He pushed his luck by asking, “Will I have a travel budget?”
“For what?” Hammer asked. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll need funding for archaeological and historical research.”
“I thought you were writing about human nature and crime.” Hammer had begun to resist him again. “Now what? You’re flying helicopters and globetrotting?”
“If I discuss what’s wrong with America today, I need to show what was wrong with it when it got started,” he’d explained. “And you need more pilots. You’ve already had two quit on you in the past three months.”
Andy sat at the table in the dining room, which had become his hopelessly cluttered office, and typed his password into his computer and opened a file. After twelve months of arduous research and writing, and flying lessons and ground school, he was desperate to get out and chase lawbreakers and investigate violent crimes from both the ground and the air. He was eager for people to read what he had to say, and often he fantasized about riding or flying with other troopers or working a scene and overhearing people talk about what they had read on the Trooper Truth website that day. No one would have a clue that Trooper Truth was in their midst gathering even more information from their comments. Only Hammer knew the truth about Trooper Truth, and she and Andy had been meticulously careful to protect his identity.
When, for example, he had done archaeological research and traveled as far away as England and Argentina gathering facts, he never let on that he was a journalist-cop doing research. He was simply a twenty-eight-year-old man who was doing graduate work in history, criminology, and anthropology. It was the first undercover job Andy had ever had, and it still amazed him that no one bothered to check on whether he was actually enrolled in a university graduate program or was even who he said he was.
Although Andy was not the sort to stare into the mirror and see himself the way others did, he was aware that he had many gifts in his favor. He was tall with a sculpted build, and his features were so perfectly proportioned and refined that as a boy he had been teased for being pretty. His hair was light blond, and his blue eyes changed with his thoughts and moods very much like the sky reflecting shifting clouds and light. He could look stormy or peaceful or extremely intense. His intellect was quick and facile, and his words could shine like silver and be just as hard when necessary.
It had never been difficult for Andy to get what he wanted because people, as a rule, were drawn to him or at least mindful that he was a presence they could not dismiss. He also worked hard to compensate for the emptiness of his early years. His father had been murdered when Andy was a child, leaving no one but an alcoholic mother who never acknowledged that her son was special or decent, but rather exiled him to a lonely realm of relentless preoccupations and fantasies.
Had he not grown up that way, he could not have endured the isolation that was necessary for him to explore and write what the world was about to read. But now that the moment had come, he felt as disturbed and gloomy as the morning beyond his windows. Heavy clouds hung over the city. As a vein of lightning pierced the dark dawn, it occurred to him that it would be a terrible omen if the power went out and his computer crashed. He was startled out of his preoccupations when the telephone rang.
“At least you’re awake,” Judy Hammer said without so much as a good morning. “I’m–
“I thought you were going to call me out in emergencies,” he interrupted her. “I wish you’d let me know about the truck driver at the Farmers’ Market.”
“You weren’t needed,” she said.
“Same M.O.? Was he cut on?”
“I’m afraid so. Several cuts to his neck with what looks like a razor, but none of them lethal,” she replied. “Apparently, the assailants left in a hurry, and he came to long enough to call nine-one-one. The reason I called is, I’m waiting, Trooper Truth,” Hammer let him know. “I thought you said your website was going up at six-thirty. That was five minutes ago.”