CHAPTER FOUR
878 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Colonel Dutch Adams stood staring out his office window. He had a good view of Fort Nash Mowat from here. He could even see the field where Sergeant Worthing had been killed only this morning.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered under his breath.
Less than two weeks ago Sergeant Rolsky had been killed in exactly the same way.
Then a week ago it was Sergeant Fraser.
And now it was Worthing.
Three good drill sergeants.
Such a stupid waste, he thought.
And so far, the agents from the Criminal Investigation Command hadn’t been able to crack the case.
Adams stood wondering …
How the hell did I wind up in charge of this place?
He’d had a good career overall. He wore his medals proudly—the Legion of Merit, three Bronze Stars, Meritorious Service Medals, a Meritorious Unit Commendation, and a hefty batch of others.
He looked back over his life as he stared out the window.
What were his best memories?
Surely his wartime service in Iraq, both in Operation Desert Storm and Operation Enduring Freedom.
What were his worst memories?
Possibly the academic grind of piling up enough degrees to get a commission.
Or maybe standing in front of classrooms giving lectures.
But even those weren’t as bad as running this place.
Driving a desk and filing reports and presiding over meetings—all that was the worst of it as far as he was concerned.
Still, at least he’d had the good times.
His career had come at a personal cost, though—three divorces and seven grown children who scarcely spoke to him anymore. He wasn’t even sure how many grandchildren he might have.
That was just how it had to be.
The Army had always been his true family.
But now, after all those years, he was feeling estranged even from the Army.
So how was his parting from military service going to feel in the end—like a happy retirement, or just another ugly divorce?
He breathed a bitter sigh.
If he achieved his final ambition, he’d retire as a brigadier general. Even so, he’d be all alone after he retired. But maybe it was just as well.
Maybe he could just quietly disappear—“fade away” like one of Douglas MacArthur’s proverbial “old soldiers.”
Or like some wild animal, he thought.
He’d been a hunter all his life, but couldn’t remember ever having run across the carcass of a bear or a deer or any other wild animal that had died of natural causes. Other hunters had told him the same thing.
What a mystery that had always been! Where did those wild creatures go to die and rot away?
He wished he knew, so he could go where they did when his time came.
Meanwhile, he had a hankering for a cigarette. It was a hell of a thing, not being able to smoke in his own office.
Just then his desk phone buzzed. It was his secretary in the outer office.
The woman said, “Colonel, I’ve got the provost marshal general on the line. He wants to talk to you.”
Colonel Adams felt a jolt of surprise.
He knew that the provost marshal general was Brigadier General Malcolm Boyle. Adams had never talked to him as far as he could remember.
“What’s it about?” Adams asked.
“The murders, I believe,” the secretary said.
Adams growled under his breath.
Of course, he thought.
The provost marshal general in Washington was in charge of all Army criminal investigations. Doubtless he’d gotten word that the investigation here was lagging.
“OK, I’ll talk to him,” Adams said.
He took the call.
Adams immediately disliked the sound of the man’s voice. It was too soft for his taste, didn’t have the proper bark for a high-ranking officer. Nevertheless, the man vastly outranked Adams. He had to at least feign respect.
Boyle said, “Colonel Adams, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Three FBI agents from Quantico will be arriving there soon to help with the murder investigation.”
Adams felt a surge of irritation. As far as he was concerned, he already had too many agents working on it. But he managed to keep his voice calm.
“Sir, I’m not sure I understand why. We’ve got our own Criminal Investigation Command office right here at Fort Mowat. They’re on the case.”
Boyle’s voice sounded a little tougher now.
“Adams, you’ve had three murders in less than three weeks. It sure sounds to me like you folks could use a little help.”
Adams’s frustration was growing by the second. But he knew he mustn’t show it.
He said, “Respectfully, sir, I don’t know why you’re calling me with this news. Colonel Dana Larson is the CID commander here at Fort Mowat. Why aren’t you calling her first?”
Boyle’s reply took Adams completely aback.
“Colonel Larson contacted me. She asked for me to call in the BAU to help. So I put in a call and arranged it.”
Adams was aghast.
That b***h, he thought.
Colonel Dana Larson seemed to do everything she could to annoy him at every opportunity.
And what was a woman doing in charge of a CID office anyway?
Adams did his best to swallow down his disgust.
“I understand, sir,” he said.
Then he ended the call.
Colonel Adams was seething now. He banged his fist against his desk. Didn’t he have any say in what went on in this place?
Still, orders were orders, and he had to comply.
But he didn’t have to like it—and he didn’t have to make anybody comfortable.
He growled aloud.
Never mind people getting killed.
Things were going to get very ugly.
- Writer
