“What, sir?” Wendy inquired.
“A word underlined on a page in one of the books. Maybe its nothing. Did you hear from Fort Jackson?”
“Yes, sir. They found out what happened to Spec. Four Lundy’s body.”
Lansing listened as Wendy told him what the CID section from Fort Jackson had reported to her. When she was finished, Lansing said, “I think I know who the killer is.”
“From what I just told you?” Wendy asked with surprise. “I don’t see how it helps.”
“It helps because the killed doesn’t know about it,” the CID investigator replied. “Thanks for your help, Wendy. I’ll keep in touch.”
SFC Edgar Smith emerged from the S-2 section in the basement of the Headquarters Building of Montgomery Barracks. Major Lansing and Captain Garret Cross waited for him in the corridor.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Smith asked as he closed the steel barred door.
“Yes, Sergeant.” Lansing strolled calmly across the hallway. “I want to talk to both of you.”
“If this is about what happened to Smothers last night, we already know,” Cross remarked.
“No, this doesn’t concern Smothers.” Lansing unzipped his field jacket. The other men noticed the butt of a Government Issue 1911 .45 jutting from his waistband.
“Then why do you want us?” Smith asked, his eyes expanding with surprise as Lansing drew the pistol and worked the slide to jack a round into the chamber.
“What do you think you’re doing, Major?” Cross asked, his mouth a hard line, one eyebrow arched high on his brow.
“I’m arresting you for murder, Captain,” Lansing replied, aiming the .45 at Cross’ chest.
“I assume you have some reason for this accusation,” Cross remarked stiffly.
“Sure. You’re guilty and I have proof.”
“Let’s hear it,” the Captain demanded.
“First, I want to explain to Sergeant Smith why I wanted him to be present,” Lansing stated, his steely gaze and the muzzle of his pistol still trained on Cross. “One should always have a witness for an arrest, of course, but I also think the Sergeant should hear this because it concerns Lieutenant Benton’t reputation.”
“His reputation?” Smith inquired.
“Actually, I’m referring to your opinion of him. You misjudged Benton, Sergeant.”
“And you’ve misjudged me, Major,” Cross said, holding his hands open at shoulder level, “if you honestly think I’m your killer.”
“You’ve been wearing a clever disguise, Captain,” Lansing replied. “But since I’ve penetrated it, I’m no longer in danger of misjudging you.”
“What sort of disguise are you talking about, sir?” Cross asked, his voice revealing cool control of his emotions.
“Specialist Lundy began to suspect the truth about you. Being an enlisted man, Lundy didn’t dare move against you until he had enough evidence. It’s no wonder he was moody the final days before his death. He must have been terrified when you took him for that car ride.”
“Damn it, Lansing!” Cross snapped suddenly. “I admitted I took him to a tavern and he got intoxicated. That doesn’t make me responsible for his death!”
“A well-timed out-burst of anger,” Lansing remarked with a slight nod. “You’re putting on a good performance, Cross, but you’re wasting your time. I suspected foul play concerning Lundy, so I traced his corpse back to the States. The CID at Fort Jackson contacted me this morning. Lundy’s family demanded an autopsy of the body as soon as it arrived. Traces of chemicals, possibly phenobarbital or valium, were found,” Lansing’s flint-like eyes hardened even more. “Lundy wasn’t drunk. You drugged him in order to create the impression that he was. You told me he was hardly able to walk and his speech was just an unintelligable slur. Naturally, you poured some liquor down his throat as well to increase the desired illusion. Even if he tried to tell the CQ about you, nobody would pay any attention to the ranting of a ‘drunk’ GI.
“His mind muddled by whatever you used that night, Lundy reacted as you’d hoped he would. He went up to his room to sleep off the effects of the drugs, or possibly to get a cold shower in the hopes it would revive him enough to think more clearly. Of course, you had already ascended the fire-stairs and you were waiting for him. You caught him alone upstairs. A shuto stroke to the seventh vertebra, a vice with your forearms and a quick twist, a dozen other methods, any of them would have allowed you to snap his neck with ease. Then you tossed him down the main stairway and escaped the same way you’d entered.”
“That’s an imaginative theory, Major,” Cross said flatly, lowering a hand to the inside of his tunic jacket.
“Keep your hands up!” Lansing snapped, thrusting the gun forward.
“I was only getting a cigarette.” Cross said, raising his arms.
“Two men underestimated you and they’re both dead,” Lansing said. “I don’t intend to make the same mistake.”
“What about Lieutenant Benton, sir?” a dazed SFC Smith wanted to know.
“I’m getting to that, Sergeant,” Lansing promised, reaching behind himself with his free hand to draw a set of handcuffs from the small of his back. “But I don’t want to take any chances with Captain Cross. Cuff his hands behind his back and frisk him. Remove everything from his pockets, take his wristwatch and shoes. Be careful not to step between Cross and this gun.”
SFC Smith followed the Major’s orders. His search discovered a pack of cigarettes, a wallet, two pens, a small pocket knife and two lighters, a butane model and a metal Ronson with a press-lever.
“Two cigarette lighters,” Lansing mused as he stared at the grim faced Captain, “I’ve seen you using the butane. Why don’t you use the other lighter?”
“It doesn’t work,” Cross replied with a shrug.
“It feels pretty heavy.” Smith remarked, holding the Ronson in the palm of his hand.
“Don’t fool with it, Sergeant!” Lansing warned, “A lighter may be filled with lead to supply needed weight for a firing device. It might fire .22 or .25 caliber projectiles. Maybe even poison darts.”
“Major,” Smith began with a sigh, “what the hell is going on?”
“Captain Cross is an enemy agent,” Lansing replied flatly.
“That’s absurd!” Cross growled. “I was born in the United States and enlisted when I was nineteen. It’s all in my records. Check my fingerprints if you like.”
“Oh, you’re the real Garret Cross, at least the same man that joined the United States Army claiming to be Cross,” Lansing said. “But I doubt that you were born in America. You’re a sleeper agent, a spy sent to a foreign country to blend in as a native-citizen. A sleeper impersonates an every-day person until he is ordered into active duty, generally some form of sabotage against the host nation. Sleeper agents have been known to wait ten years or longer before finally receiving orders for their mission.
“According to your 201 file, you’re an orphan. Your foster parents supposedly lost your adoption papers. This effectively concealed the truth. While still a child, you were smuggled into America to be groomed for sleeper duty in Army intelligence. Your ‘foster parents’ are probably agents as well who furthered your training for espionage activities. We’ll contact the FBI concerning them and we’ll have everyone that supplied you with any type of references throughly investigated as well.”