Rebel in Time

'No, corporal, that's not all that I want. This matter must involve you or I wouldn't be here, would I?' Troy was looking straight at Chucho, but had a clear view of McCulloch at the same time. The colonel was playing it cool now, his expression as impassive as Chucho's. 'You have a friend — an acquaintance, then, if you don't like the word friend — someone that you have been seen playing pool with…'

'What kind of shit is this? I played pool with half the spics in Baltimore.'

'Just hear me out. This matter is serious. An acquaintance of yours by the name of Paco Collado has jumped bail. When, your name came up in the investigation it was bumped to my department…'

'Colonel, do I got to listen to this crap?' Chucho said, turning his back on Troy. 'Wasn't this all settled once and for all when I first came here to clean up the bugs in the security network? Do we gotta do it all again?'

'No we don't,' McCulloch said firmly. 'You can get back to work, corporal.' He walked over to the window and stood, looking out, until he heard the door close, then spun about to face Troy. 'The corporal is right, this matter has been gone over before and is now closed. If your people feel it has to be opened again, then have him transferred. But I will not permit this interference in the operation of my unit. Is that clear, lieutenant?'

'Very clear, sir. I'll report back to the general everything that you have said.'

'Do that, Lieutenant Harmon, just do that. Now get out.'

Troy left. He was no wiser about the gold — but at least he had met the colonel and knew at least one thing about him. They were not destined to be bosom companions for life; he smiled at the thought as he got into the jeep and gunned it out of the lot. He had no love for the colonel, who appeared to be a thoroughgoing military son-of-a-bitch. And for some reason McCulloch had taken an instant dislike to him as well. That had been obvious from the moment he had walked into the room. Then, when he had lost his temper, the colonel had been about to say something — but had stopped himself. What had it been?

Chapter 6

Nigger! Colonel McCulloch said as the door closed behind Lieutenant Harmon's back. He breathed the word so quietly that it could not have been heard a foot away, but there was still a terrible viciousness to its sound.

I almost called him that, he thought, almost said it out loud. But I didn't — and that's what counts. He irritated me, that's what he did, got under my skin. The bastard couldn't have bugged me more if he had been doing it on purpose…

He stopped, frozen at the thought, then turned to the window. Watching the lieutenant emerge from the building and climb into his jeep. Was there any chance — any slight chance — that it could have been done on purpose? Were they finally on to him? Twice in the last two weeks he had suspected that he was being followed, but neither time had he been able to make sure. Each time that he had driven away from his normal route the car that he had spotted behind his had turned off. But that meant nothing. Two or three cars in radio contact could easily leapfrog one another and trail him without his knowledge, And his house — when was it — four days ago, when he had had the feeling that someone had been there, that papers had been moved. No real evidence; just the sensation that things had been taken out and put back. All three of the matchsticks had been in place, in the front and back doors, and the one into the garage. Yet he had still felt that someone had been there.

Or was he getting just a little bit paranoid with the deadline so close? No, he had better be paranoid, that was the only way to stay ahead in any matter involving security. Believe that the worst was going to happen — then take every precaution to see that it didn't.

So — what if someone had been in his house? What if he had been followed and they now knew he had been buying gold? What would their next step be? The answer to that one was very obvious; he had been involved in this sort of operation often enough himself. The normal procedure would be to initiate an in-depth investigation of the suspect. And to have an operative meet him under some excuse or another. There was a chillness on the back of his neck at the thought; he rubbed it unconsciously. Could this jig lieutenant have been the one? Could the investigation of Chucho just have been a front for the real reason — which was getting into this office, getting to talk to him? Well, why not? Maybe the black boy was smarter than he had looked.