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Page 22.
Chapter 12
 As David drove to work in the morning, he listened to radio news. CON2 was dominating the news as always these days. What did the Procedures people think they were doing? He hoped they would not cave in to extremists. He parked in the I.G. office’s quiet neighborhood and walked along the narrow, tree-shaded street of redstone houses. Puddles littered the sidewalk, but the sun was out.
Colonel Jankowsky called David into his office and shut the door. “Wow,” Jankowsky said, “both these cases have blown up on you, huh?”
“I didn’t know being an I.G. officer would be this hard.”
“I just wanted you to know that we believe Shoob was in fact abducted. I want you not to discuss the case with anyone, even our chain of command, unless I know about it first, okay?”
“Yessir. What about his XO?”
“The officer who referred him?”
“She’s concerned about him.”
“Keep in touch with her. She knows he’s been abducted?”
“I called her last night.”
“Damn. Okay, I probably would have done the same. Tell her to keep her mouth shut too, okay? Our office will investigate, along with the Provost Marshal and C.I.C.”
David walked down the hall to his small corner office.
His lapel com buzzed, and he answered. It was Tory. “David, Ib never came home last night. His wife is frantic.”
“Oh Jeez. I’m sorry. I should have gone to the police.”
“You didn’t have enough to go on. I just called the civilian police, and they’ll work with the JAG office at the Composite to look for him.”
“So are we optimistic?”
She paused. “At this point—it’s anybody’s guess. A little part of me still wonders if he was losing his mind and maybe he’s just wandering around in a daze somewhere.”
“That would be the easy way for this to be resolved. Will you still be free for lunch?”
“I’ll call you around eleven.”
David went down the hall to speak with Colonel Jankowsky.
Jankowsky looked anxious, rubbing himself on the head. “Sit down. Close the door. I want you to write up a report and submit it to me, recommending a hold on our case until the police investigation is resolved. Meaning, until Shoob shows up, one way or the other, and C.I.D. finishes their investigation. There is really nothing we can do while it’s a police investigation.”
“Okay.”
“Now, the Corcoran matter. I just found out that the local authorities here in Washington have declined to charge Corcoran’s assailant. Also, JAG has waived the right to void extradition. The case is changing jurisdiction to Fort Hood, Texas, where the accused is being held.”
“That’s odd, Sir. I thought we were going to press them.”
“Nobody is pressing anyone. Everything here is strange. I’d have thought Composite Force would throw the book at this guy—either from Bellamy over at the Atlantic, or someone on the Rock Creek side. It’s politics all the way. There’s been no push on from General Norcross at the Pentagon. General Montclair at the Atlantic evidently wants this blemish out of town, and I can’t argue with his logic. They’ll try this goon at Fort Hood. So wrap up your report, let me have it so I can sign it, I’ll forward it on to Fort Hood, and we move on to other things. It just shows how fouled up the whole chain of command is these days.”
“Yessir. I’ll have that report on your desk this morning.”
David hurried to finish draft reports on both the Shoob and Corcoran cases. Tory called at 11. There was no change—no sign of Shoob. After dropping the folders in Jankowsky’s in-box, he stepped out of the brownstone, onto the sidewalk, and waited for Tory.
It was a bright, sunny day, almost a false Spring. People scurried here and there with a lightness of step, and the tree crowns were bright. Right on schedule, a lovely, sleek dark green Jaguar purred to a halt. A slender hand pushed the door open, and he heard her voice sing: “Hi! Hop in!”
David eased himself in and pulled the door shut.
Tory said: “Were you scared last night?”
He remembered the fog. “Maybe not scared. It was spooky.”
Someone honked behind them, and she shifted gears. “Is soup and a sandwich okay with you?”
“Sure. I'll buy.”
“No need. I can take care of myself.” She was a quick, sure driver. The car exuded an atmosphere of her: clean, smelling of buffed leather and some cleaning agent that had a faint bouquet not unlike bubble gum. David enjoyed her ambiance around him. In various nooks sat a racquet, two paperbacks, a folded blanket; a chocolate colored stuffed female teddy bear with a red bow in her hair and a blue-and-white checked dress; a police whistle on a white lanyard whose loose end seemed to be looking for a holster.
“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Tory said.
“Well, I guess here’s where I say it’s all part of my job.”
“I’m buying you lunch.”
“Not necessary either. But I must be scoring points.”
“You certainly do keep your sense of humor.”
“And you?”
