Forged in Honor (1995) (21 page)

The place was almost empty. Still feeling the effects of the racquetball game, he sat down on a tan leather barstool to take it easy for a while.

Lester, behind the bar, nodded. "You skatin' tonight, Hawk?"

Josh gave the gray-haired black bartender a wink. "And gettin' paid for it, Les. Ain't that some shit?"

Lester poured him a tonic water. "You got him yet?' he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Josh's brow furrowed as he picked up the glass. "I was close today, real close." Out of the corner of his eye he saw a middle-aged woman across the bar slide off her barstool and give him a once-over. He ignored the look and shifted his full attention to Lester. "Les, you know any welders? I gotta modify my special trap and can't do it myself. I warm get a professional this time and-"

Lester backed away and gave Josh a nod. "I'll talk to you later, Hawk. Looks like you got some company." Josh turned, and there was the woman he'd seen checking him out.

She smiled disarmingly and said, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing the bartender call you 'Hawk.' I was wondering, are you the Hawk of Hawkins Security I've heard so much about?"

Josh made a quick scan. The lady in front of him was in her early or mid-forties, with nice auburn hair cut in an easy to-manage pageboy, not a lot of makeup and not too much perfume. Five-five, maybe six, in black pumps that matched her suit. An expensive, white silk blouse showed no cleavage, telling him she wasn't on the make. The left hand was the one problem. She was unmarried, so she was making a move on him or wanted something else. He guessed she wanted something else, for her brown eyes weren't flirting.

"Yep, I'm the guy," he said and waited for her next move.

He figured she'd get around to what she really wanted in three.

The lady stuck out her hand as if she did it a lot. "It's a real pleasure. I'm Glenn Grant. I live across the street in the apartments. A friend who works at Phillips Flagship has told me a lot of stories about you."

He shook her hand. "I'm Josh. I hope the stories were good ones. I bet you thought I was younger and bigger, right?"

She winked. "You're just what I pictured. I was wondering ..."

Josh smiled inwardly-three on the nose.

".. . if you would do me a favor."

"Depends."

"Would you mind if I asked you to show me which boat you live on in the marina? I know it's strange, but my friend said you lived on a boat. We strolled down the channel walk the other day and were trying to guess which one was yours.

Dumb, isn't it?"

Josh shrugged. "We can see my boat from the window.

Come on." He slid off the stool and put his radio in his jacket pocket. Taking her arm, he guided her to the large windows overlooking the channel. All lady, he said to himself, feeling more than seeing how she walked with him. Not too close but close enough, yet something was wrong with the picture.

Her clothes were nice but she didn't look quite comfortable in them, and she had an athletic look, strange for a woman her age. But he liked the distraction and her company, so he decided to play along a while longer. He looked into her twinkling brown eyes and asked, "Before I point her out, which one did you think it was?"

She looked him over before tilting her head to the side.

"Let's see, you don't wear pinkie rings or gold chains, so that means you wouldn't have anything that's real big or flashy.

Your clothes aren't tailored, so you wouldn't care about fine lines or detail. You're definitely not a cruiser type, so it would have to be a sailboat. Older, I think--you'd like the security and reassurance of something that was made when things weren't mass-produced." She looked out the window, her eyes searching down the slips, assessing each craft. "I would say it has to be one of the two older motor sailers moored at the last pier," she said, pointing at his boat and its neighbor.

Josh could tell when he was being set up--there were at least three or four other motor sailers older than his moored in the marina. He smiled and pointed at a sleek fifty-foot cruiser moored in the slip right in front of them. "Sorry.

You'd better not quit your day job. That's her--Sweet Thong."

She shrugged and sighed, acknowledging that he had seen through her. She lifted her purse, took out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him. "I'm sorry too, Colonel. Since you wouldn't talk to the team, my boss sent me to ensure you got this. You have been recalled to active duty by order of the president of the United States. The order in your hand is effective immediately. Tomorrow a staff car will pick you up in front of the Channel Inn at zero eight hundred."

Josh crunched the orders into a ball and turned to look out the window at the channel. The woman stepped closer and joined him in watching a cruiser glide by with all its lights ablaze. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Grant, and it wasn't a complete lie. I do have a friend who works at Phillips Flagship, and she did talk about you. Yes, I fudged on the boat--I read your file and talked to the team that was sent out to make contact. If it's any consolation, I didn't volunteer for this job.

Since I live nearby they asked me to deliver your orders."

Josh continued to stare out over the water and spoke as if he felt sorry for her. "You were used, Grant. They use everybody." He squared his shoulders and walked away without looking back.

Chapter 11.

0840 Hours, 7 June.

It hasn't changed, Josh thought as he walked down the A wing corridor off the Pentagon. It was still drab despite the new paint and woodwork. The Pentagon was like a forty year-old whore trying to change her ways; the makeup and clothes couldn't conceal what she was. The escort officer directed him into an office and then into a small conference room. He recognized Colonel Grant from the night before, even though she was now in uniform, but he didn't know the others seated at the table.

A too-young and too-good-looking brigadier general motioned to a chair and said, "Please, Colonel Hawkins, sit down and let's get acquainted."

As he sat, Josh heard the door shut behind him and knew it was going to be a while.

The one-star picked up a folder and began reading aloud.

