“Be quiet,” I say to him, and then I squeeze her hand again.

“Vasquez? What is it? What do you want to warn me about?”

Her other eye opens up, and both eyes wander and then lock in on me.

“Captain…is that your husband? Your daughter? Your…family?”

“Yes, yes it is,” I say.

“Oh, so beautiful,” she whispers. “So beautiful…”

Her eyes close and then she’s gone.

CHAPTER 89

IN HIS Army career, Major Bruno Wenner has seen lots of odd things, but he’s sure this afternoon’s meeting is going to be one of the strangest events he’s ever seen, three days after a firefight in Florida brought everything about Captain Amy Cornwall to a fiery head. He and five others are in a small, secure conference room in Fort Belvoir, and they are all waiting on Captain Amy Cornwall, who should have been here five minutes ago.

At the head of the table is his boss, Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Denton, in dress uniform, and with each passing minute of Cornwall’s absence, his face grows redder and redder. At his left are a colonel and brigadier general from the Judge Advocate Group, a male and female, and across the table are three quiet men in expensive-looking dark-gray suits, white shirts, and red neckties, like they had been dispatched from some government-central tailor shop. The near man, with a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and blinking eyes that make him look like an owl, says he’s from the Department of Defense. In the middle is a quiet man with closely trimmed dark-brown hair, who says he’s from the FBI. And the last civilian looks bored and has a dark tan, and claims he’s an observer from the Department of the Army.

Nobody in the room believes the last man is from the Department of the Army. Wenner is guessing that he’s CIA, but keeps his guess to himself. He’s sitting to the right and rear of Colonel Denton.

General Sawyer looks to Colonel Denton and then her watch. “Well, where is she?”

“She should be here any minute.”

The general says, “Give her five more minutes, then send out some MPs to drag her sorry ass in here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Denton says, and he turns and glares at Wenner, like it’s his fault that Captain Cornwall hasn’t shown up.

Wenner looks away and then there’s a rap at the door; it opens up, and Captain Cornwall comes in, cover in hand, saying, “My apologies, Colonel Denton, and everyone else. I was…unavoidably delayed.”

“Sit down, Captain Cornwall,” Denton snaps out, and Cornwall sits at the end of the polished conference room table, moving slowly, her feet bandaged, Wenner knows. She looks impressive in her uniform with the badges and ribbons, and Wenner feels sorry for her. Based on the bloody and wild trip she had through the American South, the captain will eventually exchange that uniform for the dull khakis of a prison uniform at Leavenworth.

The room has one door, no windows, and just the table and chairs. There are no photos, paintings, or anything else to cheer up this cheerless room, and Wenner thinks that’s part of the plan, for nothing good is going to happen here.