Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) (43 page)

“And Fredericks?”

“He’s aware that you were coming in to see me today.”

“Is the room bugged?” Jim asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked around. “Is he taping this for the next act of his inquisition circus to get him headlines? You know, I’ll say this for Major Lane—at least she’s up-front about manipulating the media for her own reasons. You and Fredericks abused the privilege of Cathy’s trust in you, hoping to use her as a spearhead to get Lane.” Jim put his arm around Cathy. “Come on,” he muttered, “we’re leaving.”

Mackey rose and watched them walk to the door and open it. “Wait,” he called.

Cathy turned. In that moment, Mackey looked gray and exhausted. Jim’s arm tightened protectively around her.

“What is it?” Jim demanded.

“Will both of you be at the hearings tomorrow?”

“You bet we will, Colonel. And it won’t do your side or Major Lane’s any good at all. I won’t stand by and allow Roman to shred Cathy. He’ll deal with me this time or no one at all.”

Cathy tore her gaze from Mackey, sadness in her eyes. As Jim shut the door and they slowly walked down the hall, she was dazed by the fury of the confrontation. “Will this ever end?” she asked.

“The showdown is Monday,” Jim promised her grimly, leading her to the bank of elevators. “With Mackey’s career smeared and Fredericks in an embarrassing position, I’m sure they’ll let the hearing die quickly and as painlessly as possible.”

She turned to Jim. “Major Lane will slide out of this whole thing. No one knows if Simmons was killed by Captain Ingram or if it really was an accident.”

“We’ll never know,” Jim agreed, leading her into the elevator. “And frankly, all I want to do is get you to hell out of this hearing. You’re pale right now. And you’re cold.” He captured her damp fingers. “This kind of pressure is murder on anyone,” he growled. “No one needs it.”

Cathy leaned tiredly against him. “I have thirty days’ leave coming. How about you?”

“Thirty days,” he confirmed. Jim’s face lost its harsh edge as he drank in her exhausted features. “Want to spend them with me in the Rocky Mountains at a trout stream near Gunnison, Colorado?”

“The mountains sound wonderful,” Cathy agreed softly. “We both need peace and quiet.”

The elevator doors whooshed open and they stepped in. “Hang in there with me, babe. We’ll get you down off the firing line soon.”

CATHY GIRDED herself as they made their way down the hall to the hearing room. Shock waves surged throughout the building, reporters stymied as Jim Boland, in his summer uniform, escorted her toward the room. His hand was firmly on her elbow and guiding her gently through the crowd of yelling, shouting reporters. The blinding strobe lights of the television cameras hurt Cathy’s eyes. His presence shored up her broken defenses. The grim caste in his slate-colored eyes and the set of his jaw steadied Cathy. At Jim’s side, covering the other flank was Arnley, followed by an equally grim William Wendell from the Justice Department.

Word that Jim was the Marine officer who was involved with Cathy Fremont earlier and thought dead caused a near riot in the press corps as they entered the hearing room. Cathy’s gaze fastened on Lane’s lawyers, who rose to their feet to catch a glimpse of him. Lane’s face remained masklike and Cathy felt the scorching intensity of her narrowed gaze moving from her to Jim. And when the lawyers caught sight of William Wendell sitting down with Boland next to Cathy, an unsettled feeling rolled like silent shock through the room. Cathy watched Lane’s camp. The fear she had sensed around Lane on that first day washed over her strongly now.

Fredericks, who had been briefed by Mackey late Sunday afternoon of Boland’s unexpected reappearance, looked harried. Finally, he got the press and the gallery to come to order and the double oak doors to the room closed with an ominous finality. The senator noted that Major Lane was talking at length with her battery of five lawyers, who surrounded her like attentive drones to a queen bee. Fredericks glanced down the long, curved table to Jacob Roman, who remained unaffected by all the commotion. Fredericks rubbed each hand on the thigh of his Savile Row trousers, not wanting the gavel to slip from his grasp when he had to pound it to bring the hearing to official order.

The urge to draw out his linen handkerchief and mop the accumulated perspiration off his brow was uppermost in his mind. The television cameras would hone in on his sweaty face and the viewing public might misinterpret it. Damn, they were in a real bind, and he knew from speaking at length with Mackey that Captain Boland wasn’t going to be doing either of them any favors.

