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The Enemy

I got a ride and got out two hundred yards short of Bird’s main gate, a few minutes past eleven in the evening, January fourth, after a little more than six hours on the road. North Carolina was pitch dark and cold. Very cold, so I jogged the two hundred yards to heat myself up. I was out of breath when I got to the gate. I was logged in and I ran down to my office. It was warm inside. The night-watch sergeant with the baby son was on duty. She had coffee going. She gave me a cup and I walked into my office and found a note from Summer waiting for me on my desk. The note was clipped to a slim green file. The file had three lists in it. The women-with-Humvees list, the women-from-Irwin list, and the main gate log for New Year’s Eve. The first two lists were relatively short. The gate log was a riot. People had been in and out all night long, partying. But only one name was common to all three compilations: Lt/Col Andrea Norton. Summer had circled the name in all three locations. Her note said: Call me about Norton. Hope your mom was OK.

I found the old message slip with Joe’s telephone number on it and called him first.

“You holding up?” I asked him.

“We should have stayed,” he said.

“She gave the nurse one day off,” I said. “One day was what she wanted.”

“We should have stayed anyway.”

“She doesn’t want spectators,” I said.

Joe didn’t answer. The phone was hot and silent against my ear.

“I’ve got a question,” I said. “When you were at the Pentagon, did you know an asshole called Willard?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, changing gears, searching his memory. He had been out of Intelligence for some time.

“Squat little man?” he said. “Couldn’t sit still? Always shuffling around on his chair, fussing with his pants? He was a desk guy. A major, I think.”

“He’s a full colonel now,” I said. “He just got assigned to the 110th. He’s my CO at Rock Creek.”

“MI to the 110th? That makes sense.”

“Makes no sense to me.”

“It’s the new theory,” Joe said. “They’re copying private-sector doctrine. They think know-nothings are good because they’re not invested in the status quo. They think they bring fresh perspectives.”

“Anything I should know about this guy?”

“You called him an asshole, so it sounds like you already know about him. He was smart, but he was an asshole, for sure. Vicious, petty, very corporate, good at office politics, exclusively interested in number one, excellent ass-kisser, always knew which way the wind was blowing.”

I said nothing.

“Hopeless with women,” Joe said. “I remember that.”

I said nothing.

“He’s a perfect example,” Joe said. “Like we discussed. He was on the Soviet desk. He monitored their tank production and fuel consumption, as I recall. I think he worked out some kind of an algorithm that told us what kind of training Soviet armor was doing based on how much fuel they were eating. He was hot for a year or so. But now I guess he’s seen the future. He got himself out while the getting was good. You should do the same. At least you should think about it. Like we discussed.”

I said nothing.

“Meanwhile, watch your step,” Joe said. “I wouldn’t want Willard for a boss.”

“I’ll be OK,” I said.

“We should have stayed in Paris,” he said, and hung up.

I found Summer in the O Club bar. She had a beer on the go and was leaning on the wall with a couple of W2s. She moved away from them when she saw me.

“Garber’s gone to Korea,” I said. “We got a new guy.”

“Who?”

“A colonel called Willard. From Intelligence.”

“So how is he qualified?”

“He isn’t qualified. He’s an asshole.”

“Doesn’t that piss you off?”

I shrugged. “He’s telling us to stay away from the Kramer thing.”

“Are we going to?”

“He’s telling me to stop talking to you. He says he’s going to turn down your application.”

She went very quiet. Looked away.

“Shit,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you wanted it.”