Authors: Al Ruksenas
“
General Starr of the Joint Chiefs is dead.”
“
We heard, sir. General Lovy of the Mossad informed us,” Colonel Caine emphasized.
“
A riding accident,” Colonel Jones added.
“
So it appears,” General Bradley replied. “There was no need to distract you when you took off for Ramstein. Details were too sketchy. It’s a weird accident. But you know how it is when several freaky events happen at once. You start to wonder.”
“
How’s that, sir?” Colonel Jones asked.
“
Well, Jeannie McConnell, the freak accident killing Secretary Stack, now this thing with General Starr.” Their commanding officer flipped open the manila folders.
Inside were black and white photographs of General Benjamin Starr’s accident scene.
“
We took a lot of pictures at the site. Actually, more than necessary. We couldn’t keep the area cordoned off too long. We were afraid people will start speculating about the accident. Getting suspicious. Starting rumors. Accidents should be cut and dried affairs. This one doesn’t seem so,” General Bradley explained.
“
I didn’t want to transmit these anywhere, so I brought them personally. I don’t want any hackers or leakers making hay with this.” General Bradley caught himself, not intending to create a pun from a horse ride turned fatal.
“
Here’s the scene,” Bradley said as he spread a dozen photos on the table top. “What do you make of it?”
The two Colonels looked at their commanding officer, then peered at the photographs. The pictures showed the prone body of General Starr from several angles; pictures of hoof marks around the body and along the trail; close
‐
ups of hoof marks in the dirt taken at different angles; shots of the trail in one direction and another; and a leaf strewn channel along the park trail that was the remnant of a waterway for canal boats originally conceived by George Washington, himself.
As the officers handled each photograph in turn, General Bradley talked. “Several people saw a horse galloping along the trail. We couldn’t place it. We checked every estate in the area with horses— and we’re still looking—but no black stallion.”
“
Could have been someone with a trailer,” Caine surmised. He was bent over looking intently at a close
‐
up shot of hoofmarks in the dirt.
“
Good point,” General Bradley replied.
“
What did witnesses say about this horse, sir? General Lovy made it sound kind of odd when he dropped the news on us in Haifa.”
General Bradley straightened himself from the table and stretched. His had been a long journey from Washington to the aircraft carrier. “I know this guy. He’s always trying to make it sound like he’s on top of everything. The Mossad, you know. He has to maintain its: ‘We know everything you Americans don’t know’ attitude.”
Caine and Jones smiled. “How did he learn about General Starr so quick?” Colonel Jones wondered.
“
I don’t know. Spying among friends, I suppose,” General Bradley replied lightly. “I certainly didn’t tell him.”
“
Somebody who’s not our friend betrayed our rendezvous in Beirut,” Colonel Caine reiterated. “It could be the same pipeline.”
“
I’m backtracking every planning and operational step relating to your assignment,” General Bradley assured. “As far as I’m concerned, it only confirms the terrorist scenario for Jeannie’s disappearance. If she was just shacking up with somebody, there would be no need for anybody to try to neutralize you. You two were obviously on to something. I’d say it just goes to show that source Warlock was right in pointing us to Beirut.”
Colonel Caine wanted to agree with his General’s reasoning, but something held him back. He was more preoccupied with the obvious implication of a traitor somewhere in their network; or at least a major breach in security. Caine preferred to suspect a traitor. A real patriot would not take advantage of a breach in security.
“
Well, we have everything, but a picture of the horse,” Colonel Jones said with fatigued humor.
“
There were supposed to be some strange trappings on this horse—a weird saddle, or something?” Colonel Caine recalled the Mossad general’s words. “But no rider?”
“
That’s true, Chris,” General Bradley confirmed. “The witnesses who saw the animal—and there weren’t too many of them—all said it had some kind of stretched hide or hairy saddle. It was supposed to be ‘pointy’, whatever that means. Something like out of a sword and sorcery story. I don’t know. You ever see a saddle like that anywhere?”
“
I can’t say that I have,” Colonel Caine replied.
“
Maybe in a ‘Dracula’ movie?” Colonel Jones offered.
“
That’s where it belongs, as far as I’m concerned,” General Bradley retorted in frustration.
A naval officer entered the room. “Excuse me, Gentleman.” He paused. “The Captain requests your company for dinner at Nineteen
‐
thirty hours. That’s in two hours time. We have some service khakis available for the two Colonels. An officer will be on call to escort you when you’re ready.”
“
Thank you, Lieutenant,” General Bradley replied turning to him. “Tell the Captain we welcome his invitation.”
”
Very well, sir.” The lieutenant saluted and left.
The three army passengers glanced appreciatively at each other.
“
It could have been just a regular saddle, maybe Western, maybe Mexican style,” Colonel Caine offered as they continued their speculation. “You know how witnesses are in excited moments. Especially if they just caught a glimpse of what happened.”
“
The witnesses weren’t all in one place,” their General replied. “They all referred to a strange saddle.”
“
Was somebody ever riding this horse?” Colonel Jones wondered.
