The Summer House(51)

The pain is rippling up and down my leg, like an inferno that just goes on and on.

My crew are all staring at me in their shorts and T-shirts, sitting in this warm and pungent motel room in rural Georgia.

“Colonel, I’m sorry…come back to Quantico?” I ask.

“That’s right,” he says. “I’m shutting you down. All of you. Pack your bags, pay your bills, and get back to Quantico. When you get here, you’re going to write up a summary on how you dicked everything up down there, and then it’s over.”

“Sir, we’re right in the middle of—”

“Major, you’re in the middle of one of the biggest domestic Army screwups since we spied on demonstrators back in the sixties. Since your alleged investigation has started, you’ve pissed off the locals, gone places where you shouldn’t have gone, insulted elected officials, and—oh, yeah—you went down there with four Army Rangers in custody. Now one’s dead because your idiot doctor pushed him to kill himself.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and I say, “Colonel, that is way out of line, sir, and—”

Broderick says, “You don’t get it, do you? Not only is this investigation over, you and your unit are over. Paperwork is being drawn up right now to disband it. Your lawyer is going back to JAG to defend enlisted men stealing MREs, the doc is going to be investigated for malpractice, and your two other CID investigators are also going to face disciplinary hearings. As for you, Major, I think a quiet request to retire will be looked upon favorably.”

I clench my hands, a fist on my cane, a fist holding my phone. “Our job isn’t completed, sir. There’s a lot to be done.”

“And it’s going to be done as it should have been, by the book, by the locals,” Broderick says. “Those Rangers committed their crimes off post. Face it, Jeremiah, your unit was an experiment. And most experiments fail. I expect to hear about your travel plans by noon today.”

He disconnects the call.

I slowly lower my hand.

Expectant faces look up at me, their boss, their major, their leader, waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to make it all right.

What I’ve heard from Colonel Broderick is ricocheting around in my mind, but I need to get us out of this room.

“Outside,” I sharply say. “Now.”

I open the door and limp out into the darkness.



The air is thick, hot, and warm. It’s like I can’t remember ever being cool.

I stop at the front end of our battered Ford, and my crew gather around. Their faces and attitudes are barely visible in the parking lot lights. Fortunately for us, it seems like the ravens from the news media are finally sleeping.

“Face in,” I say. “Huddle up.”

I see Connie has her laptop firmly under her arm, and I feel a shot of anger but let it slide for now.

“That was Lieutenant Colonel Broderick,” I say. “Colonel Phillips is in the hospital. Broderick has taken over. He called to say he’s shutting us down. Period. End of discussion…and probably the end of our respective careers.”

Almost as one, my four team members seem to take a small step back, as if in shock.

I say, “I’ve been told to submit my retirement papers, and all of you are facing disciplinary hearings and probable punishment or reduction in rank. None of your futures look bright, I’m sorry to say.”

Sanchez says, “This is bullshit. Major.”

Pierce says, “High-quality bullshit, sir.”

“Whatever it is, Broderick wants our travel arrangements made by noon today. There won’t be a debriefing or hearing on what we’ve found. I’m to write a report in Quantico, which will be buried, and the rest of you are to go home. Now, we have some things to discuss.”

York puts her laptop on the hood of one of the Fords. “Sir, if I may—”

I lose it. “For God’s sake, York, put that damn thing away!”

Even in the dim light, I can see anger flare across her face. “No, sir, I won’t do that. Not on your life. Look at this, and look at it now, Major.”

“Agent York, you’re about to—”

“Damn it, Jeremiah, listen to me!”

My anger is sliding right up there, but a rational part of me knows something is driving my ex–Virginia state trooper, and I keep my mouth shut.

She taps a key on the laptop, and a familiar video pops up, the surveillance video stream from the convenience store.

“The store surveillance video,” she says. “It’s a fake.”





Chapter 42



SPECIAL AGENT CONNIE YORK is feeling a lot of emotions right at this moment, but the one that secretly pleases her the most is knowing that all these strong and capable men—including Cook and especially Sanchez, who likes to whip out his LAPD background at every opportunity—are giving her 100 percent of their attention.

Pierce stares at the screen. “Fake? It looks pretty real to me, Connie.”

“The Rangers are real, the store owner is real, but this”—and she taps the lower right corner of the screen—“this time stamp, it’s fake. You see what it says? It says 7:40 p.m. Presumably about ten minutes before the killings started, twenty minutes before they were seen leaving The Summer House.”