The 6:20 Man

“There is even less known about her.”

“Look, why would Homeland Security and the Defense Department even be interested in financial crimes? Isn’t that for local prosecutors and the DOJ?”

Campbell looked over Devine’s shoulder at the closed door. “My job is to worry about enemies both foreign and domestic. And right now we might have both.”

Devine tensed. “Wait a minute, are you saying Cowl is some sort of, what, spy? For who?”

“The man had nothing when he left the country over two decades ago, and then when he comes back, he’s top of the mountain in less than two years? Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

“You sound like a conspiracy theorist now.”

“Conspiracies do happen, Devine. More than you probably think. And it’s not just the dollars that Cowl is making. I really couldn’t care less about that. But if there’s something behind the dollars that attacks the national security of this country? Then I care a great deal.”

“So can you help with the cops and the reporter?”

“The cops, yes. The reporter, I doubt it. But a reporter can’t arrest you, either.”

“Maybe she can do worse.”

Campbell looked at him thoughtfully and for such a long period that Devine finally said, “What?”

“Why Wall Street and Cowl and Comely? Strange career path for an Army Ranger.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yeah, Detective Hancock didn’t buy it either.” “Well then?”

“I can make some money. My old man can be proud of me.”

“And that’s it?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

“Does it matter if I do or not?”

“I think you picked an occupation that you loathe. And you did it because you knew your father, a man whom you also loathe, would approve.”

“And why would I do that?”

“It’s your self-imposed penance, Devine. You let a fellow soldier die. You were never punished for that, and it bothers the hell out of you, because you, unlike Captain Hawkins, actually have principles and a conscience. So you left an organization that had allowed you to reach your full potential. You left an organization that you never wanted to leave. And now you’re actually in a prison . . . of your own making.”

“You’re wrong! My father was proud of me for the decision I made, and I was happy about his reaction. In fact, we went to dinner in celebration and got drunk together.”

“You joined the Army in spite of your father’s wishes, Devine. In fact, you put on the uniform to spite him.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

Campbell picked up a file that lay in front of him. “This is your psych eval when you were trying to get into Ranger School. You were quite candid with those folks, as you had to be. You spoke about how your father had been riding you your entire life. Never good enough, never enough like your brother and sister. A disappointment of epic proportions in his mind. You had the well-deserved rep of being stoic about everything, Devine, but not that time, no, not that time.”

Devine started to say something but then didn’t.

“And do you want me to read the letter the Army got from your father? The Army keeps every scrap of paper, as you know, and this one was quite unusual. Most parents are proud of their children for entering the service, but not your father. He was also quite candid, when he”—Campbell picked up another piece of paper and glanced down it—“called it ‘a spit in his face,’ your going to West Point to serve your country. That you were only doing it to defy him. While his other two children were shining examples of the American dream, you were the poster boy of his personal nightmare.” He laid the paper aside. “His words, not mine. So don’t tell me you and your old man were celebrating and getting drunk together, okay? That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

Devine looked away.