He didn't respond right away. Sam turned away from him, listened to the fire crackle. Xander nudged a log with the toe of his boot. It shifted and settled deeper into the flames, sending sparks into the clear night sky.

When he spoke again, his voice was gruff. "You're kind to say that, but everything I learned about being a leader was through his example. He was the real deal. And he had medical training, so we were always doubly covered out on missions. He'd drop his weapon and bind up a wound while shouting orders... He was something to behold, let me tell you."

His voice trailed off. She let him sit in silence, not wanting to push him, realizing he was telling her the whole story, just in his own way.

"Have you ever heard of literal obedience?" he asked, finally.

"No, but I can divine its meaning."

"It's an important concept in the military, one that's drilled into every new recruit and officer candidate the moment they get their high and tights and become one of the ma.s.ses. When your commanding officer says, 'Come stand on this line,' he means stand on the line. Not an inch in front of it, or behind it, or to the side, or with your knees bent or your toes sticking out. But on it. We were taught to be literal because when we're out in the field, and your commander gives an instruction, that inch left or right or forward or backward might mean our leg, or our arm, our life or the life of the man standing next to us. Orders have a reason. That's why they're orders. A good commander won't ever have to ask twice. Obedience and loyalty go hand in hand if there's respect, too. That's the kind of soldier Eddie was. He never had to give an order twice."

He sighed, and Sam felt like he'd made some sort of decision.

"I trust that you'll keep this to yourself."

"Of course. I don't want Eddie dragged through the mud any more than you do."

"It's not Eddie's reputation I'm worried about. You may not know this, but it's illegal to have relations within the unit. Fraternization can get you court-martialed. It could have gotten all of us in trouble. Because we knew. Shakes, Jackal and I. We knew about King and Maggie. They were trying to keep it quiet, but King needed to talk to someone about it. We were his closest friends. He was conflicted-he didn't love Karen anymore, felt she was unstable. He wanted custody of the kids. He was head over heels for Maggie. They clicked, like two magnets. I know Karen, know she's not a piece of cake to live with. So I supported him, because that's what friends do."

"So you covered up the affair for them?"

"And covered our a.s.ses, as well. Yes. We did."

Sam pushed off the ground with her foot. It was so quiet up here. No one was around. Xander could tell her this story, then toss her off the mountain, and no one would be the wiser. But Eddie had trusted this man. She wanted to trust him, too.

Xander put another log on the dwindling fire, then sat back and spoke again.

"We'd been on a week's leave at the Kaf when something happened. All was well and then boom, at the end of the week, Maggie suddenly wouldn't talk to King. Wouldn't see him. Shut him off completely. Wouldn't give a reason. He was devastated. Wrote her letters, begged, pleaded... She cut him off cold, and he had no idea why. Before he could fix things, we got sent back out, and within three days he was dead."

Xander was tense; Sam could feel him next to her, rock still. She spoke softly, not wanting to interrupt but realizing he needed some s.p.a.ce, that he'd slipped back in time to the moment of his friend's death.

"Taranto had a video. I saw it, but I couldn't understand what exactly happened."

His voice was like a metronome, flat and emotionless.

"Mission went south. We were all back at the base, in our racks. Got called out to provide support. Echo Company was taking heavy fire, they'd been ambushed on a ridge. We scrambled out there, everyone, all hands on deck. We got to the fight, saw things were out of hand. Doc and Orange devised a plan, sent us around the back of the firefight to flank the Taliban who'd holed up in the hills. They were taking potshots, just picking our men off as they drove up the wadi-that's the dry riverbed. Some of the most dangerous spots we had to ride through. King and I took the lead, on foot, got around the backside, running along the top of a ridge. I stopped and he went ahead of me, over the edge, into the wadi. We'd flanked them perfectly, and Doc ordered us to open fire.

"It was a seamless operation. We neutralized the threat, our guys were able to get out of harm's way. Except, somehow, King went down. He had gotten in front of us. We didn't realize it for a few minutes. He was KIA instantly. When Donovan found him he tried to resuscitate him, but it was obvious he was gone. We had to pull him off to get him to stop. We got King back to base. Once the wound was lit up, we could see it clearly. There were two shots to the back of his head. Below his helmet. He was shot from behind. It was one of us."

Sam heard the pain in his voice and, without thinking, reached her hand out and touched his shoulder. He didn't move, and didn't shove her hand away, but kept talking in a soft monotone.

