Chương 10
That landed cleanly.
Rachel looked away.
I crouched so Lily and I were eye level.
“You’re right.”
She blinked.
I continued.
“But this is not me hiding from you.”
“What is it?”
“Me trying to give you a little less to carry tonight.”
She stared at me.
Then she looked toward Hernandez.
“Is my mom in trouble?”
Hernandez answered before I could.
“Not from anything I know right now.”
Lily nodded.
That was enough for the moment.
Rachel offered to sit with her inside.
Lily surprised both of us by agreeing.
They went into the house.
The porch door closed.
Hernandez waited until they were gone.
Then she said, “Now tell me.”
I sat on the top step.
She remained standing.
“Afghanistan,” I said.
“Eastern province.”
“What year?”
“2012.”
“Your role?”
“Liaison work with an intelligence support cell attached to a task force.”
She nodded once.
“What happened in the room?”
“We were trying to locate two missing Afghan police officers and an American contractor.”
“Were they kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“By the man in the chair?”
“We didn’t know.”
“Who had him?”
“A local militia commander.”
“Friendly?”
“Depends which report you read.”
Hernandez understood the tone.
“What was the man’s condition?”
“Bad.”
“Did your unit hurt him?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you witness anyone hurt him?”
I rubbed my palms together.
“Yes.”
Her expression changed slightly.
“Who?”
“The militia commander’s men.”
“Did you stop them?”
“No.”
The porch seemed very quiet.
“Were you ordered not to?”
“Yes.”
“Did that order make sense?”
“At the time?”
“Yes.”
I looked down at the concrete.
“No.”
Hernandez shifted her weight.
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Listen.”
“To what?”
“Anything he said.”
“And?”
“Report it.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
She looked toward the paper bag.
“And someone took photographs while this was happening.”
“Yes.”
“Of you with the detainee.”
“He wasn’t our detainee.”
“That distinction could be difficult to see.”
“Exactly.”
Hernandez was quiet for a moment.
“Did those photos ever surface?”
“Not that I knew.”
“Were they reported?”
I hesitated.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was told the camera had been taken and the images destroyed.”
“By whom?”
“A captain named Benjamin Cole.”
Hernandez glanced at the phone.
“B.”
I nodded.
“That crossed my mind too.”
“Is he still in service?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you spoken to him since?”
“Not in years.”
“How many?”
“Eight, maybe nine.”
“Did you trust him?”
“That depends what day you asked me.”
She gave me a flat look.
“Today.”
“No.”
The answer came easier than I expected.
Hernandez crouched so her voice would not carry.
“Why?”
“Because Cole was very good at telling people the version of an event that caused him the least trouble.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“It’s common.”
“Did he lie about that room?”
“He said nothing happened that required reporting.”
“And you accepted that?”
“I accepted the order.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I did not accept it.”
“What did you do?”
“I wrote my own memorandum.”
“Where is it?”
“Classified archive, assuming it still exists.”
“Did Cole know?”
“Yes.”
“What happened afterward?”
“He told me I was trying to destroy careers over something I didn’t understand.”
“Were you?”
“Maybe.”
Hernandez lifted an eyebrow.
I corrected myself.
“No.”
The old instinct to soften my own position annoyed me.
“I was trying to create a record.”
“Why?”
“Because the man in that chair disappeared.”
She went still.
“Disappeared how?”
“Gone by morning.”
“Released?”
“That’s what the militia commander claimed.”
“You believed him?”
“No.”
“And the missing officers?”
“One body was found two days later.”
“The contractor?”
“Never found.”
Hernandez stood again.
“This is above what I’m going to handle on a porch.”
“I assumed.”
“I’m going to secure the phone.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m going to notify my supervisor.”
“Okay.”
“If the device may connect to classified or federal matters, someone else is going to want it.”
“I know.”
She studied me.
“You work federal records now.”
“Yes.”
“What agency?”
I told her.
She nodded slowly.
“Does your current job give you access to old operational files?”
“No.”
“Could Marcus think it does?”
That question bothered me.
“Maybe.”
“Did he ever ask?”
I searched backward through years of bad jokes and intrusive comments.
Marcus had always mocked my job.
Paper pusher.
Basement librarian.
Government file clerk.
He had also asked, more than once, whether federal databases really kept everything.
I had assumed he was being nosy.
Now the questions rearranged themselves.
“He asked about retention systems.”
Hernandez’s attention sharpened.
“When?”
“Last Thanksgiving.”
“What exactly?”
“He asked how long old military records stayed accessible.”
“What did you say?”
“That he was boring everybody.”
“Anything else?”
“I told him most records had schedules and restrictions.”
“Did he ask about photographs?”
I thought.
Then I remembered a bottle of bourbon on Rachel’s kitchen island.
Marcus leaning against the counter.
His casual tone.
Do they digitize battlefield stuff too?
I had told him to refill the ice tray.
“Yes.”
Hernandez exhaled.
“That matters.”
“Maybe.”
“You really like that word.”
“It keeps people from deciding before they know.”
She almost smiled.
Then she became serious again.
“Did you tell Rachel any of this before tonight?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Enough to know I was involved in things I didn’t want to discuss.”
“Cole?”
“What about him?”
“Did Daniel know the name?”
“Yes.”
Hernandez looked toward the house.
“Could Marcus have learned it through your family?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel had once gone through a period after my divorce when she tried to prove Daniel had failed me.
She asked questions.
Too many.
Maybe I had answered one while tired.
Maybe Daniel had said something during one of those awful family dinners after the separation.
Maybe Marcus had heard.
Or maybe none of that mattered.
The front door opened.
Rachel stepped outside.
“Lily is calling her dad again.”
She looked at Hernandez.
“Are you taking the phone?”
“Yes.”
Rachel nodded.
“Good.”
May you like
Then she looked at me.
“Who is Benjamin Cole?”
