was gone. I went to the trailer, looked in the hard drive of the PC I’d used. Nothing.
Then I realized it was not even the same PC. The one I’d used was missing.
I went back to her, told her what had happened. I said somebody was covering up. She wasn’t letting on if she believed me or not. She said, here, fill out this form...
I did. I heard her talking on the phone to her boss in Washington as I filled out the report. She seemed genuinely concerned I might be telling the truth.
Turned out, that didn’t do me any good.
Half an hour later, I stepped out of the Agency’s Quonset, and two MPs were waiting there. They put me under arrest.
General Van Ness had “turned me in”. He claimed there was evidence that I’d sold classified data to Al Qaeda operatives.
During the preliminary hearing I demanded to know what evidence he had against me. He produced a doctored clip from the disk I’d given him.
They rushed me into military court as fast as they could. Major Verrick came in and perjured himself with about ten large lies, cool as a cucumber the whole time.
My legal rep wanted to bring Captain Callahan in. Rafe Callahan apparently had been drunk ever since the incident, maybe having an attack of conscience.
They couldn’t find him for a while. Then they found him in pieces.
He’d gotten killed in a handy terrorist bomb attack while he was on leave. Something arranged by Verrick, I figure.
A handy explosion would’ve taken care of me too if I hadn’t gone to the CIA attaché. But after that it’d look too suspicious if they arranged for me to die like Callahan.
The CIA attaché was on my side. But the attaché couldn’t save me from prison and a dishonorable discharge and a ruined reputation. Van Ness and Verrick put it around that I had some connection with the “terrorists” who’d stolen the cash. They couldn’t prove it but a lot of people believed it.
I had a pretty good military lawyer. But in the end it was a Master Sergeant’s word against a General’s. The General’s version of my disk didn’t seem authentic to any of the I.T. people looking at it, and it was thrown out as evidence against me.
Verrick called me an accomplice to murder, in the hearing. I lost it and slugged Verrick, right then and there, knocked him on his keister. I said he was the murderer; he got up and hit me back and then the MPs moved in.
I was convicted of that attack on a superior officer, mitigated by circumstances, and perjury for supposedly lying about what I’d seen, and they gave me a year in military prison. I think I’d have gotten more time, maybe life, but the CIA attaché pulled some strings for me.
So that’s it. Roger Verrick’s a murderer—killed some good American soldiers. And one bad one—Callahan.
And Verrick hoisted more than a hundred million dollars in cash. Somehow laundered it.
I heard he bought a lot of shares in Blume after his discharge, amongst other things. His family already owned a lot of shares. Now Verrick owns a lot more. He doesn’t control the company—but he’s powerful there. So he got himself shoehorned into the security boss job.
That makes him more powerful still. A hard man to bring down.
#
“You see what I mean about having a conscience?” Wolfe said. “It’ll get you.”
“I see what you mean, Wolfe,” said Pearce, from the television screen. “But...I ran from my own conscience, for most of my life...”
“Didn’t seem like that to me, when I was a kid.”
“I tried to be decent. But not hard enough. And when I buried my conscience away people got hurt, Wolfe. People I loved—they got caught in the crossfire of my life. They died and it was my fault. Way I look at it now, in the long run, conscience is pretty much all we’ve got. Otherwise we all turn into Roger Verrick.”
Wolfe snorted. “Verrick!” He winced, remembering the gunfight in the Four Clubs. “I don’t know what I was thinking, confronting him at a mob casino. It
Then I realized it was not even the same PC. The one I’d used was missing.
I went back to her, told her what had happened. I said somebody was covering up. She wasn’t letting on if she believed me or not. She said, here, fill out this form...
I did. I heard her talking on the phone to her boss in Washington as I filled out the report. She seemed genuinely concerned I might be telling the truth.
Turned out, that didn’t do me any good.
Half an hour later, I stepped out of the Agency’s Quonset, and two MPs were waiting there. They put me under arrest.
General Van Ness had “turned me in”. He claimed there was evidence that I’d sold classified data to Al Qaeda operatives.
During the preliminary hearing I demanded to know what evidence he had against me. He produced a doctored clip from the disk I’d given him.
They rushed me into military court as fast as they could. Major Verrick came in and perjured himself with about ten large lies, cool as a cucumber the whole time.
My legal rep wanted to bring Captain Callahan in. Rafe Callahan apparently had been drunk ever since the incident, maybe having an attack of conscience.
They couldn’t find him for a while. Then they found him in pieces.
He’d gotten killed in a handy terrorist bomb attack while he was on leave. Something arranged by Verrick, I figure.
A handy explosion would’ve taken care of me too if I hadn’t gone to the CIA attaché. But after that it’d look too suspicious if they arranged for me to die like Callahan.
The CIA attaché was on my side. But the attaché couldn’t save me from prison and a dishonorable discharge and a ruined reputation. Van Ness and Verrick put it around that I had some connection with the “terrorists” who’d stolen the cash. They couldn’t prove it but a lot of people believed it.
I had a pretty good military lawyer. But in the end it was a Master Sergeant’s word against a General’s. The General’s version of my disk didn’t seem authentic to any of the I.T. people looking at it, and it was thrown out as evidence against me.
Verrick called me an accomplice to murder, in the hearing. I lost it and slugged Verrick, right then and there, knocked him on his keister. I said he was the murderer; he got up and hit me back and then the MPs moved in.
I was convicted of that attack on a superior officer, mitigated by circumstances, and perjury for supposedly lying about what I’d seen, and they gave me a year in military prison. I think I’d have gotten more time, maybe life, but the CIA attaché pulled some strings for me.
So that’s it. Roger Verrick’s a murderer—killed some good American soldiers. And one bad one—Callahan.
And Verrick hoisted more than a hundred million dollars in cash. Somehow laundered it.
I heard he bought a lot of shares in Blume after his discharge, amongst other things. His family already owned a lot of shares. Now Verrick owns a lot more. He doesn’t control the company—but he’s powerful there. So he got himself shoehorned into the security boss job.
That makes him more powerful still. A hard man to bring down.
#
“You see what I mean about having a conscience?” Wolfe said. “It’ll get you.”
“I see what you mean, Wolfe,” said Pearce, from the television screen. “But...I ran from my own conscience, for most of my life...”
“Didn’t seem like that to me, when I was a kid.”
“I tried to be decent. But not hard enough. And when I buried my conscience away people got hurt, Wolfe. People I loved—they got caught in the crossfire of my life. They died and it was my fault. Way I look at it now, in the long run, conscience is pretty much all we’ve got. Otherwise we all turn into Roger Verrick.”
Wolfe snorted. “Verrick!” He winced, remembering the gunfight in the Four Clubs. “I don’t know what I was thinking, confronting him at a mob casino. It
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