Blood Lines (58 page)

“Hinton's body is still out there?”

“That's what McGovern said. Remy and I gave him maps, and he tried to locate the area where Hinton's body was left, but—”

“It's been forty years and we can't trust what he thinks he remembers.” Will felt frustrated.

“I don't think he was exactly sober that night, either. Tyrel wasn't the only one who had been drinking. All of them appeared to have been intoxicated.”

That caught Will's attention and he knew he was tracking down part of what was bothering him. “Not everyone,” he said softly. “You and Shel both agreed that Hinton wasn't drinking that night.” He turned back to the papers on the desk.

They'd taken a suite at the motel, then set up a skeletal operations base. Estrella manned the computer system in one corner of the room and maintained a connection with the databases back at Camp Lejeune.

“Right,” Maggie said. “I'd forgotten about that.”

“I almost had too.” Will turned from the desk and paced the room. During the past hours, he'd thought about Shel and about the ties that bound father and son so fiercely.

Even Will's divorce and his son's feelings of betrayal hadn't destroyed the bond between them. It could have, though. He was keenly aware of that. Only by the grace of God had his family remained intact as much as it had with all the changes they'd been through.

“We know Victor Gant ran a tight crew,” Will said. “He still runs one now. The biker gang might be large, but there are only a handful that control the power within the group.”

“Or that know what's going on everywhere,” Maggie agreed. She'd looked over the same information he had and arrived at some additional insightful conclusions, but none that were any more on target than what Will had seen.

“Then why go into the jungle that night to get an illegal shipment of drugs with two men who weren't part of your unit?” Will asked.

“As cover,” Maggie said.

“Cover from whom?”

“The CID had been keeping a watch on Victor Gant's activities. That's in the reports we've seen.”

“Two men isn't a lot of cover,” Will pointed out.

“But maybe all you need.”

“Tyrel McHenry was still new to Qui Nhon. Dennis Hinton had been there for most of a year. He knew who the players were.”

“Meaning he knew who Victor Gant was?”

“Or he had a pretty good idea.”

Airport noises sounded in the background at Maggie's end of the connection. She and Remy were already booked on a flight back to El Paso and would be in late that night.

“I don't know where you're going with this,” Maggie admitted.

“Tyrel McHenry approached Victor Gant in the bar that night,” Will said, churning it through his mind as he put the pieces together. “Why didn't Gant just blow McHenry off?”

“Why should he?”

“Because Victor Gant ran a tight group. He didn't let anyone into his group that he didn't trust. That's covered in the CID reports as well. Since Victor Gant was part of the CIA-sponsored assassination teams, he had a blank check to do whatever he wanted when it came to personnel.”

“As long as he kept turning in the results they wanted.”

“He did,” Will reminded. “Seventy-three confirmed kills' worth.”

“Tyrel McHenry wanted to get to know Gant, but Gant had no reason to get to know him.”

“I think he did,” Will said. He shuffled through the papers.

“Hey, Will,” Maggie said, “we're boarding our flight. I'll talk to you again in a little while.”

“Sure,” Will said. “Get some rest on the plane. I'll talk to you soon.” He clicked the phone off and called out to Estrella.

“What?” Estrella asked.

“Maggie's e-mailed a map—”

“I've already got it. I can print it out if you'd like.”

“I would. I want to see how big of an area we're dealing with there. In the meantime, do you have the name and number of the CID guy who investigated Hinton's disappearance?”

“Right here.” Estrella brought up a screen on her computer.

Will walked over to her desk, then entered the number on his phone. He waited while the phone rang. An answering service picked up. He left his name and number and a brief message detailing what the call was about. Then he studied the maps Maggie had sent.

>> 1807 Hours (Central Time Zone)

A youthful seventy-six-year-old, U.S. Army Colonel Mack Ramsey, retired, sounded robust and energetic. Furthermore, he wasn't bashful about his golf game. He'd retired to Silver Springs, Maryland, and lived there with his wife.

Will talked golf with the man for a moment, having had just enough experience to ask a few questions, and knew that they were both feeling each other out. That was something officers and police investigators did before getting to what was really on the table.

“I know you're a busy man,” Ramsey said. “I hear NCIS keeps almost as busy as the Army's CID.”

Will smiled at that, knowing the dig was intentional and meant to break the ice.

“Tell me you didn't have someone dig up my phone number just to talk about my golf game.”

“I didn't,” Will replied. “One of your old investigations has tangled itself up in something I'm currently working on.”

“Now you've got my interest. You know, you can retire from the crime business and check in your badge and pistol at the door, but you never check your curiosity. Nope, that goes with you for the rest of your days.”

“There was an MIA in Qui Nhon in 1967 while you were stationed there.”

“Back in those days, there were a lot of MIAs.”

Ramsey suddenly sounded tired, and Will felt guilty about that.

“That's one war that won't ever quite go away,” Ramsey commented. “Who was the MIA?”

“Private First Class Dennis—”

“Hinton,” Ramsey said. “I remember him.”

