Child, Lee – The Enemy

the one.’

‘Has to be,’ I said.

I called the main gate. Got the same guy I had spoken to

before, when I was checking on Vassell and Coomer earlier. I

recognized his voice. I asked him to search forward through his

log, starting from the page number immediately following the

one we were looking at. Asked him to check exactly when a

sergeant named Trifonov had returned to Bird. Told him it

could be any time after about four thirty in the morning on

January 5th. There was a moment’s delay. I could hear the guy

turning the stiff parchment pages in the ledger. He was doing it

slowly, paying close attention.

‘Sir, five o’clock in the morning precisely,’ the guy said.

‘January fifth, 0500, Sergeant Trifonov, returning to base.’ I

heard another page turn. ‘He left at 2211 the previous evening.’

‘Remember anything about him?’

‘He left about ten minutes after those Armored staffers you

were asking me about before. He was in a hurry, as I recall.

Didn’t wait for the barrier to go all the way up. He squeezed

right underneath it.’

‘What kind of car?’

‘A Corvette, I think. Not a new one. But it looked pretty good.’

‘Were you still on duty when he got back?’

‘Yes, sir, I was.’

‘Remember anything about that?’

‘Nothing that stands out. I spoke to him, obviously. He has a

foreign accent.’

216

‘What was he wearing?’

‘Civilian stuff. A leather jacket, I think. I assumed he had

been off duty.’

‘Is he on the post now?’

I heard pages turning again. I imagined a finger, tracing

slowly down all the lines written after 0500 on the morning of

the fifth.

‘We haven’t logged him out again, sir,’ the guy said. ‘Not as of

right now. So he must be on post somewhere.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks, soldier.’

I hung up. Summer looked at me.

‘He got back at 0500,’ I said. ‘Three and a half hours after

Brubaker’s watch stopped.’

‘Three-hour drive,’ she said.

‘And he’s here now.’

‘Who is he?’

I called post headquarters. Asked the question. They told

me who he was. I put the phone down and looked straight at

Summer.

‘He’s Delta,’ I said. ‘He was a defector from Bulgaria.

They brought him in as an instructor. He knows stuff our guys

don’t.’

I got up from my desk and stepped over to the map on the wall.

Put my own fingers on the push pins. Little finger on Fort

Bird, index finger on Columbia. It was like I was validating a

theory by touch alone. A hundred and fifty miles. Three hours

and twelve minutes to get there, three hours and thirty-seven

minutes to get back. I did the math in my head. An average

speed of forty-seven miles an hour going, and forty-one coming

back. At night, on empty roads, in a Chevrolet Corvette. He

could have done it with the parking brake on.

‘Should we have him picked up?’ Summer said.

I shook my head.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it myself. I’ll go over there.’

‘Is that smart?’

‘Probably not. But I don’t want those guys to think they got to

me.’

She paused.

217

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said.

‘OK,’ I said.

It was five o’clock in the afternoon, exactly thirty-six hours to

the minute since Trifonov arrived back on post. The weather

was dull and cold. We took sidearms and handcuffs and

evidence bags. We walked to the MP motor pool and found

a Humvee that had a cage partition bolted behind the front

seats and no inside handles on the back doors. Summer drove.

She parked at Delta’s prison gate. The sentry let us through on

foot. We walked around the outside of the main block until I

found the entrance to their NCO Club. I stopped, and Summer

stopped beside me.

‘You going in there?’ she said.

‘Just for a minute.’

‘Alone?’

I nodded. ‘Then we’re going to their armoury.’

‘Not smart,’ she said. ‘I should come in with you.’

‘Why?’

She hesitated. ‘As a witness, I guess.’

‘To what?’

‘To whatever they do to you.’

I smiled, briefly.

‘Terrific,’ I said.

I pushed in through the door. The place was pretty crowded.

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