A cold chill rippled through Tracy. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but their reactions proved everyone in the hangar had just survived a close call.
Crank turned to the control panel and depressed a lighted green button. When he then paused outside the simulator and monitored the second sweep on his watch, she figured it out. The chemicals inside the chamber were lethal. Pressing the green light triggered something to neutralize them and decontaminate the air. Crank had almost opened the chamber door without first decontaminating. He’d nearly exposed them all!
“Idiots.” Under his breath, O’Dell muttered a curse. “What the hell can you do? You either treat them like two-year-olds or they screw up and contaminate the entire base.
“Sir?” Tracy intervened, weak-kneed and resisting the urge to rub her locket.
“What do you want now, Keener?”
“A rundown on events leading to Burke’s arrest would be helpful.”
O’Dell leaveled her with a glare. “Burke screwed up, okay? He sent his men to an active bombing range rather than to the exercise area, and he got them blown up. He realized he’d screwed up, and he bugged out. He left his men to die, Captain, and they did. Now, what part of their deaths and his cowardice are you having trouble comprehending?”
“None, sir.” Bristling, she forced herself to hold her temper. “I was just wondering-”
“What, Captain?” O’Dell asked, fairly shouting at her.
What?”
“Who found Burke?” He had said he’d passed out No one was out there. Well, someone had to have been there or they wouldn’t have found him, or the dead men. Yet in all the reports, there was no mention of who actually had found Burke, not one word, or what had prompted anyone to even look for him or his team in the first place.
“When he failed to respond to multiple radio transmissions, I sent in an excavation team,” O’Dell said. “They pulled Burke out of Area Thirteen, and found the team in Area Fourteen. Well, what was left of them. They took a direct hit.”
Tracy blocked visions of human carnage from her mind. “Was Burke conscious?”
“Of course he was conscious.” O’Dell looked at her as if she were crazy. “He was running like hell, Captain, trying to save his lousy ass.”
Stymied, Tracy wasn’t sure what to say. She had hoped Burke had told the truth about being unconscious. But if O’Dell was being honest, then clearly he hadn’t. “Why is Dr. Kane under a gag order?”
“You’ll have to ask the general that.”
“Thank you, Major. I appreciate your time.”
He didn’t acknowledge her. Tracy turned and walked toward the mouth of the hangar. At the left of its expansive door, she noted an elaborate alarm-system panel on the inside wall. With lethal chemicals on-site, not having a sophisticated alarm system would be a safety hazard. But considering what had nearly just happened in the simulator-, it seemed to her that more internal hangar safeguards were also needed. No doubt one of the trainees would file a hazard report. Probably several of them would.
“Crank! Get me a phone over here.” O’Dell’s voice ripped over the barren floor and reverberated. “Now!’ Tracy stepped out into the sun. O’Dell sounded stirred up, all right. Stirred up, ticked off, and damn close to panic. And she’d bet her captain’s bars he wanted that phone to call Colonel Hackett.
Adam Burke wouldn’t call her “fluff’ now. She smiled to herself. Did he have an Intel rule or a drill for eating crow?
Adam stood before the phone in the activity room, flipping the quarter over and over in his hand, debating. Should he call her, or not?
Maxwell sat in the chair near the window, his thick arms folded over his chest. “You’ve got ten minutes left, Burke. That’s it.”
Adam didn’t look the guard’s way. Damn it,‘just call her. Just do it.
He lifted the receiver, dropped the quarter into the slot, and then dialed her home to avoid getting Janet. Keener would probably think he’d slipped over the edge, but what was the difference? Her opinion of him couldn’t get any worse.
The phone rang three times. After the fourth, the answering machine picked up. Adam considered hanging up, but that warning knot in his stomach wouldn’t let him. “Hi, it’s me,” he said. “I’m not sure why I’m calling you. Well, not exactly. This is going to sound kind of crazy, counselor, but my gut instincts are warning me you’re in trouble. I guess I just wanted to see if you were okay. What the hell I could do about it if you’re not, I don’t know. But anyway, that’s why I’m calling.”
