He didn’t expect the man to be on duty at this time, but the phone clicked and Konane identified himself. Boomer quickly related what had happened and Konane said he was on his way and for Boomer to just hold where he was until they arrived.
Twenty minutes later a pair of headlights cut through the dark, but it was Skibicki’s jeep. Boomer told him that the cops were on the way and Skibicki joined him in the drive, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
Konane and Perry arrived five minutes after Skibicki.
The inspector didn’t waste any time.
“Where’s the bodies?”
“This way,” Boomer said, grabbing a flashlight.
Boomer led, with Skibicki right behind and the two cops bringing up the rear. He crested the hill, stepped into the clearing and froze. It was empty. No bodies. No weapons.
No backpack. Nothing. The dirt was scuffed where the bodies had been.
That was it.
“Well?” Konane said, walking around Boomer.
“Is this the place?”
“Yes.” Boomer looked at Skibicki, who raised his hands helplessly.
“And?” Konane pressed.
“They were here,” Boomer insisted.
“Two men. They were armed. They had a sniper rifle trained on the house.”
“You Delta Force guys like playing games don’t you?” Kpnane said.
“This some sort of exercise?”
“No.” Boomer turned to Skibicki.
“You tell them.”
“Everything he told you is true,” Skibicki said.
“There were two men up here and when they tried shooting at us, we killed them.”
“And the two bodies just got up and walked away?”
Konane didn’t wait for an answer.
“Listen, it’s the middle of the night and we’ve been on duty for twenty hours. I have half a mind to call your commanding officer and jerk a knot in his ass and yours. This isn’t a military reservation here and you can’t be playing your games.”
“But—” Boomer began, but Skibicki grabbed his arm.
“Let’em go,” Skibicki hissed.
The walk back to the house was in silence. Konane and Perry gave a few more dire warnings about false crime reporting and departed. As soon as the car pulled out of the drive. Boomer turned to Skibicki.
“What happened to the bodies?”
Skibicki shook his head.
“I don’t know. I went straight down to the jeep. I didn’t hear or see anybody. Maybe they had a back-up team nearby that moved in and sterilized the site.”
Boomer walked into the house and dropped into a chair.
“What’s going on?”
Skibicki sat across from him on the couch. He pointed at the portable phone they’d used to call the police.
“You need to get your friend out here. She’s the one they want, so she’s the key.”
Skibicki gave him Maggie’s number and he called. She put Trace on and Boomer told her to come without telling her what had happened.
Boomer and Skibicki waited, each lost in his own thoughts. By the time Trace arrived. Boomer had mulled over a few things. First, he told her what had happened. At the news of the killings. Trace’s reaction matched Boomer’s:
“Why? What is going on?”
“It has to be the manuscript,” Boomer said.
“What’s so important about the manuscript?” Trace asked.
“That shit happened fifty years ago.”
“This Hooker fellow is still alive,” Boomer noted.
Skibicki sat upright. “What was that? What did you just say?”
“I said General Hooker is still alive. He’s a character in Trace’s manuscript.”
“A real person?”
Boomer nodded. He explained the two chapters: Hooker graduating and being inducted into The Line and Patton’s death as described by the nurse.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch!” Skibicki exclaimed when Boomer was done.
“I saw Hooker in Vietnam. He was a hatchet man for somebody high up in the Pentagon. He was one of the straight-leg pukes that tried to do away with Special Forces after the incident in Nha Trang.”
“Apparently Hooker’s been behind a lot of things,” Trace said.
“So you’re saying maybe Hooker is behind this?” Boomer asked.
Skibicki shrugged.
“I don’t know, but from what you just told me, I think he’d be a little upset about his name in this manuscript. You’re’ intimating that he was involved in Patton’s death. Just think: what if he was? He certainly wouldn’t want that to come out, even though it is fifty years later. Who knows what other dirt he’s hiding?”
“I guess it’s possible,” Trace said.
“The nurse’s story was just so outrageous that it never occurred to me it could be real and someone who was involved would come after me.”
“That might also explain why the DIA was watching you,” Skibicki added.
“Hooker probably still pulls a lot of weight in the Pentagon. He could get the DIA to do his dirty work.”
“What do we do now?” Trace asked. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east.
“You all get to work,” Boomer said.
“Sergeant major, can you cover for me this morning?”
“You have an idea?” Skibicki asked.
“Yeah, I have an idea.”
“Remember your last one,” Skibicki warned.
The Outrigger Waikiki was easy to find, standing just to the east of Fort Derussy Beach Park and Museum. Boomer parked at the museum and strolled down the beach past the hotel. It was a bit early for tourists, so the beach was almost deserted.
Boomer was tired, but adrenaline was providing the energy now. He’d killed before on missions overseas, but never in the States and never under such confusing circumstances.
He wondered why the two men were staying at the Outrigger.
The Hale Koa, a military-run hotel on the Fort Derussy reservation was just a couple of hundred meters down the beach. And then there were all sorts of BOQS at various posts all over the island where the two men could have stayed if they had been on official orders. So perhaps they were at the Outrigger because this mission wasn’t official?
He walked into the lobby of the hotel as if he belonged, stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. He was wearing shorts and the loose-fitting shirt he’d worn to meet Trace.
He’d traded the Calico back to Skibicki for his Browning High Power and it rode comfortably on his left shoulder.
The doors opened on the fourth floor and Boomer stepped out. He checked the small sign. 456 was to the right, several doors. He strode up to a maid and flashed his federal ID.
“I need to have Room 456 opened.”
The woman did not react the way Boomer expected.
“I just opened it for you people. What did you do, lock yourself out?”
“You just—” Boomer turned, and the door to the room opened. A man pushing a luggage rack piled high with scuba tanks came into the hallway. He looked up at Boomer and their eyes locked, the cleaning lady looking from one to the other.
If there was one thing Boomer had learned early in his military career — not just learned but ingrained into his psyche at Ranger School — was when in doubt, attack.
He charged forward, feinted with his right leg and snapped a left leg kick into the bottom of the man’s jaw.
There was an audible click as teeth smashed together.
Boomer grabbed his shirt and pulled the unconscious body into the room.
He stuck his head back out.
“It’s OK,” he called out to the maid. She stared at him for a second, then shrugged and walked away, muttering to herself.
There was no one else in the room. The luggage rack was still in the hallway, but Boomer did a quick search of the man first. Another DIA ID card and badge, which Boomer appropriated. A gun in a shoulder holster. Something was folded on the inside pocket of his suit jacket.