“You know that can’t happen,” Clancy snapped. “Spalding’s solicitor will immediately file against the extradition petition. And the Yanks are all too likely to nobble the Canadians, who are well used to bowing to the Americans. What are you up to, Fitzmaurice?”
“Nothing at all, Commissioner. By the way, I did call the Yanks as you requested. I think it likely that they, too, will be seeking Spalding’s extradition, which should confuse the situation nicely. If we let the Canadians and Yanks fight it out, we can sit on the sidelines while Irish justice runs its course and avoid being accused of playing favorites.”
Clancy sighed. “You may be right. It does give us a way out of a worrisome situation.”
“Is there anything else, Commissioner?” Fitzmaurice asked.
“Consider yourself censured for insubordination,” Clancy said. “Now get yourself home and give my best to Edna.”
“I will indeed. Good night to you, Noel.”
“Just walk away, then,” Clancy grumbled, suppressing a smile.
Outside, Hugh Fitzmaurice relaxed. He’d done what he could to make it impossible for the American government to bury the political embarrassment of Thomas Loring Carrier’s criminal history under the cloak of national security. For Sara Brannon’s sake he hoped he had succeeded. He patted his suit jacket pocket, which contained a video of the Spalding interview he’d burned on a DVD disk. He’d made it just in case he might need a bit of insurance if and when the politicians started braying and carrying on.
Minutes after an unsettling telephone call from Sara, Kerney made airplane reservations on a flight out of Albuquerque that would take him and Patrick to Washington, D.C., by way of Chicago. With a two-hour layover they would arrive shortly after midnight eastern time.
He needed to call Sara back and let her know when to expect them, but was reluctant to do so until he could sort through his thoughts and feelings. Her announcement that she would be shipping out to Iraq in ten days had thrown him for a loop. When he’d asked what in the hell had happened to cause such a radical change in plans, she’d shrugged the question off, talking instead about how she wanted Kerney to come to Arlington to help her with all that needed doing before she left. Decisions about the house and its contents had to be made, arrangements for Patrick had to be decided upon, and a myriad of small pressing matters required attention.
He’d asked her for more information about the sudden turnaround of events, but she resisted talking about it. All he learned was that she would be temporarily assigned to Fort Belvoir, Virginia, for a week of training before she shipped out, but didn’t know if she’d be confined to the post or allowed to make the daily commute from home.
In spite of Sara’s best efforts to sound composed Kerney had hung up more worried about his wife than he’d ever been. Something bad had happened to Sara. He knew it from what she didn’t say and the way she’d sounded. Her words had been rushed, the pitch of her voice unusually high, her tone tense.
He tried to figure it out. Did it have something to do with her special overseas assignment? Because he knew nothing about it, he could only guess. But having her orders rescinded, her leave canceled, and given short notice that she was about to be sent to a war zone made Kerney think the two events were connected.
He let the reality of the situation sink in and decided to let go of his indignation and give Sara his full support. She didn’t need to have him bitching at her about something she couldn’t control. He called her with the flight information, trying his best to sound cheerful.
“I’ll pick you up,” Sara said.
“There’s no need. We can take a cab from the airport.”
“I want to. We’re not going to have much time together for a while.”
“Do you have any idea how long you’ll be gone?” Kerney asked.
“Six months, but it could be extended.”
“You need to tell me what’s going on, Sara.”
“Not now, not on the phone.”
Ten hours later Kerney carried a sleepy Patrick up the jetway at the Washington airport, where an exhausted-looking Sara met them outside the passenger boarding area. She scooped Patrick into her arms, gave Kerney a kiss on the cheek, and hurried them out of the airport, asking Patrick, as they walked to the car, rapid-fire questions about his time in Santa Fe with his daddy.
Never had Kerney seen Sara so agitated, which convinced him that whatever had happened to her was major. He was determined to learn the specifics but knew he’d have to wait until she was ready to talk about it.
At the house Sara disappeared with Patrick into his bedroom. After a decent interval Kerney looked in on them to see if everything was all right and found them asleep on the small bed, Patrick under the covers, Sara curled up beside him. In the master bedroom he discovered Sara had already begun to prepare for her deployment. Freshly laundered, neatly folded combat fatigues were on top of the dresser, highly polished boots were lined up on the floor, army-issue socks, underwear, belts, and caps were spread out on the bed next to two empty duffel bags.
Sara had left her orders on the kitchen table. Kerney looked through them and learned nothing more than what he’d already been told. He wondered if he’d misjudged her situation. Perhaps the new assignment was based solely on the requirements of the service during wartime.
He sat at the table and thought about it. Sara didn’t rattle easily. Was she simply as dismayed as he by the disruption of their plans? He suspected those feelings played into it but couldn’t shake off his intuition that something had gone wrong at the Pentagon.
He checked on his wife and son again. The sight of them cuddled asleep on Patrick’s bed made all his resentment about the military bureaucracy and his growing fear for Sara’s safety rise to the surface again.
The next day Kerney and Sara avoided any serious discussions until Patrick, who was delighted to be back home, took his afternoon nap. Earlier, Sara had already decided to tell Kerney everything, army regulations be damned. He had a right to know, not only because he was her husband and completely trustworthy, but because he was the reason the Spalding case had surfaced in the first place.
While Patrick napped, they sat at the kitchen table and Sara laid out the facts, starting with her suspicions of Thomas Carrier’s participation in the gemstone smuggling ring, who he was, her subsequent hunt for Spalding in Ireland, and how it had all ended badly when she’d been pulled off the investigation, called back to the Pentagon, and royally reamed by the provost marshal general.
“Jesus,” Kerney said, taking her hand.
“I asked to resign my commission or be allowed to retire,” Sara said, reading the anger in Kerney’s eyes, “but my requests were disallowed. They’ve got me for the duration, Kerney, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I could be court-martialed for telling you all of this.”
His jaw tight, Kerney lapsed into silence. Finally he said, “This is ludicrous.”
“I know.”
“These guys deserve to be brought down.”
“There’s still a slight chance that could happen,” Sara said.
“How?” Kerney asked.
Sara thought about Hugh Fitzmaurice. Although she’d been able to pass him a copy of the Spalding file, there was no guarantee he’d be able to use it to expose the cover-up. “It’s best if you don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve told you too much already.” Sara leaned close to Kerney and stroked his cheek. “Let it go. I’m not going to slink around with my tail between my legs. I fell apart yesterday, but except for wanting to inflict great bodily harm on a few people, I’m okay now. I’ll pull my tour of duty, come back home, and you can get me pregnant again.”
“Are you serious?”
Sara nodded. “I’ve been dreaming about a daughter. She’s a sweet, lovely little girl.”