Definitely sounded like a fruitcake. He’d better explain. “I’ve got this feeling you’re being threatened. I know it sounds like a line, but it’s not.” He toed the baseboard where it met the floor tile and shoved a fisted hand into the hip pocket of his prison grays. “I, um, learned the hard way to trust my instincts a long time before getting involved in Intel, counselor. A friend and I cut school and went vining. Do you know what vining is?” He’d better tell her, just in case. “Think about Tarzan, the vines he swung on to get from tree.to tree. It was popular in my neck of the woods. Robin Hood escapes from reality, Georgia-style. When you’re poor and on your own, you need those escapes. They keep you sane.”
Why was he spilling his guts to her? She wouldn’t give a damn.
Because she’s in danger. You’ve got to warn her, or live with knowing you could have warned her and didn’t.
“Anyway, my best friend, David, decided to vine.”
Adam’s only real friend ever. “I had this feeling he shouldn’t do it, but I knew if I said anything, he’d just balk and call me a coward, and then do it anyway, just to show me he could. We were at that age where image ranked more important than sense.”
The dread Adam had felt then blanketed him now. “I kept my mouth shut. David grabbed the vine, bellowed a war whoop, and swung out. Midway, it broke.”
Regret, the horror of watching his friend fall, again flooded Adam’s mind. For a long minute, he couldn’t talk. When he did, his voice sounded strained,-thick. “He died, counselor. David died.” And Adam had lost his best friend forever.
He gave himself a second to get past the emotions. He’d never before told anyone about David, or about the impact his death had had on Adam’s life. “The point is, I knew he was in danger and I didn’t warn him. Today, I got up with that feeling again, about you. So I’m calling. I don’t know where the danger is, I wish to hell I did.”
Adam forked a helpless hand through his hair, despising the feel of the gummy yellow paint no amount of soap could get out. “Just … Just take care of yourself, okay?”
He swallowed hard. “And when you can, let me know you’re all right.” Why had he said that? Why did he care? The woman thought he was guilty. Adam slammed down the phone, then turned to Max. “I’m ready.”
Tracy spent the rest of the morning doing her homework, pulling together background research on Major Gus O’Dell and Colonel Robert D. Hackett. When she had compiled a respectable amount of information to disseminate, she tucked it into an accordion file, then skated out and went home to go through it.
The house felt empty. She felt empty. It had been five years. Five long years. Wouldn’t she ever get used to living alone?
The answering machine’s red light blinked. At the end of the tiled kitchen bar, she tapped the button to listen to her messages, hoping not to hear any more threats. She’d maxed on them. Maybe Randall had called to apologize. “One can dream.”
Instead, she found nine interview requests from various reporters, including CNN, and seven crank calls from threatening crazies. “Enough of this.” Suffering all the abuse she could stomach for one day, she reached for the Stop button-and heard Adam Burke’s voice … His deep timbre conjured an image of him, leaning shoulder against the wall, phone to his ear, shackled, and she listened intently, noting the emotional inflections in his tone. They sounded strange coming from him. He’d been deeply entrenched in Intel for years. She would have sworn all that remained in him were Intel rules and drills, that he had no emotions left, just as Janet had said she had no conscience left. Of course she did, but those inflections in Burke’s voice spoke volumes, and he painted a vivid picture of a young boy, arms braced at the fork of two tree limbs, watching helplessly as his best friend plunged to his death. It got to her-and it opened in her mind a side of Adam Burke she hadn’t dreamed existed. One that drew her like a magnet. He too had suffered loss.
Had the survivor in him sensed the phone threats she’d received? The one in the note left on her windshield? He could be playing on her emotions. As an operative, he’d have the skills. Yet, survivor to survivor, this warning felt genuine. She lifted the phone and dialed the facility. Knowing she wouldn’t be allowed to speak to Adam Burke, she asked for Sergeant Maxwell, When he came on the line, she felt heat rush to her face. Why should she be embarrassed? “Sergeant, this is Captain Keener. Will you please get a message to Adam Burke for me?”
“I suppose I could, yes, ma’am.”
Tracy curled her fingers around the edge of the tile counter, then squeezed. “Please tell him that I received his message and all is well.”
When she saw Adam, she would tell him about the threats. He needed to know his instincts hadn’t been off on this. He could continue to trust them. Though why he would worry about her when he knew she considered him guilty, she couldn’t fathom. Yet he had. And she felt grateful. It’d been a long time since a man had cared enough about her to bother, and the call couldn’t have been an easy one for a proud and angry man like Burke to make.
