She looked back at Brodie. “Good night, Scott. And good luck.” She walked away.
Brodie shut the door and turned to Taylor. “She’s a good resource.”
“She’s an arrogant bitch.”
“Why not both?”
“I don’t trust her, Scott. And I need you to think with the right head.”
“I’m insulted.”
“No, you’re not.” She added, “She’s got the sexy-scientist thing going for her.”
“Didn’t notice.”
Taylor held up the thumb drive Dixon had given them. “We can’t even look at these files, let alone check if they’re authentic. We have no way of passing them on to digital forensics.”
“I’m sure there’s an on-base computer we can use.”
“So, we are relying on the communications infrastructure of a place that might be compromised at the highest levels to transmit evidence in our criminal investigation. That’s not good.”
“We’re on an island here, Maggie. We need to get used to the fact that we’re alone, and that you and I have only each other. And we don’t need digital forensics to tell us whether someone is full of shit.”
She met his eyes. “Intuition only gets you so far.”
“Then we’ll take it as far as it goes.”
Taylor did not look happy. She pocketed the thumb drive and asked, “So what do we do now?”
“What we always do. Barrel ahead. Let’s go find Private Greer.”
CHAPTER 16
BRODIE AND TAYLOR APPROACHED THEbarracks building on foot. It was about nine-fifteen, and lights were on in many of the windows. A few white LED streetlamps lit the road leading to the building and the parking lot in front.
Taylor had changed from her dinner attire back to her black suit, and they had both accessorized with their 9mm SIG Sauers, which came in a tasteful and appropriate coyote brown.
The barracks front entry was unguarded and unlocked. They entered a small foyer, where an unoccupied desk held a landline telephone and over a dozen empty cans of Monster Energy drink and Coors Light.
Against the wall opposite the desk stood a metal tripod, and clamped to the top of it was the head casing of a D-17, covered in suction-cup darts.
Another wall was covered with fliers, Army posters, and a corkboard featuring a drawing of a despondent-looking Ranger in fatigues standing next to a D-17 with a giant erect metal phallus, along with the caption:YOU VS. THE GUY SHE TOLD YOU NOT TO WORRY ABOUT.
Taylor looked at the drawing longer than she really needed to. Then she said, “They’re emasculated by these things.”
“It’s a joke.”
Taylor gestured to the disembodied robot head covered in darts. “And behind the joke is anger.”
Brodie didn’t respond.
She asked in a low voice, “Who has a clearer motive for ending this program, and for exacting revenge on its chief scientist, than these guys?”
“Are we looking for an Army Ranger with an advanced degree in computer science?”
“No, Scott. We’re looking for a potential co-conspirator.”
Right. And that co-conspirator might be PFC Thomas Greer, whether witting or unwitting.
