Current Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mysteries) (21 page)

Sixteen

C
ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed.
When I woke up for the second time, he was looking at me. “Let’s go for a massage.” He was referring to the
couples
massage they give at the High Hill Day Spa. All I could think
was,
what if someone says something to him about Tiara Investigations?

“I doubt they can fit us in on such short notice.”

“For a regular like yourself?
Give it a try.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go sailing?”

“Not as much as I would like a massage.”

Being no fool, I made the appointment. Then I called Tara and told her to let Ronald know he was not to say a word about our little business.

I showered and dashed downstairs, drawn by the smell of his special recipe French toast. He looked around and smiled. That made me so happy. In your twenties you could stay up most of the night and the next day have wet hair and no makeup on and still look good. It’s much harder to pull off in your late forties.

He put the spatula down and walked over to me. With his arms wrapped around my hips he moaned in my ear. “You look good, but are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“Oh, that’s from horseback riding.”

“You got this fit from riding Georgia Clay?”

“Riding him? No. It was from the sad look on his face when he saw me coming toward him. It was like, ‘If there’s a God in heaven, she’s not coming over here.’”

“Want me to go kill him?”

“Actually, I rode him Sunday, and he wasn’t nearly so cruel.”

“I love to see you ride and jump. I don’t know how you do the things you do on that horse. I wish there was time to watch you this trip.”

I was so busy catching myself before I said, ‘I wish I had more time for Georgia Clay’ that it didn’t occur to me to suggest that as an alternative to the massage. “The secret
is knowing
where your center of gravity is.
Just like you do with race car driving, white water rafting, and a lot of sports.”
There was so much I wanted to say, and there was never enough time.

“You’re my center of gravity.” This stopped my rambling. “Here’s something for you.” Keeping me circled in his arms, he reached into the black nylon satchel he had brought in the afternoon before. He took some photographs out and spread them on the granite counter top of the kitchen island. The first was a photograph of him standing, unsmiling, with one foot on a small box. My heart stopped when I saw the peach-shaped A in the logo and the words The Peachtree Group. I guess I gaped too long. “I thought you wanted newer photographs of me. You don’t like those?”

If this was his way of letting me know he knew about Tiara Investigations, it was out of character. He’s not like that. If he wants to know something, he asks, like last night when he wanted to know if I had sat under the apple tree with anyone else but him. But I still couldn’t speak. I reached out and touched the photograph, which he took to be a question. “That’s a Backpack UAV, Unmanned Aerial Vehicle. UAVs are the long pole in the tent in this war. We’ve come a long way since spy planes.”

“This isn’t arsenal rationalization?”

 
“Oh, hell no,” he answered as he reached for the stack of pictures. He pointed to a Predator in the background. “It has about a fifty-foot wingspan. We have about forty different configurations. They travel at a range of speeds, carry different payloads, and have varying mission profiles—altitude, range, duration, and so forth.
 
The operators of the early Predator used in Kosovo didn’t have the ability to determine the UAVs location, so they couldn’t tell what the hell they were filming. The Pioneer Air Vehicle was used in the first Gulf War. Its range exceeded six hours, and its video sensors gave pretty accurate surveillance and reconnaissance data, but that’s nothing compared to what we can do today. I used the Predator in Yemen in 2002. That’s how I got Abu Ali al-
Harithi
. It’s armed with two armor-piercing Hellfire missiles, as more and more drones are these days.”

He wrapped his arms back around me. “Remember when we went to
Nellis
last year?”

“Sure. The pilots of the Predator control them from there.”

“Well, this orb is where the camera is housed.” He pressed me against the counter edge.

I was thinking about Victoria’s question about the radio frequency a Backpack UAV uses compared to one that could detonate an IED. I wanted to know, but I couldn’t ask. I wouldn’t ask. He told me about Abu Ali al-
Harithi
when it happened. No one knows that I know. He had taken me into his confidence. There’s been a price on my husband’s head in the Middle East for years because when he and his team go out at night, someone ends up dead, and they all go back and sleep like babies. It wouldn’t help matters if that bit of information on
Harithi
was public knowledge.

I picked up the photograph and pointed to the red and white scarf tied around his neck. “You’re still wearing a
shemagh
?
This time of year?”

As I spoke he took some of his weight off me.
“Yeah.
They’re not just for
mosquitos
and flies anymore. They help with the smell of dead bodies.”

I involuntarily dropped the photo at his harsh words. “Can I make a suggestion?
Why don’t you just not kill anyone?
Then you won’t have to worry about the odor.”

He stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

I changed the subject back to UAVs.
 
“Do you use backpack UAVs?”

“Yeah.”
He tapped the photograph. “Whether we’ve used the hellfire missiles on a drone or called in the A-10s, sometimes we send in the backpack version for confirmation of the kill or to see if we had any civilian casualties. With
CAS
, uh, do you remember what …?” and he trailed off.

