Alex stuffs the keys and phone in his pocket and keeps the gun pointed through the window as he backs away.
“Perfect. Sounds like a good workout for you.”
CHAPTER 76
Sampson
ENOUGH.
I made ten more calls after I talked to Quint Spooner, but all were nonstarters. Either no one answered or the people I got were unwilling to talk. Now I shuffle through the pile again and look up at the clock on the wall.
Okay. I have time for one more call.
I look for a number with a West Coast area code, since it’s not too late there.
Here we go: Rick Bannon, resident of Eugene, Oregon.
I dial the number and mumble to myself, “Pick up, pick up, pick up …”
He does.
“Rick, my name is John Sampson. I’m a detective with the Metro Police in DC.”
“Okay, John, how can I help you?” Bannon sounds bright, alert, articulate.
“I understand you served with a man named Aiden Phillips when you were in the army. Is that right?”
I hear a low whistle on the other end, then: “Is this about the DC bombings? What took you guys so long?”
I sit up straighter. I don’t want to give too much away. “Just tell me about Phillips. How well did you know him?”
“Maybe too damn well,” says Bannon. “Enough to have reasonable worry that if the freak finds out I’ve been talking to you, he might blow up my car for giggles.”
This stops me for a second. “Why would you say that?”
“Because explosives were his thing.”
“Did you consider him a threat?”
“To me? Nah. Just to people who pissed him off.”
“For example?”
Bannon is quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he says, “here’s one. We’d been deployed for six months. We were at an FOB up in the hills, at least ten klicks from any other unit. We were trying to blend in with the locals—we had beards, long hair, tunic shirts, the works. Then out of nowhere, a couple of regular army platoons came in and set up camp nearby.
“A few of the spit-and-polish officers started ragging on us, telling us that we needed to clean up. Phillips mouthed off, told them they didn’t know shit about blending in.”
“Let me guess. The officers told him to shut up and follow orders.”
Bannon laughs. “So you were in the service?”
“Army. Then police department. The brass never change. So how did Phillips react?”
“Unofficially?”
Bannon seems like a straight-up guy. But I’m tired and I need to cut to the chase. “Rick, I’m not looking to jam you up for anything. I’ve seen your file. You did three tours. You’ve got a Purple Heart and a Distinguished Service Medal. I’m only interested in what Phillips did. Or what youthinkhe did.”
“Okay,” says Bannon, “I’ll tell you. So, these asshole officers had six up-armored Humvees they kept in a guarded barbed-wire compound. One morning, they were getting ready to make a run to a village down in the valley. They all piled into a convoy. When the drivers started up the Humvees, a blast went off under every single one. White smoke and flames shot out from underneath. Scared the shit out of everybody.”