"There are always eyes on every battle. The video you saw, h.e.l.l, it could have been us, I have no idea. Powers that be hushed it all up, didn't want King's wife to know. Covering up friendly fire happens more than you could ever imagine. If Karen suspected a cover-up, decided to start making a stink, filed a lawsuit to get the records and videos, h.e.l.l, it could go all the way to a wrongful-death suit, and the Army couldn't have another case make the evening news. Plus the mission was a sensitive one, and if word got out-well, sometimes they don't think these things through. Too many variables, too many repercussions. We all got asked to shut up about it. And we all agreed."

"I see," Sam said.

"No, you don't see. When we debriefed, it didn't make sense. How King could have gotten so far off track. It was almost like someone contacted him and told him to go in a different direction, to charge east instead of west, effectively cutting back in front of us. But I was the last person who talked to him, and I certainly didn't give that order.

"Once they triangulated everything, wrapped up the story, it was pretty clear Doc was the one who'd shot him. They did an autopsy and pulled the slugs from his head, saw they were from an M249. That's a light machine gun-it's what Doc favored so he could have a medical kit with him, too. He was the only one of us carrying that weapon. Bra.s.s said it was pretty d.a.m.n straightforward. They confirmed that he'd shot King."

Sam realized she was wringing her hands. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi. Three... This time, it was Donovan's pain she was trying to wash away. Donovan's, and Xander's.

"Donovan must have been crushed."

"Yeah. Doc was torn up. Ripped. He shut down harder than I've ever seen, wouldn't talk to anyone. They sent him to Germany, got him talked to. He came back, but he'd changed. He wanted out as soon as possible. When our rotation was up, he made it clear he wasn't going to stick around. Without him, none of us really wanted to stay, either.

"But the sequence from that night, it didn't feel right to me. I couldn't get it out of my head. So a few weeks ago, I went to Orange and requested the video. I wanted to see for myself, see how we messed up. He told me to let it go. Doc was the shooter, it wasn't my fault, or my responsibility. But that's not how we work. We were a team. A good one. We didn't f.u.c.k up. And getting King killed, that was as big a f.u.c.kup as can happen."

Sam was sitting forward now, completely caught up in Xander's story.

"But you thought that wasn't the case?"

He shook his head.

"I started digging around the files, the briefings, to see what I could see. I still have friends in the Pentagon. What I found was d.a.m.ning, at best. The video they'd shown us wasn't our video. It was date and time stamped on the disc, like they all are, but it had been altered. It was from the year before. Some other friendly fire incident.

"I went straight to Doc. We sat down and had a long talk. Mapped everything out, I'm talking down to the fraction of an inch. As best we could figure, the shots that killed King came twenty degrees from my left. Doc was on my right. So someone else was up there, either trying to engage the Tallies, or..."

"Trying to kill King."

"Yeah. I was convinced Doc didn't do this, and it wasn't right for him to have to carry that burden. I went to Taranto, started some quiet inquiries. And then everything went to h.e.l.l. Doc, Jackal and Shakes were dead. Maggie showed up here and finally told me the whole truth about what happened back when we left Kaf. She'd given me most of the story, but not all."

Xander got quiet again. Sam waited him out. A frog started up, singing in the rushes down toward the river. Finally, Xander cleared his throat and told her the rest of it.

"The night it all started, back at the Kaf, Maggie and King were supposed to hook up, their usual spot, but he didn't show. He'd gotten sent out on patrol, didn't have time to warn her. She didn't know that, though. She was really upset. But someone else made an appearance. Turns out the five of us weren't the only ones who knew about their affair. This guy told her he'd get her tossed out if she didn't have s.e.x with him. She turned him down flat, so he raped her."

Sam sucked in a breath. Oh, my G.o.d.

"Rape isn't the most uncommon thing in the military, unfortunately. You look at the studies, four out of every ten women in the service say they've been raped or a.s.saulted. Forty percent. It's one of the reasons we fight against having them side by side on a combat mission-there's serious naked aggression that goes into what we do. We have to temper ourselves, or else we tip over the edge, and that's when ma.s.sacres occur. Some men get a release from forcing women, even though we're over there telling them it's not right to rape their own women... .

"Anyway, she wouldn't tell me who raped her. Didn't tell me who it was until she showed up three days ago. But she did tell King. They had a huge fight about it, and she broke it off with him. Said she couldn't face being with an honorable man after what had happened. He blamed himself, of course. If he hadn't been sent off to the line, if he'd made their date..."

"Please tell me it wasn't-?"

"It was Orange," he said bitterly. "We f.u.c.king trusted him, and this is what kind of man he was all along. He a.s.signed King that tour. He wanted to get at Maggie himself."

"Xander, who is Orange?"

