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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Specialist Thompson was waiting at the junior enlisted barracks when Antony and First Sergeant Randall rolled up. He stood as the men approached, and said, “Sergeant Major is just a minute out. He asked that we wait, First Sergeant.”
“Of course.”
Thompson asked, “Is Prosser going to be okay?”
“You know her well?” Randall asked.
“Eh, so-so, First Sergeant,” Thompson said. “She helped in the S-1 until her paperwork cleared. We miss her.”
“She’ll be fine, Thompson. You’ll be able to tell her that soon.” He considered the young troop. “What can you tell me about Smith?”
“He’s an asshole. Ate up. I knew him in AIT. They brought him up on academic dishonesty, but they couldn’t prove it, so he walked,” Thompson said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he was involved in this somehow. Is he?”
“What makes you think that?” Randall asked. Sometimes it was just best to guide people in questioning.
“He’s not just an asshole, he’s an idiot. As analysts, we have to see a big picture, right?”
Randall cocked his head and nodded.
Thompson continued, “Well, he’s not even a good analyst. I don’t think he’s got the smarts to lead something this big, not without getting caught straight away.”
“And what do you know about ‘something’?”
“Not much. Only that another Soldier got hit recently, and that a couple more people, civilians, have been, too. People talk.”
Antony’s phone buzzed, and he stepped away to check it. It was Oliver at the hospital. Pos GHB/Rohypnol mix. Bad stuff. She’s lucky. Antony’s vision dimmed around the edges. It was the same shit Charlie’d been dosed with. Once he got a hold of the other reports, he was sure he’d find the same combo there, too. He flashed the message at Randall, and the older man’s brow furrowed.
CSM Waters walked up. “How’s Prosser?”
“She’ll be okay. She’s sleeping again.”
“Good. Thompson, the door?”
Thompson keyed the door and stepped aside. Randall turned toward Antony. “Go on, Ramos. I want your eyes in there first. We’ll wait.”
The CSM looked at Randall quizzically as Antony snapped on a pair of latex gloves and entered the room.
“Guy’s got the best set of eyes out there,” Randall said. “He sees shit that most people don’t.”
The first thing Antony noticed was the absolute lack of dust on any of the surfaces in the room. It’s next to impossible in a place like Fort Huachuca to get everything spotless and keep it that way for much longer than a day. He bent over and shone his flashlight under the bed. They had wiped even the bottom rails down.
The desk was clean, save for a notepad and a cup of pens. A power cable for a laptop was dangling, wedged between the back of the desk and the wall. The case was on the floor, tucked in to the footwell. Antony pulled it out and took a quick glance. Empty. Hopefully, they’d find it when they found his car, unless he’d stashed it somewhere else in the room.
Antony worked the room in a circle, from top to bottom. The floor to ceiling closets showed no signs of tampering. He’d have to bring the bolt cutters when he came back. The fridge was mostly empty. A couple shitty beers were on the shelf with some condiments and a styrofoam container. The small freezer had some ice and a mostly full bottle of vodka.
The shared bathroom space was also clean, but more telling since all of Smith’s things were there, scattered around his sink. Antony frowned and leaned closer. Small hairs stuck to the sides of the sink. Obviously, whoever wiped down his room didn’t feel the need to do so in here. At least, that’s what they wanted to convey. He needed Charlie.
Ten minutes later, Antony stepped out of the door. He looked at the Specialist. “You’re unit key control, yes?”
Thompson nodded, “Yes, Sir.”
“How many people have access to that box?”
Thompson started from the top. “Well, the Sergeant Major, of course. Each First Sergeant. Accompanying officers...”
“Who is your sub?” Antony prodded.
