Tripwire by Lee Child

‘So how did you spend the down-time?’

‘Me? I did all kinds of things. Sometimes I partied, sometimes I slept. Sometimes I took a truck out and went scavenging for things we needed.’

‘What about Vic?’ Jodie asked. ‘What did he do?’

DeWitt just shrugged again. ‘I have no idea. He was always busy, always up to something, but I don’t know what it was. Like I told you, I didn’t want to mix with the other flyers.’

‘Was he different on the second tour?’ Reacher asked.

DeWitt smiled briefly. ‘Everybody was different second time around.’

‘In what way?’ Jodie asked.

‘Angrier,’ DeWitt said. ‘Even if you signed up again right away it was nine months minimum before you got back, sometimes a whole year. Then you got back and you figured the place had gone to shit while you were away. You figured it had gotten sloppy and half-assed. Facilities you’d built would be all falling down, trenches you’d dug against the mortars would be half full of water, trees you’d cleared away from the helicopter parking would be all sprouting up again. You’d feel your little domain had been ruined by a bunch of know-nothing idiots while you were gone. It made you angry and depressed. And generally speaking it was true. The whole ‘Nam thing went steadily downhill, right out of control. The quality of the personnel just got worse and worse.’

‘So you’d say Hobie got disillusioned?’ Reacher asked.

DeWitt shrugged. ‘I really don’t remember much about his attitude. Maybe he coped OK. He had a strong sense of duty, as I recall.’

‘What was his final mission about?’

The grey eyes suddenly went blank, like the shutters had just come down.

T can’t remember.’

‘He was shot down,’ Reacher said. ‘Shot out of the air, right alongside you. You can’t recall what the mission was?’

‘We lost eight thousand helicopters in ‘Nam,’ DeWitt said. ‘Eight thousand, Mr Reacher, beginning to end. Seems to me I personally saw most of them go down. So how should I recall any particular one of them?’

‘What was it about?’ Reacher asked again.

‘Why do you want to know?’ DeWitt asked back.

‘It would help me.’

‘With what?’

Reacher shrugged. ‘With his folks, I guess. I want to be able to tell them he died doing something useful.’

DeWitt smiled. A bitter, sardonic smile, worn and softened at the edges by thirty years of regular use. ‘Well, my friend, you sure as hell can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because none of our missions were useful. They were all a waste of time. A waste of lives. We lost the war, didn’t we?’

‘Was it a secret mission?’

There was a pause. Silence in the big office.

‘Why should it be secret?’ DeWitt asked back, neutrally.

‘He only took onboard three passengers. Seems like a special sort of a deal to me. No running jump required there.’

‘I don’t remember,’ DeWitt said again.

Reacher just looked at him, quietly. DeWitt stared back.

‘How should I remember? I hear about something for the first time in thirty years and I’m supposed to remember every damn detail about it?’

‘This isn’t the first time in thirty years. You were asked all about it a couple of months ago. In April of this year.’

DeWitt was silent.

‘General Garber called the NPRC about Hobie,’ Reacher said. ‘It’s inconceivable he didn’t call you afterward. Won’t you tell us what you told him?’

DeWitt smiled. ‘I told him I didn’t remember.’

There was silence again. Distant rotor blades, coming closer.

‘On behalf of his folks, won’t you tell us?’ Jodie asked softly. ‘They’re still grieving for him. They need to know about it.’

DeWitt shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ Reacher asked.

DeWitt stood up slowly and walked to the window. He was a short man. He stood in the light of the sun and squinted left, across to where he could see the helicopter he could hear, coming in to land on the field.

‘It’s classified information,’ he said. ‘I’m not allowed to make any comment, and I’m not going to. Garber asked me, and I told him the same thing. No comment. But I hinted he should maybe look closer to home, and I’ll advise you to do the exact same thing, Mr Reacher. Look closer to home.’

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