The fact that Ramsey remembered Hinton so quickly cinched what Will had been thinking. After pulling a long tour like Ramsey had in Vietnam, after dealing with so many investigations, most people wouldn't have remembered isolated cases.

“I'm impressed,” Will said. “You've got quite a memory.”

“About some things,” Ramsey said noncommittally.

“Any particular reason this one stands out?”

“Instead of beating around the bush here, son, why don't you just come out and say what you think you've got to say?”

“I want to lay some groundwork first so you see where I'm coming from. I'm going to lay my cards on the table.”

“Doesn't mean I'm going to put mine there, son.” Ramsey's tone was guarded.

“One of my agents is Shelton McHenry.”

“I knew a young soldier named McHenry.”

“Yes, sir. Tyrel McHenry. That's my agent's father.”

“Small world,” Ramsey commented.

“It is at times,” Will agreed. “A couple months ago, my agent had to shoot and kill a young man named Bobby Lee Gant.”

“Now there's another name I know.”

“His father was Victor Gant.”

“Seems like I recall the incident with your man from the news. It was ruled a good shooting.”

“Not by Victor Gant, Colonel. Gant has tried to kill my agent in retaliation on more than one occasion.”

“You're lucky he didn't get it done. Gant was a killing machine back in Vietnam.”

“That's what I've heard. Shel's not an easy man to kill.”

“He must not be.”

Will shifted in his chair. “During the course of our investigation into Victor Gant, we were told about PFC Hinton. We've since learned that Hinton went missing while in the company of Victor Gant and his fire team.”

“That's right. They told me that Hinton got lost in the jungle. It happened to some men. They got blind drunk or stoned, or both, and walked into the jungle never to return.”

“But you never thought that was what really happened to Hinton.”

At the other end of the phone, Ramsey took a deep breath. “Not for a New York minute.”

“Because PFC Hinton didn't drink,” Will said, “and he would have been less inclined, according to his service jacket, to drink while on duty.”

“Hinton was a good soldier,” Ramsey said. “His kind was hard to come by in some places.”

“Was that why the CID was using him as an undercover operative?” Will asked.

Ramsey was quiet for a time. Then he asked, “What do you have, Commander Coburn?”

“I've got testimony that Hinton was shot, killed, and buried in a grave off Highway 19 that night,” Will said.

The silence stretched over the phone connection.

“I looked for that boy for a long time,” Ramsey finally said. “It was like he disappeared.”

“He did.”

“Did Gant kill him?”

“No. He was shot by Tyrel McHenry.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because McHenry told my agent that this morning,” Will said.

“Why would McHenry shoot Hinton? I never put McHenry with Gant and his goons. He was the reason I believed it was possible Hinton had wandered off. I wouldn't have believed Gant or his men. McHenry, though, seemed solid. Just green. All those kids were.”

“It was an accident.” Will described the situation as Shel had given it to him.

“That still doesn't make sense. Gant could have brought Hinton back in and reported the accident.”

“Maybe he was so used to covering his tracks by that point that lying was second nature.”

“Why did McHenry lie?”

“He was twenty-one years old,” Will reminded. “Nothing in his life had prepared him for what had happened out there.”

“No. You're right about that. What do you need from me?”

“I need to know about Hinton. I still can't figure out why Gant would ask Hinton along or why Hinton would accept. The only thing I came up with was that Hinton was working undercover for the CID and that Gant suspected it.”

“Working undercover for the Criminal Investigation Command was dangerous,” Ramsey said. “Men who informed on soldiers ended up dead. Either at camp or—easier yet—out in the jungle. The only law over there at that time was survival of the fittest.”

Will waited. Even if Ramsey didn't confirm his suspicions, he felt certain he was right.

“Hinton was working undercover for me,” Ramsey said. “I needed someone who could get in on the inside of those men. Hinton went with them that night because of me. He knew I wanted to bring Gant down, and he didn't like Gant either.” His voice softened. “I got that boy killed that night.”

“No,” Will said. “Bad luck did.” And he couldn't help feeling that bad luck had struck all the way around. It had also cost Tyrel McHenry forty years of his life.

57

>> La Quinta Inn

>> El Paso, Texas

>> 1852 Hours (Central Time Zone)

“Director Larkin,” Will said when the phone was answered.

“Will? How are things there?” Larkin's voice was quiet and controlled.

“Confusing and painful, sir,” Will replied.

“With everything you've told me, I can see how that would be the case.”

Will paced at the window and watched the sun going down in the west. He tried to frame in his mind how best to ask what he knew he had to ask. He and Larkin had a good working relationship, but he knew what he was about to request might be hard for the director to handle.

“I need you to arrange something for me,” Will said.

“If I can.” Larkin didn't hesitate, but he also didn't readily agree.

“I want to take my team to Vietnam.”

“Why?”

“To recover the body of an American GI who's been missing since 1967.”

“Dennis Hinton?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know where his body is?”

“I think we can get close enough to find it.”

“Hinton's recovery would be more in the Army's interest.”