General Bradley shook his head. “That’s the part that stumps me. It’s the most obvious question, but there’s no answer. Obviously, someone had to saddle the damn thing! But nobody was riding it and we still can’t find the horse—let alone the rider. All the stables in the area are accounted for.”
“
A trailer?” Caine repeated.
“
There were some people along the main road,” his general replied. “Somebody would have seen a truck or trailer.”
“
It could have been parked farther along somewhere,” Colonel Jones joined in.
“
I want you to look closely at these photographs,” General Bradley instructed. “The horse scenario is still being investigated.” He picked several photos from the group and glided them on the table towards Caine and Jones.
“
A runaway horse spooked the General’s mare. That’s the working theory. So take a real close look at these.”
Colonel Caine scrutinized one of the photographs. General Benjamin Starr was lying sideways on the ground. Around him were a series of hoof prints. Some were whole, some were partial. Several were deeper than others. Some had extensions in the dirt, indicating motion.
Colonel Jones scrutinized another photo. It depicted hoof prints going in either direction on the trail. Another photo was of hoof prints going back and forth in another part of the trail.
“
The set showing prints going back and forth in this part of the trail are from the General’s mare,” General Bradley pointed out. “Horseshoes.”
“
That’s the direction from his stable,” Colonel Jones reasoned.
“
And this set from the other direction of the trail, has to be the runaway mount,” Colonel Caine added.
“
That’s how we figure it,” General Bradley replied.
“
What have we here?” Colonel Caine asked staring at his photograph with some amazement.
Jones looked over quickly. “A hoof print. Why?”
“
Is it the angle of the light? The camera? Time of day?” Caine looked closer with heightened interest.
“
Is that a split in the middle, or am I hallucinating?”
“
Well, I’ll be damned,” Jones intoned slowly. He looked at the photo from several angles to be sure he was not seeing a shadow or reflection.
“
A split hoof,” General Bradley confirmed.
“
A cloven hoof,” Colonel Caine repeated as if in reflection.
“
A runaway bull?” Jones offered.
“
That’s the only explanation we could muster,” General Bradley declared. “But there are no bulls in the estates nearby.”
“
With a saddle, no less,” Colonel Jones dismissed with a smile.
“
It has to be some kind of fluke,” was all the General could conclude. “Witnesses saw a horse. A black stallion.”
“
If there was a saddle on this animal,” Colonel Jones reasoned, “and it was whisked away in a trailer, or something, and if no one is coming forward”—he paused following his own logic— “I’d say it indicates intent.”
“
You mean no accident,” General Bradley suggested.
Christopher Caine did not respond. He was deep in thought, piecing together disparate incidents and conversations.
“
You know, Hammad did imply that our attackers were some kind of cultists,” Caine reminded. “Based on some mutterings we heard when we surprised them in the water. Devil worshippers, he said.”
A speculative silence woven with fatigue overtook the officers staring at the photographs on the glass tabletop. Finally, General Bradley broke the spell induced by the subdued, but consistent hum of the aircraft carrier making headway in the Mediterranean.
“
Some scientific skepticism as we proceed, all right, gentlemen?”
Then, as he gathered the photos and returned them to his briefcase, the General added, “Let’s get back to our immediate concern— the ambush in the ocean—unless you see some connection here.”
Chapter 22
"Well?" Jonas Mitchell asked his niece when he saw her approaching his book strewn office in the basement of the Library of Congress.
“
Al walked me around the museum, but he doesn’t know anything,” Laura replied. She sat down in a chair along a bookcase.
“
At least not yet. He’s going to find out if there were reports about anything unusual that night—like I don’t already know. It’s kind of creepy, though. These two workers gave me some mean looks in an elevator when I was leaving. Someone should really do a personnel review there.”
“
They should,” her uncle replied seriously. “After everything you told me about that attack outside the museum?” He paused and looked at her seriously. “I think I finally have the missing piece in my research.”
Laura looked back with some skepticism, but her expression invited further comment.
“
Maybe it was right in front of me all the time.” He grabbed a visitor’s guide to Washington from among books and papers on his desk. His unerring reach indicated he had used it very recently. Inside the pages was an onion skin sheet of paper with a hastily drawn pentagram.
“
What’s that?” She got up from her chair and went to her uncle’s side, peering at the figure over his shoulder.
“
It’s the ubiquitous sign for devil worship. The five pointed star inside a circle.”
“
I know that!” she said impatiently, “but what does it have to do with anything?”
“
Patterns,” he replied. He positioned the figure of the pentagram on a tourist map of the Washington Mall. “I’m looking for patterns.”
Laura watched him adjust the transparent sheet to center the pentagram on a small square indicating the National Museum of Natural History.
“
Okay,” she said slowly, inviting further explanation.
“
It’s obvious,” he declared. “Depending on how you position this thing, one point of the star extends to the U.S. Capitol, another point to the White House, another one toward the tidal basin and by extension to the George Washington Parkway—“
“
Where they found General Starr.”
“
Exactly,” he declared almost triumphantly.
“
And one point extends north past the intersection where the construction beam fell on Secretary Stack’s limousine.”