“Maybe they do,” said Taylor.
Kim replied, “If there was anything to know, I would at least have some sense of it. But I’ll look for this Iraqi guy under both names in our data bank.”
“Let us know what you find,” said Brodie. “We’ll catch up after the briefing, whenever that is.”
Kim nodded. He pushed the call button and the elevator doors opened. He paused, then turned back to them. “An American CID terrorism investigator is shot dead, and a few days later and a few blocks away, a bomb goes off. Two remarkable events separated by a few days and a few blocks. Coincidence? Or correlation?”
“Chaos,” said Brodie. “That’s what most of the world is, most of the time.”
Kim smiled. “Yes. Most of the time. Ciao.” He stepped in and the elevator doors closed behind him.
Brodie and Taylor stood in silence for a moment. Taylor said, “He makes a point. About a connection.”
“It’s a point that I’m sure already occurred to you, as it did to me. But it’s not useful or productive to throw around conspiracy theories until we have more facts. Maybe we’ll find some in Harry’s CID case reports.”
They walked down the hallway to a door labeledDEFENSE ATTACHÉ OFFICE. There was no buzzer or call box, so Brodie knocked on the door and opened it.
They entered a windowless, modern office with four desks spaced evenly around the room, each occupied by a young person in a military service uniform in front of a computer. A hallway at the far end led to a few closed doors, probably the offices for General Frank Kiernan and the subordinate attachés who represented the individual service branches.
A twenty-something woman, wearing the dark-blue uniform of an Air Force enlisted person, looked up at them and smiled. Her nametag read “Hodges” and her rank was Sergeant. “How may I help you?”
Taylor said, “Sergeant, I am Chief Warrant Officer Taylor and this is Chief Warrant Officer Brodie. We are retrieving documents from the Fifth MP Battalion.”
Sergeant Hodges stood and saluted, and the other three enlisteds—two Army PFCs and a Marine Corporal—did the same.
Brodie and Taylor returned their salutes, and Brodie said, “As you were,” and they returned to their seats, except Sergeant Hodges. Military protocol could be stressful. As warrant officers, they were to be saluted by any enlisted personnel in any branch of the military. But because Brodie and Taylor spent most of their time in civilian dress, service members did not know their rank upon sight and would awkwardly scramble to salute once they did. If Brodie had his way, fist bumps would do.
Brodie and Taylor showed Sergeant Hodges their IDs, and she retrieved a thick paper folio from one of her desk drawers and handed it to Taylor. “Here you are, ma’am. May I ask one of you to sign this release?”
She slid a paper across her desk, which Brodie quickly scanned. It was to acknowledge receipt of documents containing classified intelligence, and it was full of threatening legalese about how much shit they’d be in if they duplicated, transferred, or otherwise disseminated any of it.
He signed, then said to Sergeant Hodges, “General Kiernan told us he’d leave two sidearms here for us.”
She went directly into panic mode. “Uh… I don’t…” She looked around, as though searching for two guns that might have escaped her attention.
Brodie said, “We’ll sign for them.”
“Sir… I—”
“Scott.”
“That’s okay,” Brodie assured Sergeant Hodges. “But when you see General Kiernan, please remind him that Warrant Officers Brodie and Taylor would like to have their guns.”
“Yes, sir.”
“With nice holsters and ten fully loaded clips. That’s five each.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
Brodie and Taylor exchanged salutes with Sergeant Hodges and left the office.
In the hallway, Taylor said, “You frightened her.”
“Not as frightened as I was last night when I put my hand in my pocket and grabbed a toothpick.” He asked, “How about you?”
“Point made. But let’s go through official channels and not frighten the troops.”
