Rebel in Time

Kelly took the folder of military records and added it to the file on the desk before him, tapping the edges until all the papers were neatly in line. He looked at the sergeant as he did this, noting what he saw. Late twenties, good service record, he could read that from the ribbons without looking at the file. Not too tall, but solidly built. Jaw like a rock, face expressionless. Eyes black and unreadable. Sergeant Troy Harmon was obviously a professional soldier and a man very much in charge of himself.

'You've been sent over here on temporary assignment from G2, because of your specialized knowledge,' Kelly said.

'Just what would that be, sir? I fired sharpshooter on the M-16.'

'Nothing quite that deadly,' Kelly said, smiling for the first time. 'We understand that you know a great deal about gold. Is that true?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. That particular knowledge will be most helpful to us since we are predominantly headquarters staff here at QCIC. We depend on the other security services for field personnel.' He glanced at his Rolex. 'You'll be seeing Admiral Colonne in a few minutes and he will explain the operation in detail. The admiral is the man who directs this agency. Now — do you have any questions?'

'No, sir. I don't know enough about what is happening here to think of a question. I was given this address and told to bring my records to you. You just mentioned that this department is QCIC. I don't even know what those initials stand for.'

'The admiral will explain all that to you as well. My role is strictly liaison. You'll file all reports with me.' He wrote quickly on a piece of paper and passed it over. 'This is my twenty-four hour phone number. Keep track of expenses and let me have the slips once a week. Also contact me for any equipment or specialized-assistance that you might need. The admiral will brief you on this operation, which is code-named Subject George.'

Kelly hesitated, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk, before he spoke again. 'The admiral is old Navy, Annapolis, been around a long time. You know what that means?'

'No.'

'I think that you do, sergeant. When he was on active duty during the Second World War, blacks were called Negroes and they weren't allowed in the Navy. Other than as mess attendants.'

'Say mess boys, Mr Kelly, that was the term. And my father was in the Army then, fighting to make the world safe for democracy. Only the Army was segregated and, since blacks couldn't be trusted to carry guns, they drove trucks and dug ditches. But that was a long time ago.'

'For us, maybe. Let's hope it is for the admiral too. But this is a one hundred per cent WASP outfit. It couldn't have got that way by accident… hell, sergeant, maybe I'm talking too much.'

Troy smiled. 'I appreciate the thought, Mr Kelly. I'm a firm believer in field intelligence. I'm not too worried about the admiral.'

'You shouldn't be. He's a good man. And this is a damned important job.' Kelly picked up the file as he stood up. 'We'll go see him now.'

The roar of the traffic outside on Massachusetts Avenue was muted to a distant hum in the large conference room. Heavy curtains covered the windows; floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. The admiral sat behind the long mahogany table, carefully loading tobacco into an ancient briar pipe. He was suntanned, and almost completely bald; his blue uniform was smooth and unwrinkled, the rows of ribbons on it impressive. He waved Troy to a chair opposite, nodded at the file that Kelly placed before him, then struck a wooden kitchen match and puffed the pipe to life. He did not speak until Kelly had gone out and closed the door.

'You've been seconded to us by military intelligence because of your specialized knowledge, sergeant. I want you to tell me about gold.'

'It's a metal, admiral, very heavy, and people set great store by it.'

'That's all?' Admiral Colonne scowled from behind a cloud of blue smoke. 'Are you being facetious, Harmon?'

'No, sir, I'm telling the truth. Gold is an important industrial metal, but that is not what most people care about. They buy it and steal it and hide it because other people prize it highly. In the West we treat it as a commodity — but the rest of the world sees it as a safer investment than banks or bonds. Gold purchased legally here is worth twice as much after it has been smuggled into another country, say India. That's how I got involved with it. The US Army has men stationed right around the world. The temptation to turn an easy buck by selling gold is something a number of grunts just have not been able to resist.'

The admiral nodded. 'All right, that's one aspect of gold. What about the industrial use you mentioned? Other than jewellery — what is it good for?'

'Electronics. It's malleable, does not rust or tarnish — and is a good conductor. All of the contacts in computers are plated with it. You'll also find that it is used in windows to cut down on the amount of sunlight that is allowed to pass through…'

'None of this has any goddamned relevance to the case we have here!' The admiral slammed the file on the table before him. 'What we are interested in are the reasons why a certain Army colonel is buying a lot of gold. I know that it is all perfectly legal, but I still want to know why.'

'May I ask what "a lot" is, sir?'

'A little over a hundred thousand dollars' worth, as of yesterday. Do you know what the initals QCIC stand for?'

Troy accepted the abrupt change of topic without comment. 'No, sir, I don't. Mr Kelly said that you would explain.'

'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. Do you know what that means?'

'I should. After two years of Latin in college. A literal translation would be — who shall keep watch over the guardians?'

'Right. Who shall watch the watchers? That little problem has been around for a very long time — or it wouldn't have a Latin tagline attached to it. Policemen who take bribes are bad enough. But what about the people who are entrusted with the security of our nation? Someone has to keep an eye on them. Well — we're the people who have to do just that. That's what this agency is here for. You must realize that what we do here is vital to the security of this country. Without any conceit, this is undoubtedly the most important security operation in the land. We cannot afford to make mistakes. As the old saying goes, the buck stops here. We have the ultimate responsibility in ensuring this nation's security because we must watch all of the other security operatives. That is the reason why I approved your assignment to us. There are three things in your record that I like. First, you know all about gold. Second, your security clearance is Top Secret. Can you imagine what the third reason is?'

Troy nodded slowly. 'I think I can. Is it the fact that I blew the whistle on my CO when I caught him on the take?'

'It is. A lot of soldiers would have looked the other way. Did you expect some special reward for doing what you did?'

'No, admiral, I did not.' Troy held his temper under careful control. 'If anything, I expected the direct opposite. I am pretty sure that the Army doesn't like enlisted men taking potshots at officers. But this was special. If he had been pocketing officers' club funds or something like that, well, maybe I might have thought twice. But this was in an MP outfit where we were working full time trying to keep drugs out of the barracks. Our problems were not just with grass or uppers and downers, but the hard stuff, H, and it was getting in. When I found out that my own commanding officer, the guy who was supposed to be stopping the stuff, was getting payola from the pushers, well that was just too goddamned much.' Troy smiled coldly. 'The last I heard he was still in Leavenworth. I was pulled out of my outfit, I expected that, but I didn't expect to be bumped two grades and transferred to G2.'