Fredericks banged the gavel and cleared his throat. He began by explaining the situation surrounding Boland, offering a signed affidavit from Dr. Cornell as to the reasons he hadn’t attended the hearings sooner. He purposely avoided the issue of Boland being “dead,” praying that it would not become an issue at the hearing.

Fredericks craned his neck forward. “Senator Roman, if it meets with your approval before you continue your questioning of Corporal Fremont, Captain Boland would like to make a short, summary statement, waiving his rights for full testimony until a more feasible date.”

Roman nodded his partially bald head. “My pleasure, Mr. Chairman. I’ll be more than happy to yield the floor to our mystery guest.”

Cathy felt her heart being squeezed in fear as Jim, who sat at her left, pulled the microphone over to him. Unlike her, his hands were steady and she felt an aura of controlled anger emanating strongly from him. His resonant voice filled the chamber.

“Gentlemen, the staff is in the process of passing around copies of my complete service record. I wish to, at this time, waive my rights of testimony until a more promising date, to be decided on by this committee. I would like to apologize for not attending the hearings sooner, but an injury prevented me from participating until now.”

Cathy stole a furtive look toward Lane’s table across the aisle. The major’s face was drawn and wary. Beyond her, Lieutenant Cassidy and the four sergeants were exchanging nervous glances. She watched with interest as Jim’s service record was circulated among the senators, with copies distributed to Lane and her attorneys. A page hurried over to Wendell and the attorney excused himself from the table, leaving the room.

Cathy looked at Jim, a question in her eyes as to why Bill Wendell had abruptly excused himself. Buck leaned forward.

“Hey, where’s the doc?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“He wasn’t looking’ too good over the weekend here at the hotel.” Buck brightened, placing a hand on Cathy’s shoulder. “I think he missed you.”

Cathy smiled, warmed by Arnley’s thoughtfulness. “Maybe Doc had other stuff to attend to. He really doesn’t have to be here. He’s got a family in Maine waiting for him.”

“Yeah, ’spose you’re right.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Keep your flak jacket and helmet on. Look’s like that bastard Roman is locked and loaded.”

Senator Roman was riffling through the service record, as if trying to ferret out some unknown clue to Jim’s identity that had so far not been divulged. The feeling pervading the room was one of tension, as if a bolt of lightning had struck, leaving all of them stunned in the aftermath.

Engrossed by others’ reactions, Cathy sensed more than heard Jim wrap up his statement. Roman hunched forward, reminding Cathy he was a vulture ready to leap on his prey—her. She swallowed convulsively and steeled herself for his attack.

“Thank you, Captain Boland. I want to get back to Friday’s questioning. Now, Corporal Fremont, after you returned to Delta, you went out on patrol with another squad manned by Sergeant Rogers?”

Panic drove a wedge into Cathy’s throat. Jim’s hand closed over her own. Instantly, her adrenaline-charged heartbeat slowed slightly. She pulled the microphone closer to answer the question. Her voice was surprisingly strong and clear, even to herself.

“Yes, sir. My squad was to lead the way and hers was to follow. We were going to set up an ambush in a known LA area.”

“And didn’t you, at one point on that patrol, refuse to obey her order to move forward?”

“I did not.”

“Sergeant Rogers accused you of it after you returned from that patrol.”

“She was lying,” Cathy responded tightly. And for the duration of the morning she had to parry a series of concocted lies that Cathy knew had been agreed upon between Lane and the smiling Irene Rogers. Roman suddenly zeroed in on Jim Boland.

“Captain, we have heard earlier of both your involvement with the corporal and Colonel Mackey’s spy mission. How do you fit into this bizarre and twisted puzzle?” he demanded.

Jim held Roman’s stare and sat forward. “Would you care to elaborate on your generalization, Senator?” Roman’s head jerked up, indignation written all over his face. Like a lordly lion who had been awakened unexpectedly from his daily nap.

Roman turned savagely on Boland. Goddamn the Marine officer for daring to usurp his position. How dare he!

“It appears you were Judas Iscariot to Corporal Fremont, were you not?”

“At one time, I agreed to Colonel Mackey’s plan, Senator.”

Roman’s voice rapped out like a sharp report of a rifle. “And when did that all change, Captain? After you took her to bed in Hua Hin while you were conveniently on R & R together? Did you trade your commitment for a roll in the hay?”