“I try, but I’m too worried about Ib. Tell me everything that happened.” He told her. She drew a deep breath. “I hope he’ll give them what they want.”
“The list?”
“The damned list. The documents, whatever they are. Yes.”
David didn’t answer. He had a feeling Ibrahim Shoob wouldn’t give them a thing. And he was afraid to think what they would do to Ib. “Tory.” How nice that name sounded. “There are a lot of people working hard to get him back in one piece.”
“You’re right. C’mon, I’m starved.” They drove past Composite Force’s encampment in Rock Creek Park near 16th St. and Arkansas Ave. On what was normally a picnic lawn were several large, sprawling tents in a mix of camouflage styles from earth tone desert to mossy green forest colors. Arrayed in hypnotic multitude beyond were countless smaller tents. David imagined Civil War troops had probably bivouacked there about 150 years earlier. Tired looking Army Reserve MP’s directed traffic. “Poor guys,” Tory said, “I wonder if they’re getting their baths and laundry services. And their mail.”
He nodded. “Somehow, the Army always manages to come through. It’s not pleasant, nor unpleasant, it’s just the Army way. You’re a nurturer like Maxie.”
“Just a dedicated XO” She parked near Sheridan Circle and they walked to a fancy diner on 22nd Street. He and Tory Breen were just two of thousands in uniform in Washington these days. She looked slender and efficient in her fatigue uniform with jump boots and women’s garrison cap. David continued to notice new things about her—the copper glow in dark brown hair pinned up under her cap; the tiny space between her upper front teeth; the dark, serious something in her eyes that could change to a sparkle of laughter. As they sat at the busy lunch counter—she eating a salad, he soup and half a sandwich—he noticed the peach fuzz on her beautifully shaped cheekbones, the way she had of crinkling her lips in a wry smile.
“I wish I’d taken Ib a bit more seriously,” David said.
“Maybe he’s back already,” Tory said with a bright look of hope beyond hope. She commed her office. “Jet? This is Lieutenant Breen. Any sign of Ib?” Her face fell as she listened to the other person’s reply. “Nothing yet,” Tory said. “David, it’s fine to wait for the cops and all. I feel frustrated and helpless. Maybe it’s the M.P. officer in me. I want to do something.”
“Tory, if you’d like, I’ll help you look for Shoob.”
“That’s good of you.” She sniffled, wiped her nose with a paper napkin. “Would you do something for me? Meet me outside my office after work? Please?”
“Sure.”
“We’ve hardly met, and already I’m asking you for—”
“It’s okay, honest.”
“Thank you, David.” She picked up her car keys and rose. “Come on, I have to drive you back to work.” She gave him that hurt, haunted look that he’d seen once before. What was it with this woman? And why did he find himself drawn to her? There was definitely some emotional cauldron under that beautiful face. Could there be two Kristys in the world, and could he have met both of them?
She dabbed her eyes when they were in the car, and she was in charge and driving. “Sorry, David.”
“It’s okay. Listen, here’s what I suggest. After work, we’ll hit a few spots. It may not accomplish much, but it’ll make you feel better.”
“Good idea. I’ll call Hala and ask where his haunts are. Who knows, we might hit it just right and learn something helpful.”
“I’ll make dinner this evening, and I’d like you to come.”
She smiled at him gratefully and sadly.
“I’m serious. Just a simple pasta dish. You’ll see. I make a pretty good chicken cacciatore. Makes me feel better when I’m down.”
They drove in silence, and he wondered if he’d said too much. He didn’t want to push things, though he was cautiously interested in her.
She pulled up in the alley behind the 915th, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and planted a dry, warm kiss on his cheek.
He sat in stunned silence. His anxiety disappeared, replaced by the balmy knowledge that she liked him.
She pushed his shoulder gently. “Go on. I’ll see you this evening.”
He stepped out, walking on air, remembering for the first time since the early days with Kristy what this feeling was like. Scary, intoxicating ... oh come on, he told himself, I’ve just been high and dry for too long. The glow in her eyes, during just a briefly flickering glance, and her faint mysterious smile, told him she really liked him. Then she gave him another brief glance, and it was that haunted look again.
He watched her drive away. The Jaguar slid away in sure, quick strokes amid the confused traffic of a capital in the throes of a revolution. David also felt a little disturbance going on in his heart. Nothing revolutionary just yet. Just a little corner riot or two. One or two squad cars from the Emotion Patrol. Nothing to lose sleep over. Yet.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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