Chapters (68)
The III Corps Headquarters came into view across a browned-out, wide-open parade field. Caitlin half expected to see troops marching back and forth, but apparently they had better things to do. A single soldier made his or her way across the field, destination unknown. Headquarters itself could well have been any building in any industrial park throughout North America, although the silver-grey structure was certainly distinctive enough, with its three-wing design. A banner hanging across the façade under the III Corps name proclaimed the following: Welcome to Fort Hood. Provisional Capital of the State of Texas.
They pulled up behind McCutcheon as he swung down from the Jeep, a pair of Ray-Bans in place to protect his bloodshot eyes from the glare of the morning sun.
‘Sergeant,’ he said, addressing Milosz, ‘we’ll probably be a couple of hours. If you and the private here are feeling peckish, you can get yourselves fixed up on base, or if you’d be more comfortable in town – and as long as your boss is fine with that, of course – I can recommend the breakfast burger at Greybeard’s, back in Willow Springs. That was the last little shopping village we rolled through before hitting the base. But if General Musso wants you to stay close, there’s also the Burger King down the road, although it doesn’t quite serve the old-fashioned Whopper we all remember and love.’
‘Is not to be worrying,’ replied Milosz. ‘I have seagull’s breakfast today. A drink of water and a look around.’
‘Go get yourself a coffee and a proper feed,’ Musso said, dismissing his escort after checking that both men had cell phone coverage.
Caitlin wore the uniform of the day – a winter-weight battle dress outfit designed for the forests of Cold War Europe. It was infused with enough starch that she imagined it could deflect bullets and knife strikes at the right angle. In many respects, Echelon’s undercover operative blended in with the Texas Defense Force personnel, who retained the same BDUs as the United States armed forces. Only the blue embroidery of her name tag and collar rank marked her as an outsider. She would’ve preferred to have worn the lighter, summer-weight BDUs she sometimes donned for field work, but they were too ripped and faded for use here. There would be no explaining how Colonel Murdoch had got them so scruffy-looking, sitting behind a desk in the UK.
Musso seemed to have deliberately dressed down, opting for a pair of hard-wearing boots, jeans, an old polo shirt and a jacket that looked like an insulated rain slicker. She wondered if he was drawing from James Kipper’s style guide. Sending his own message.
‘All righty then,’ declared McCutcheon, clapping his hands together as though hangovers weren’t something he had to worry about. ‘Let’s go see the big bad wolf.’