“None.”
“None?”
Miller nodded. “Kowalski was willing to let it go so long as he was assigned to a new room. And Greer took a turn for the better a week or so after the incident. He quit using. The assault was his breaking point, and he cleaned up.”
“What was he using?”
“Speed, coke, steroids. Whatever he could get when he needed it.”
Brodie said, “I have a hard time understanding why no action was taken against a soldier who was abusing drugs and assaulted a fellow soldier. I thought the Rangers had higher standards.”
Miller kept his cool as he replied, “We are loyal to our own, sir. And given what my men have been put through at Camp Hayden, they’re allowed a little leeway.”
“Was your commanding officer made aware of the assault? Captain Pickman?”
Miller kept his eyes on Brodie. “The captain trusts me.”
That sounded like a no. And like perhaps Captain Pickman was happy to be kept in the dark.
Everyone at this desert outpost—commissioned officers, enlisted soldiers, and scientists—understood that any publicity for Camp Hayden was bad publicity. The death of PFC Beal could not go unreported. But Greer’s assault could, especially if news of the incident would end up shining a light on a broader pattern of drug abuse at Camp Hayden—and the highly classified activities fueling that abuse.
Sergeant Miller added, “If Kowalski wanted to press charges, he could have. But he understood we needed to help Greer, not end his Army career.”
Taylor asked, “And how did you help him?”
“By keeping an eye on him, talking him through things, and confiscating his supply.”
“Are you a mental health professional?”
Miller looked at her. “No, ma’am.”
“Are there any mental health services available here?”
Miller thought that was funny. He gestured around the rec room. “You’re looking at them.”
Brodie asked, “Was Greer kept from participating in training exercises after the assault?”
“No,” replied Miller. “If we’d been doing live-fire exercises, that would have been a different story.”
“You must all have service pistols, in addition to the SIMRES-equipped rifles.”
Miller nodded. “And Greer’s was confiscated.”
Brodie asked, “Have you spoken to him since Major Ames’s death and the start of the lockdown?”
“No.”
“Are you aware of any direct interactions or associations between Private Greer and the deceased, Major Ames?”
“We don’t interact with the DEVCOM people.” He looked bothered by the question. “You really think Greer is somehow involved in this?”
Brodie ignored the question and said, “Take us to the private’s room.”
CHAPTER 17
SERGEANT FIRST CLASS MIKE MILLERled Brodie and Taylor down the third-floor hallway to Room 3H.
Brodie discreetly placed his hand on his holstered pistol, and he noticed Taylor do the same. When it came to making an unannounced visit to a soldier with mental health issues and—potentially—access to a weapon, there was no taking chances.