Cathy winced, looking at Jim. His gray eyes were almost colorless, his mouth set.

“Are you in the business of asking nothing but insulting questions and making your own inane assumptions, Senator? Or are you interested in getting to the truth?” Boland shot back.

Roman’s hands balled into fists. “You are here to answer any question I pose, Captain. It’s my privilege to interrogate you in the name of my constituents in any way I please.”

“May I remind the senator,” Boland said just as sharply, “that you are not a prosecuting lawyer in front of a jury flaunting your courtroom tactics. This is a hearing, not a trial. When you can ask a civil question without inflammatory indictment at Corporal Fremont’s or my expense, then I’ll answer it.”

Who the hell is he?
Roman almost shouted. He yanked his head to the left, glaring at Fredericks. He wanted him to put the bastard in his rightful place. The room came alive with titters. Fredericks sat pretending nothing had happened. Roman turned his attention back to the officer. He’d have his ass for this. A couple of well-placed phone calls to the Pentagon would effectively squelch Boland’s career.

Roman decided to home in on Fremont. She wasn’t capable of thinking on her feet like the Marine captain. And for the next two hours, Roman relentlessly pursued her.

It was nearing the noon adjournment when William Wendell entered through the doors of the hearing, pale and shaken. In his hand, he clutched a piece of paper. For a moment, he stood motionless, as if trying to decide whether to talk directly with the chairman of the hearing or move to his vacant seat at Fremont’s table. Wiping his brow, the normally unflappable attorney steered himself in the direction of the table and sat down.

Wendell took Captain Boland’s mike. “Senator Fredericks, I’m sorry to interrupt this hearing, but something tragic has just occurred that affects this hearing.” Wendell glanced apologetically at Cathy and then continued in a strained voice. He held up a piece of paper in his right hand. “Dr. Leonard Tucker called a page and told him to ask me to come to his hotel room immediately.” Wendell closed his eyes and then opened them, his words coming out hoarse and strangled. “When I entered his hotel room, the door was partially opened. I went inside and found Dr. Tucker lying on the floor with a bullet through his head, victim of an apparent suicide. The detectives and the medical examiner are there, now. They allowed me to leave to come here and tell you what has occurred.”

Cathy gasped, nearly coming out of her chair if not for Boland’s restraining hand. Her eyes widened.

“No!” she cried, her voice cracking. “No!”

The entire room shifted from disbelief into a slowly moving crescendo of voices and movement of TV cameras as they angled to get a better shot of the distraught attorney.

Wendell held the paper higher. “He left a suicide note and some medical reports, Mr. Chairman. Those reports show definite proof that WLF Private Simmons may have been shot to death and not died in a grenade accident we previously indicated during boot camp. I request a recess in light of this new evidence left by the doctor.”

Stunned, Fredericks nodded and banged the gavel once. “This hearing is recessed for the remainder of the day.”

Louise kept herself on a short rein.
Tucker! The bastard!
Her mind raced. How had he gotten hold of an unaltered death certificate on Simmons? Hadn’t he changed all copies to reflect the official cause of death? Her blue eyes turned black. She broke out into a heavy sweat, realizing with pulverizing finality that Tucker must have saved some evidence from the Simmons case that could link her indirectly to the murder. That worm of a man had screwed her.
Oh, no
…And then, Louise began to try to think of ways to deflect the damaging testimony. She wouldn’t be able to fully vindicate herself. No…it was Tucker’s evidence against her word, that was all. With Kay and Hayes dead, no one knew Simmons had been murdered. It was all circumstantial. Feverishly, Louise tried to find a way out of Tucker’s evidence as she watched Wendell hand the chairman the inflammatory paper. Her fists knotted.

Senator Al Fredericks had difficulty containing his shock as Wendell came forward to produce Tucker’s original notes from the medical report, which indicated he had detected a possible hole in Simmons’s body. Glee raced through him as he hungrily read the brief but indicting scrawl that Tucker had left behind as his legacy. Finally, he had something on Major Lane. And with Hayes talking to Fremont about the Simmons murder, the entire case against Lane was wrapped up. And Roman was looking stunned, a rarity for the salty bastard. Roman was going down with a sinking ship. But the public wouldn’t accept Lane’s murder of a recruit. And it was looking more and more like murder every moment. With this evidence, Fredericks knew they could exhume the body of Simmons and prove Tucker’s observations one way or another.