“Are you a relative?”
“No, I’m the Assistant Executive Officer for San Diego and Mr. O’Mara’s boss.” Troy laughed as he heard the receiver bounce on the floor.
“Mr. Bremen…I’m sorry…um…I’ll find someone to talk to you.” Hold music filled the line.
“Mr. Bremen, it’s Freddie McLeod. I’m one of the burn doctors. I hear you’re calling about Tobey O’Mara.” Monitors beeped in the background.
“Yeah, I want to make sure he has all he needs.” Troy thought about the explosion at the Center for Training that critically injured his operator.
“He’s turned the corner. The pneumonia is resolving, and we’ve weaned him off the vent. I’m sorry, we still don’t want him talking, but I can extend a message.”
“Tell him I’m thinking about him,” Troy said, ending the call.
Thinking for a moment, his brows narrowed. Immediately he sent an email to all division heads about how easy it was to get information about Tobey. Next, he paged Trask and Zach to his office.
At the page, Zach almost broke down his door, only to find Troy leaning back in his chair, smirking. “Sit.” He pointed. “Now if you’re going to do this every time I page you, we better notify building maintenance in advance to buy some more doors.” He waited for them to sit at his paper-scattered conference table before he joined them.
“I wanted to discuss my ten-day plan with you. But, first, something occurred to me.” He explained O’Mara’s condition and what happened with the call. “We know he was injured by an explosion at the Center for Training. A person would have to know he was now in DC. Our numbers are blocked. The communications tech put me through to the floor, no questions asked. The doctor reported his condition with no questions asked, just by use of my name.
“I want to try my theory.” Troy held a finger to his lips, dialed a number and placed the call on speaker. “Training and Education Command, Lance Corporal Howard,” a male voice answered.
“Good afternoon, Lance Corporal, this is General Gordon Creswell, Public Information; is the colonel in?”
“No, sir, he’s gone for the day.”
“Hmm, not good.Mr. Howard, you need to pull the colonel’s bacon out of the fire. We screwed the pooch over here. Please tell me you have an exercise at the Mountain Warfare Training Center in Combat Town.” Troy used his “idiot officer” voice.
“Yes, sir. Tonight and another one all day tomorrow.”
“Very good. Now we have to hit our inclusion marks. Tell me there are some female Marines participating?”
Zach rolled his eyes.
“Yes, General.” The lance corporal proceeded to give him the names of eight women, their ranks and units.
“Thank you, Howard. Your good work is appreciated.” Troy hung up.
“Hmm,” Zach observed.
“They gave you the store,” Trask said.
“Not quite the store. In person access is tight, but if I was looking to prey on a female Marine, or a specific Marine, and had access, it wouldn’t be hard,” Troy said.
“How’d you know the colonel wouldn’t be there?” Trask asked.
“It’s almost five. Took a chance.”
“And General Gordon Creswell?” Trask questioned some more.
“One of the nurse’s aides at the Denver hospital watched the showJAG. The show made me laugh. The Gordon Creswell character’s nickname was Biff. We intercepted a kid in Virginia named Biff.” Troy shook his head. “What’s the plan?”
“Delineate the dates of the known attacks,” Trask said.
“They were all on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday,” Troy answered. “With the exception of these five women, one male victim was attacked one week later. I want a list of all male participants one week after these.”
“Identify every male on site during an attack,” Zach said. “And see what names repeat.”
Trask pinched the bridge of his nose. “That means it’s more likely the perpetrators are staff or family living on base. Troops muster in and out.”
