what some people said, size matters. Or it did where she was concerned. So even if her relationship with Tychus wasn’t entirely of her own choosing, it was often pleasurable, and absolutely necessary. Due to the wars, crab was almost impossible to buy on the street anymore. She felt a strong desire to touch the metal box through her clothing, to confirm that it was there, but managed not to do so. “You don’t have a place,” Cassidy temporized. “Other than your bivvy bag, that is.”
“Oh, yes I do!” Tychus replied cheerfully. “Money talks… . I’m the proud owner of a utility closet. Complete with deep sink.”
“We’ll see how dinner goes,” Doc said. “Who knows? If you chew with your mouth closed you might get lucky. And stop that… . How many times have I told you? Don’t pat my ass in public!”
Tychus chuckled happily as he led her up a floor and through a confusing maze of hallways. Finally, having unlocked a door labeled maintenance, he stood to one side. As Doc entered the pitch-black, concrete room, Tychus aimed a flashlight at the mattress on the floor. “See?” Tychus said proudly, as he towed Cassidy over to the makeshift bed and pulled her down. “All the comforts of home.”
As Doc knelt on the mattress she saw that a bottle of Tychus’s favorite booze was sitting next to it. Normally her lover didn’t go in for much foreplay, but rather than simply grab her the way he usually did, Tychus surprised Cassidy by producing a box and shoving it her way. “Happy birthday, sexy, I hope this is okay.”
Doc stared in disbelief. Chocolates? Tychus wasn’t the kind of guy who bought a girl chocolates. Was she totally wrong about him? About all of this? She was shocked by a sudden swell of emotion; at once she felt sad, guilty, and completely undeserving of Tychus’s affection. Even so, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Not because she wanted to make love to him at that particular moment, but because of the tears that were trickling down her cheeks, and the opportunity to bury her face in his shoulder.