“Won’t that wait until Ziegler brings me up to speed?”
“Sir, I’d be really grateful if you’d indulge me,” Cronley said.
Kellogg considered that a moment, then pointed to the telephone.
As Ziegler was walking to it, Cronley said, “Freddy, while he’s doing that, call Max at the Compound. Tell him to put a dozen of his guys in ambulances and get them headed this way.”
“Can I tell him why?”
“No. And when you’ve done that, how’s the coffee machine working?”
“I’m way ahead of you on that,” Hessinger said.
—
“Okay, Mr. Ziegler,” Colonel Kellogg ordered perhaps three minutes later. “Start at the beginning.”
“Yes, sir. About 0015 hours, sir, an MP patrol responded to a call of shots fired, ambulance required . . .” Ziegler began. A minute later, he finished: “. . . A fourth man had taken a bullet in the shoulder and was being loaded into an ambulance. And the medics were sedating a WAC tech sergeant so they could take her to the 98th.”
“What was her problem?” Kellogg asked.
“She was hysterical, sir.”
“Because of the shooting?”
“The shooter, who we believe to be another WAC by the name of Claudette Colbert, knew what she was doing. She shot the three dead guys with a .38, which I’m guessing had hollow-points in it. To judge from what I saw of the shoulder of the fourth guy. They expand on contact—”
“I know,” Kellogg interrupted impatiently.
“So when she popped these guys in their heads,” Ziegler went on, “first we got their brains sort of exploding, and then making a large exit wound in the skull, through which a couple of handfuls of brain and a lot of blood then erupted. Two of the three men were in the back of the ambulance. Both then fell on the sergeant, still spouting blood and brains all over her.”
“My God!” Kellogg said. “Why did she shoot them? Fun and games in the back of the ambulance go wrong?”
“Sir,” Cronley said, “the woman Mr. Ziegler believes to be WAC Technical Sergeant Colbert . . .”
“That’s what her ID says,” Ziegler challenged.
“. . . is actually the administrative officer of DCI-Europe. I would be very surprised if she and Technical Sergeant Miller, who is one of our cryptographers, were involved in fun and games in the back of an ambulance in the parking lot at the WAC NCO club.”
“Then what were they doing there?”
“Okay,” Cronley said, “I should have done this before. What are you, Ziegler, a master sergeant?”
“I’m a chief warrant officer, sir.”
“Okay, Mr. Ziegler, you—and you, too, Colonel Kellogg, sir—are hereby advised that any and all information relating to the incident which took place at the WAC NCO club tonight is classified Top Secret–Presidential, and further that the Central Intelligence Directorate–Europe is taking over the investigation thereof. Do you both understand that?”
Ziegler’s eyes darted to Kellogg.
“Colonel, can he do that?” Ziegler asked, on the edge of outrage.
“Yes, I’m afraid he can,” Kellogg said. “And he doesn’t even have to tell us why.”
Cronley went on: “Because I think the most likely scenario is the shooting came when an attempt to kidnap Miss Colbert and Tech Sergeant Miller went wrong. Miss Colbert took her pistol from where she usually carries it—concealed in her brassiere—and started shooting.”
“My God!” Colonel Kellogg said.
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Augie Ziegler said.