Maybe he wasn’t quite the man she’d thought him.
Maybe he’s suckering you into believing him.
“Is that it, ma’am?” Maxwell asked.
“Yes, Sergeant. Thank you.” Again, her face heated. “And please thank him for me.”
She scanned the rest of the messages. Nothing from Randall. Evidently her friend had joined the ranks of those who’d rather fold than fight. No great surprise there, just a tinge of disappointment.
Cradling the phone, she fixed herself a cup of tea, then walked down the hall into her bedroom. At the closet, she ditched her pumps and pulled on her Pooh slippers, desperately needing an attitude after this day from hell. Sitting down on her bed, she fluffed a pillow at her back, put on the earphones, and turned on the taping device to hear what, if anything, was going on with Colonel Hackett.
Guilt stabbed her. God, but she hoped she wasn’t maligning the man, questioning his integrity. That second bug could be unrelated. It could have nothing to do with Burke. Yet, damn certain it had everything to do with him, she hadn’t reported it.
Hackett’s office was quiet. From the background noise, he was there, but evidently alone. Mildly disappointed, she adjusted the headphones over her ears, then flipped open the accordion file and began reading the background data on him and O’Dell.
Hackett’s career had been stellar. O’Dell’s lacked panache, but he had proved to be no slouch. She made a few discreet phone calls, checking him out a little further. Most people were reluctant to talk to her because of her association with Burke, but when she got O’Dell’s secretary, Connie Mumford, on the line, Tracy hit paydirt.
“Is this off the record?” Connie asked, sounding wary but worried and in desperate need of someone to listen to her concerns.
Tracy sipped at her tea. “It can be, if that’s how you want it.”
“I do.” Connie dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “The major’s never liked Colonel Hackett, but he’s always respected him. Earlier today, he asked me for the colonel’s phone number. I offered to put the call through for him, but the major refused. He called Hackett himself and requested a stat meeting. He was very upset at being put off until fifteen hundred hours.”
Fifteen hundred hours. Three o’clock, Tracy translated, glancing at her watch. Ten minutes from now. “How upset was he?”
“I don’t know. Nervous. Antsy, you know?”
“Nervous enough to knock back a strong shot of gin?”
Tracy stared at the dresser mirror across the bedroom.
Connie hesitated, then answered. “Several. Partly because Colonel Hackett has high expectations. He’s unyielding. Demands excellence, the major says.”
Intolerant of failure among his staff. Tracy had heard that before, and again during an earlier call today with another source. “You said partly.”
“The major knew the weasel would be at the meeting. He hates the weasel.”
Tracy set her cup down on the nightstand. “The “Lieutenant Carver, Colonel Hackett’s aide. The major says Carver is always in the shadows, never far from Hackett’s side, watching and taking notes so Hackett can nobly kick ass. I don’t know if that’s true.
I’ve only met the lieutenant once, and he seemed okay to me. Young and brash like most lieutenants, but that’s normal, you know?”
“Connie, have you noticed any change in the major’s behavior since the Burke incident?”
“Just between you and me, he’s drinking more, but he’s only talked about it once. It was close to quitting time, and only the two of us were still in the office. He was really upset, and he said he wished this whole Burke nightmare would just go away.”
Tracy plucked a piece of lint from her nubby bedspread. “Don’t we all?”
“I sure do,” Connie admitted. “All this tension is getting to me. I don’t want to end up on stress leave.” She sighed. “I’m worried about the major, Tracy. I’m not crazy about him, but he treats me better than most of the bosses I’ve had.”
He certainly hadn’t treated the simulator-training attendees well. Tracy checked her watch. Three on the nose. “If I can help, or anything comes up you think I should know, give me a call.”
“You will keep everything I said confidential, right?”
Connie sounded worried, as if she had spoken freely and now suffered second thoughts. “I don’t want it getting back to Colonel Hackett how the major feels about him. Life could get rough around here.”
“It’s confidential,” Tracy assured her. “Call me if you need anything.”
She hung up the phone and readjusted the earphones over her ears. Before they slid into place, she heard voices. Hackett was in his office. O’Dell was already with him, and talking.