It hit her then. Orange. She suddenly knew exactly who it was. He was so named because there was a city near Orange, Virginia, called...

"Culpepper."

Chapter Fifty-Four.

Savage River

Detective Darren Fletcher

The darkness cut across the sky like a heavy blanket. Fletcher regretted his choice to ride in one of the four-wheel-drive Jeeps the forest rangers used. He regretted insisting they set off in the dark. He regretted not waiting until morning and letting a helicopter fly him up the mountain, instead of this jolting, thumping canter up the tiny switchback roads. Each b.u.mp felt like a hot poker was being shoved into his arm, over and over and over, and his head was aching in time. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he felt a bit like vomiting.

But he wasn't about to admit he was wrong, so he gritted his teeth and sucked it up.

They'd been on the road for an hour. Before they decided which camp to take, Fletcher had practically knocked the teeth out of the forest ranger, making him give his best guess as to where Sam would be. He had the distinct impression the kid knew, and he threatened and cajoled until the boy chose the site they were headed to.

He could only hope his instincts were right. Whitfield had to have friends in these hills, people who would do him a favor or two, like distract a tactical team trying to find his place. Someone young and idealistic, maybe. Someone like a young forest ranger.

Fletcher's phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket, thankful he'd remembered to charge it back at the lodge, and that he had a signal. It was Roosevelt. "Tell me you have good news."

"I do. We found Susan Donovan. Poor thing's pretty beat up, but she's alive. Guess where we found her?"

"I have no idea," Fletcher said.

"Tied to a chair in Allan Culpepper's living room. He wanted the journal pages. Smart girl, she told them they'd been stolen, that no one knew where they were, and he believed her. But she had them in her back pocket and didn't give them up."

"Wait a minute. Culpepper is in Iraq. I saw the billet. Are you sure it wasn't Rod Deter? That b.a.s.t.a.r.d was lying to me," Fletcher said.

"No, not Deter, and Culpepper isn't in Iraq. He's definitely in the U.S. I'm thinking probably up there running around the woods someplace close to you."

"f.u.c.k. Son of a b.i.t.c.h played me."

"Apparently so. DOD gave us the info we needed at last. His pa.s.sport hasn't been stamped in the past month. He's been in the States the whole time."

Fletcher resisted the urge to smack his forehead. The doc.u.ments he'd seen were forgeries, and d.a.m.n good ones, at that.

"Why lie, though? He gave me a big song and dance about hitching a ride with the sultan of... Just... f.u.c.k."

"Yep, again. We got confirmation that he's your dude. Crime scene found a cigarette b.u.t.t at the Croswell crime scene, in the garden behind the house. Matches the brand we found in his condo. DNA tests are under way, expedited, but it will be a couple of days at least."

Fletcher slapped the dash with his open hand.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"You could say that. There are weapons galore at his place. No telling if one of them will match the hole in Taranto, or you, or Hart."

"Or William Everett's mother. Jesus, how could I be so stupid. b.a.s.t.a.r.d lied to my face and I took it like a man, believed every honeyed drop from his lips."

"Don't beat yourself up. You know now. Problem is, he's off the radar. We got a BOLO out on his car. The Garrett County folks are looking hard at anything that closely resembles him. Highway patrol's been alerted, too."

"You think he's up here?"

"All the last pieces of the puzzle are in those woods. That's where I'd go."

"Good to know you can still think like a criminal, Cap."

Roosevelt laughed. "If you only knew. Now, go get him, tiger. And by the way, Hart's been upgraded to stable. He's gonna be just fine. We got a guard on him just in case. Thought you'd want to know."

"Got it. Appreciate that. Now I'm going hunting."

"Fletcher. Be careful. This guy doesn't have anything to lose anymore."

Fletcher hung up the cell and turned to the kid driving, used his most frightening voice. It was the one that always worked on Tad when he was lying.

"It's time to tell me the truth. You know Alexander Whitfield, correct?"

"Sir?"

"Listen, kid. He's no longer a suspect. He's now the target. We've got a grade-A a.s.sa.s.sin somewhere nearby who's gunning for Whitfield. If you know which camp is his, now's the time to be honest with me. Because if you don't tell me, you could be responsible for his death-you feel me?"

The kid gulped. "We're heading to the right one. Xander just wanted a delay. He wanted you up there. Just not before daylight. You kind of messed with the plan."

Suckered again. "What the h.e.l.l's the plan?"

"I don't know that, sir. I just do what I'm told."

Fletcher did his best not to clock the kid, and braced himself.

"Then step on it. Because we don't have all night anymore."

Chapter Fifty-Five.

Savage River

Dr. Samantha Owens