"Let's see, you lived in Burma and went to missionary school until the age of eighteen. Your parents moved to Malaysia, where they established another mission, and you were sent back to the States and attended the University of Virginia. You joined ROTC shortly after your family was tragically killed in a plane crash. Upon graduation you were commissioned and went straight into Infantry Officer Basic course at Fort Benning, Georgia, followed by Airborne and Ranger training. In 1971 you were sent to Vietnam, where you earned two Silver Stars and two Bronze Stars as a platoon leader. You were wounded in your eighth month and sent to Japan to convalesce. Once released, you volunteered for duty at the embassy in Burma. You married another American there and after two years returned to the States and went into the Special Forces, had various stateside assignments, and attended a variety of military schools. In '83 you were assigned back to Burma because of your unique qualifications. You stayed two years, until you had a little trouble and their government asked that you be removed from the country. Then more stateside assignments plus the business in Grenada and later in Panama, and you were involved in operations in Colombia for a few months. You were assigned to the Pentagon from '89 to '91, when you asked to be retired.

Does that pretty much sum up your past history, Colonel?"

Josh ignored the question and asked the colonel seated next to him, "Any chance I can get a cup of coffee?"

The general's brow furrowed, and he snapped, "Colonel Hawkins, this is just a get-acquainted session. Don't get offensive-we may all be working together."

Josh leaned back in his chair, shifting his eyes to the other four officers seated around the table. "Is anybody going to explain why I'm here?"

The officers' eyes all went to the scowling general, who said, "Hawkins, you'll address your questions to me. This is just a preliminary session to get an update on what you've been doing since you retired. Later you'll be meeting with those who will discuss why you were asked back to active duty."

Josh turned, and his stare burned holes through the general's forehead. "I wasn't 'asked' to come here. I didn't 'ask' to be retired in 1991 either. You people ordered me here just like you ordered me to retire. If you want to be my buddy, General, start by telling me why I'm here."

The general met Josh's glare for only an instant before lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry, we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm Gus Faraday, and the officers in this room work for me in the Southeast Asia branch over at Bolling. We brought you here to the Pentagon because we thought you might feel more comfortable. Plus, it's closer to the State Department, where you're going to be meeting with some very important people in our government in an hour. We just wanted to talk to you first and update your file."

Josh again looked at the colonel beside him. "I still need that coffee."

Faraday approved with a nod, and the colonel got up and left the room. Josh leaned back in his chair and seemed to deflate. "What do you want to know?"

"Begin with why you were retired and what you've done since," Faraday said in a measured tone.

Josh sighed first and looked up. "In 1989 I was assigned to the Department of Defense's Drug Task Force here at the Pentagon. As a part of my training, they sent me downtown to work with the D. C. Metropolitan Police Department to learn the basics. I worked for six months with the Narcotics and Special Investigations Division and learned a lot. Too much. After working on the streets I could see that our so-called war on drugs was a joke, and I told my military bosses that. Let's see, that was in 1990. I wrote papers and even talked to congressmen. I made waves to try and change things so that we could really be effective. Nobody listened except my bosses, who thought I was disloyal and insubordinate. In January of '91, I was told I wasn't a team player and that I should retire for the good of the service. I sold my house and moved to my boat in the marina. I'd made some contacts with the local police while on the Drug Task Force, and one of them, a good friend, suggested I start a security service for the Waterfront. He knew they needed help, made the intros, and helped me get the company started. I've been doing the job ever since. End of story."

"Any foreign travel?" Faraday asked, knowing the colonel had left out some important details concerning his wife.

Josh shook his head.

Faraday picked up a piece of paper. "This is a copy of your financial report. Could you explain the rather substantial amount of funds you've acquired since your retirement?"

Josh's jaw muscles rippled up his cheekbones. Faraday saw the reaction and raised his hand. "I'm sorry, I know I'm asking a lot, but it will save time. We can get the information from the IRS, but it would take us a week."

Josh took a breath and let it out slowly before speaking.

"My wife was a CPA and made a good salary. She knew taxes inside and out and used a universal life insurance policy as a tax shelter. When she ... when Jill passed away ..."

Seeing Josh struggle, Faraday nodded and said, "Thank you, that explains the large account you have in trust for your daughter. I see you have two other accounts. One is for your business and the other is a personal account, correct?"

Josh nodded in silence.

Faraday set the financial report aside and motioned to the female officer at the end of the table. "Colonel Hawkins, Lieutenant Colonel Grant has some questions for you. She's assigned to the Burma desk in our branch and is working on the Drug Task Force panel for the DIA. I've assigned her to be your escort officer. Because of your experience in Burma and your time on the Drug Task Force, we thought it might benefit you both."

Grant opened a folder in front on her. "Colonel Hawkins, do you presently have any Burmese friends living in Burma?"

Josh glanced at the silver bracelet on his wrist before answering. "Yes, I have a very good friend who I grew up with.

He's half Chinese and half Shan, but you could classify him as a Burmese. He loves his country."

"What's his name and profession, sir?"

"Stephen, Stephen Kang. The last time I saw him was in 1985, the day I was ordered by the Burmese government to leave the country. I haven't seen him since, although we still write each other now and then. He is the deputy minister of finance for the country."

Grant made some notes and looked up. "Your file doesn't indicate the reason you were asked to leave Burma in '85. It just states you and another member of the Defense attache staff were asked to leave by Burma's government. What was the reason?"

Josh's jaw tightened again. "I can't discuss it. You're going to have to ask the Strategic Reconnaissance Office for the file. If they release it to you, then I'll talk about it."

Grant exchanged glances with General Faraday, who nodded and spoke kindly. "I have the file, Colonel. I know you and another member of the attache staff conducted an unsanctioned reconnaissance of northern Burma, and that you made contact with several rebel leaders. Your reports were quite detailed. The only thing that is not mentioned is how their government found out you conducted the recon."

Josh placed his hands in his lap and ran his fingers over the bracelet. "My friend Stephen Kang ... he told them."