That
do you remember
stung. “Close air support, sure.”

“My guys have a Backpack UAV you download a mission plan into. The operator on the ground can update the plan using RF… ”

“Radio frequency.”

“Yes, radio frequency signals, and it can keep going even if it loses the signal!”

“You sound excited, or what passes for excitement for you,” I said to my stoic but sexy husband.

That was quite enough, and I knew I needed to back away. “We have an appointment.”

“
Waaait
a minute.
Your peace people aren’t down on UAVs, are you? Come on. It’s the Backpack UAV that can keep us from walking into a trap. They increase our situational awareness. Usually the mission is manned by …”

“Staffed.”

“Manned.”

“Staffed.”

He inhaled and then huffed.
“Staffed by soldiers that specialize in communications.
Intelligence depends on a system of systems. The program isn’t
perfect,
you’re never going to have complete intelligence during a war …”

“The fog of war,” I interjected, clumsily, embarrassingly trying to show I could still fit into his world.

“Exactly.
Some I use are launched with a bungee. We’ve found weapons caches with them. The security forces use them.
Sweetheart,
puh-leez
.
Tell your peace-
nik
posse, or whatever they are, that UAVs, excuse me, unstaffed aerial vehicles are not nukes or anything.”

“Just tell me this. Why are they called Backpack UAVs? At that size how could they be anything but unmanned?”

“Don’t you mean unstaffed?” Then he looked down at the photo, up at me and then back down to the photo. Both our smiles started at the same second, and then we were kissing.

“We need to hurry. I’ll dry my hair and be right down.”

I heard a groan, “They couldn’t be manned, could they?”

When I came back downstairs he put the newspaper down and waited at the garage door. Abby was right under foot.

“Abby, stay.”
He reached down and scratched the top of her head.

“You’ll be the man of the house until I get back.” I blew her a kiss.

His head jerked just a little and as he opened the door for me, and I saw his jaw grind.

Seventeen

C
ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed.
We were shown into a room with two massage tables at High Hill Spa. The air was saturated with that complicated spa smell produced by mingling herbs, oils and essences. Ordinarily, I love that smell.
 
I shrugged off my terry cloth robe and climbed onto a table. The General watched as I scooted under the blanket,
then
rolled onto a table. Ronald and Dwayne, the masseurs
,
 
joined
us just a few minutes later. Ronald walked over to me and winked with his back to my husband. That calmed my fears that someone would mention Tiara Investigations. We had the first half hour of bliss. Then the masseurs left the room for us to turn over.

My husband got up from his massage table and leaned over me, stroking my back and kissing my neck.
“Happy anniversary.”

I smiled. He wasn’t always with me for our anniversary, but he always remembered. “I have to say you’ve seemed happier this last year than you have for a long time. Is it all right if I retire? ” Then he had to get back on his table, because either Ronald or Dwayne knocked to come back in.

“Retire?
Happy anniversary to me.”

“And to me.”
He smiled and nodded.

Then it hit me. I hadn’t gotten him a gift or a card. Oops. I had forgotten to roll over while the guys were out of the room. Double oops. And what would happen to Tiara Investigations if he was home all the time?

I rolled over, keeping as much modesty as I could. I saw The General’s eyebrows hood over, his eyes and his jaw tighten.
 

When the massages were over, we were left alone to put on our robes before returning to the dressing rooms. At least those were our instructions. When I got up from the massage table, my husband picked me up in his arms. Then he sat on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room with me on his lap, both of us were completely covered in massage oil. He pulled me down and down and down. At one point there was a knock on the door. He jumped up, and I whispered in his ear, “Nail me,
don’t
mail me.” After that we started giggling and decided it was time to get dressed and re-enter that other world. As we put on our robes we could not stop smiling at one another. The smiles said, “I know you, and you know me.”

Before we left the room he took my face in his hands, “I’ve been in a war zone for six years, but you are going to be the death of me yet.”

I floated down the hall to the dressing room, thinking how lucky I was to be married to him, then how lucky I was not to have gotten caught. This was what I was thinking as I walked past the pedicure room. The barbershop-like client chairs were facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the rear courtyard, which was crowded with urns of fall flowers. I stopped dead in my tracks. I was looking at the back of Detective Kent’s head. I recognized it easily, having seen so much of it in the last week. I hadn’t pegged him as the pedicure type. Then I saw who his pedicurist was, and surprise escalated to stun. It was Tara. She saw me, and while her eyes were mostly on Kent’s feet her expression said, “Just keep walking,” and I did.

While I was dressing there was a quick series of knocks on the door, “Three dog night.”
 
I let Tara in. “You’re grinning like you’re running for mayor.”

“I just got lucky,” I bragged. “When did you go on the payroll here?”

“It was all I could think to do.”

