The Summer House

Chapter 44

Special Agent Connie York is shocked by what she’s just heard and says, “Major... Afghanistan?”

“That’s right,” he says. “The Rangers being over there, their deployment being cut short, them being accused of committing the same crime in Afghanistan as they supposedly committed here in Georgia last week... that’s where it all began. It needs to be looked into. And that’s why I’m going.”

“But...” York stops what she’s about to say, knowing it’s going to sound foolish out here in this dark parking lot, with the other investigators around her.

“Go on,” Cook says. “What were you going to say?”

“Sir... you’ve always said you would never, ever go back to Afghanistan.”

The major just nods. “I have said that, haven’t I? Good memory. Things change, don’t they? All right, any other questions? Concerns? Connie, you’re going to drive me off to Hunter Army Airfield in fifteen minutes. I’m going to try to grab a flight from there.”

She says, “Yes, sir. Good luck.”

“It’s up to the Army and my convincing skills. Not sure if luck is going to be a factor. But Agent York... and everyone else, pay attention.”

His confident words just flow right out and nearly shake her to the core.

“While I’m in transit, I’m going to be in and out of contact for a couple of days,” he says. “In my absence, Agent York is in command. Questions?”

And damn him, there is a question, from Sanchez!

He steps forward, tattooed biceps prominent and bold, and he says, “Sir, if I may, no disrespect to Agent York, but I have more street experience and—”

“Shut it,” Cook says. “Anything else?”

Silence, so quiet York can hear the flying bugs bounce against the closest streetlight.

“Get to work,” he says, and he limps back to his room.

Sanchez catches her eye, and she wonders if he’s going to apologize, but he turns and goes back to his room.

Just over an hour later, York pulls the rental Ford into the parking lot of the Fourth Ranger Battalion headquarters building. Dawn broke just a few minutes ago, but the base is already busy with vehicle and pedestrian traffic.

Here the parking lot is nearly empty. The battalion is now overseas, Iraq or Afghanistan, checking their gear, loading weapons, ready to move out and act on their training to be the tip of the proverbial spear.

York says, “Are you sure, Major?”

“No choice,” he says, dressed casually, in khaki slacks and a short leather jacket, his metal cane at his side. “It started in Afghanistan. We need to find out what and how it started.”

“No, I meant—”

“You mean, why did I put you in command?” he asks. “Don’t insult me, and don’t insult yourself. Anything else?”

“Sat phone?”

“In my bag,” he says. “I’ll be out of touch here and there for the next day or two. It’s going to be yours. You heard what I said back at the motel. Follow through hard... but be flexible. Whatever new leads you develop, they’re yours. But work quickly... you probably have twenty-four hours before Quantico comes down and crushes you.”

“Nice thoughts,” York says.

“You seem pretty calm, considering your career will probably be over by the end of this week.”

York knows those words should freeze her with fear, but instead she feels almost exhilarated, knowing she is on a knife edge. She thinks maybe this is what the Rangers over in that building felt like, going into combat. Everything exposed, everything on the line.

“The only thing I’m concerned about is that we’re all out here, alone,” she says. “No support from the locals and definitely no support from Quantico. It feels like we’re the Light Brigade, charging out all alone with cannon fire roaring at us.”

Cook passes his room key over and says, “Go through the trash in my room.”

“What?”

He says, “There’s a piece of paper, a note. From a local newspaper reporter. Peggy something or other. She wants an interview. Talk to her. She’ll be your local intelligence agency. Find out if she has anything to offer. When I get a chance to call, I will.”

Cook gets out, shuts the door, and then opens the rear door and grabs a black knapsack. He starts limping to the front door of the battalion building.

Something both warm and cold seems to settle into her chest.

York knows she should get to work, but she can’t take her eyes off her handsome and struggling boss, limping like he has the entire hopes and fears of the squad riding on his shoulders.

The major opens the front door, walks in, disappears from sight.

Connie sighs, starts up the Ford’s engine, and then jumps with fear as the passenger door opens and a soldier gets in and sits down.

“How’s it going, Agent York?” asks Colonel Tringali, head of the base’s Third MP Group.