The Summer House

Chapter 28

At nearly 2:00 a.m. on Monday morning, following a very busy Sunday, the woman is very pleased to be out of her uniform, in civvy clothes, her body relaxing from not wearing all that damn gear. She’s carefully driving her civilian car on a narrow dirt road that borders a swampy area near Hunter Army Airfield, and when she comes to a wide part of the road, she stops the car, switches off the engine and lights, and steps out.

The damn wild area here is full of noise, from frogs to insects and birds, and speaking of birds, a Black Hawk helicopter and then another one fly overhead, going to the lit area on the horizon marking the runway for Hunter.

She leans against the fender of the car, the metal still warm, and pulls out a burner phone she purchased with cash and with a hat pulled over her eyes from the Walmart Supercenter on Abercorn Street.

Time check: 2:00 a.m. on the dot.

The phone rings, and she puts it up to her ear and says, “Yes?”

The connection is lousy, full of static and random pops and hisses.

“How’s it going?” comes the demanding male voice. It sounds like he’s on his way to the other side of the world.

“It’s going all right,” she says.

“You call that all right?” A louder burst of static and “...told me it would be open-and-shut, that the Army would come in for a day or...” More static. “...but they’re still there, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” she says. “But it’s a big case. I didn’t think they’d send down a special squad to work it.”

“Well, they did, didn’t they?” And his voice fades out. For a moment, she hopes he’s out of range.

No such luck.

He comes back and says, “What now? How much more coverage is this going to get?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll work it, don’t worry. We’ll get it wrapped up soon. I promise.”

“...better,” he says. “This Major Cook. You’ve seen and talked to him...” Another pause. “...next?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

He says, “I said, when are you talking to this Major Cook again?”

“Tomorrow,” she says. “I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow.”

“Tuesday? Tuesday?”

Shit, she forgot about the time.

“No,” she says. “Monday, later today.”

“Handle it, all right? Or you can forget ever...”

The line goes dead.

“Sir? Are you there? Sir?”

Dead air.

All right, then.

She switches the phone off, takes a penlight out of her pocket, switches it on, and removes the back of the burner cell phone, removes the SIM card, and snaps it in two. Then she walks to the edge of the road — damn it, thorns just scratched her left hand! — and tosses the broken SIM card and phone into the swamp.

For a moment, in the heavy air with the loud noises of the swamp, she looks over at the lights of Hunter.

Men, she thinks, shaking her head and going back to her civilian car. So damn weak.