Then there was a gentle, almost inaudible tap on the door. “Did you know Eve Wood? Let me in.”

We opened the door just wide enough for Victoria to join us. She held an eight by ten photo up for us to see.

 
I took the photo from her. “What am I looking for?” I had to remind myself to keep my voice down.

Victoria pointed to someone in the background looking at Kelly Taylor and her brother, Michael.

“That’s Detective Kent, isn’t it?”

Victoria nodded.

Tara took the photograph and held it away. “That’s hot. That’s metal-anything-left-in-the-sun-hot. That explains a lot.”

Ordinarily I can follow Tara, but that time I had no idea what she was talking about. “What does it explain?”

Victoria put her hand on my arm. “Allow me. He must have left the hotel pretty soon after us, meaning he’s not a
snuggler
.
Which explains how he has time to follow us.
”
Ohhhh
.

Tara beamed at her apprentice. “By the way and for what it’s worth, Ronald was telling me that Detective Kent takes all his girlfriends to Buford Dam.”

Victoria put the photos back in her handbag. “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘shoot the hooch,’ doesn’t it?”
 
Then she giggled. “Shooting the hooch” means rafting down a section of the Chattahoochee in
north
Atlanta.

I resumed dressing. “Hon, that’s one of those comments that sounds like it means something, but it doesn’t.”

“You had sex with Shorty!” Tara gave her a high five.

“Ms. Reed? Do you need anything?” the attendant asked.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Then in a whisper, “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll call you this afternoon after my husband leaves.”

“We should have our eavesdropping devices pretty soon, or have you forgotten?”

“No, Tara, I haven’t, but aren’t they really just hearing aids?”
 

Victoria was getting exasperated. “Can we talk about business before you go?”

“Are you okay?” Tara and I asked at the same time.

“I’m fed up with Detective Kent. This is how I felt when I found out some little bastard at school was bullying Aidan.”

“When was this?” Even I was appalled, and you know how I feel about kids.

“When he was six.”

“And the little bastard was six?” Tara stared, because of how she feels about kids.

“Okay, glad we cleared that up, but I don’t see what that has to do with Detective Pedicure, out there. Do you feel bullied?”

“He’s trying to bully Tiara Investigations.” I guess she had heard herself calling a six-year-old a bastard, because she changed the subject. “Anyway, last night I figured out how to open those hidden folders. David Taylor was tracking how often a Backpack UAV recorded an IED exploding. It was quite often.”

“A grateful nation thanks you.” As I said it, I wondered if my flip answer meant I was choosing my husband over Tiara. I pushed this line of thought away and paid attention to her.

“Too often for it to be a coincidence.
Plus, I found out the software was only applicable to Backpack UAVs, not Predators.”

“Leigh, explain again, what detonates an IED?”

“Some use passive infrared sensors, like those used to turn on your outside lights with a motion sensor when someone walks by. These are particularly awful, because they don’t emit a signal before they detonate. Others use a command wire, and still others use a wireless device to detonate, like a cell phone.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

This time I really was. “That the Backpack UAVs are detonating the IEDs?”

“Is that possible?” Tara asked. “And wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Only if you knew it was going to happen. Operators can be very close to a backpack UAV.
For instance, if it’s being used to see around a wall.
I’ve got to go, let’s talk about this as soon as he leaves.”

“Wait.” Tara stopped us. “What does this have to do with China?”

Victoria and I looked at her. “You always ask the right questions.”

“But what’s the answer?”
 

“No idea.” I turned to go.

“No idea.” Victoria got behind me for the door.

“How can we prevent any more from being shipped?” Tara asked.

“Another salient and significant question.
Victoria, good luck with it.”

“Wait.” This time both spoke, and they grabbed my shoulders.

 
“Can we talk about this later? My husband is waiting and I have to get out there before he wonders where I am.”

Victoria still hadn’t moved her feet. “I owe both of you an apology.”

“I accept your apology.”

“We don’t know what she did!” Tara wasn’t moving.

“Probably nothing.
You know how she is. I
gotta
go!”

 
“
She
is standing right here. I want to apologize for taking so long to get to this answer. David Taylor was so smart I didn’t want to believe he could make a mistake. That’s all I wanted to say. Bye.”

I stuck my hand out, and they did the same. We did our signature move and gave air kisses. Finally, one at a time, we slunk out of the dressing room

A minute later I was dragging my husband out the door and trying to keep him from looking back inside. “I think I saw a guy I know in there. He’s a police detective. He’s good people.”

Oh, he’s just great,
I thought.

“Jerome something.”

“Kent.” Then I caught myself, but a little too late.

“Oh, you know him?”

“I’ve met him.” I was careful of my tone.

“Let’s go before he sees us and tries to start a conversation.”

“Foxtrot Alpha,” which means that works for me. Okay, that’s more or less what it means.