The Diaries - 01 (44 page)

Ellis shook his
head.
 
“Was
Schoenfeld
a trouble maker at all?”

“Heck no,
cap’n
.
 
Not one bit.
 
Nicest guy you’d ever meet.
 
Just didn’t like someone having his way with
everyone and he fixed it...bet that badass quit picking on people after that,
too.
 
Schoenfeld
was always like that, making things better.
 
Just like he did when he won us that best-by-test.”

Ellis had stared
at his notes, readying another question when
Halpin
cut
him off.

“Maybe he isn’t in
Metz…yet.
 
Or maybe he’s already had his
revenge and did it so quietly that you’ll never hear about it.
 
But I know this much: if he’s alive, he won’t
forget what happened.
 
He’ll get his five
dollar’s worth, and he’ll have his powder dry when he does it.”

Coming back to the
present, Ellis rubbed his eyes, his recollection nearly having lulled him to
sleep.
 
With Stuttgart in the rear view
mirror and the proverbial hills of the Black Forest just beginning, the
general’s words rang in his head as he and Sorgi puttered southward.
 
Halpin
made Ellis
promise ten different ways to report back to him once he knew something.
 
Hopefully that time would come very soon.
 

After combing
through all of
Schoenfeld’s
personnel records, and
cross-referencing to men he served with, there was one hit Ellis found the most
interesting: a Special Forces sergeant first-class named Kenneth Mars.
 
He had been only one of eleven soldiers to
graduate with
Schoenfeld
from his Special Forces
class, and he was now the only one that Uncle Sam registered as living in
Germany, stationed in the town of
Böblingen
—close to
the French border, just a few hours from the city of Metz.

“How far, Sorgi?”
Ellis asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Just a few more
klicks
, sir.”

“Good.”

***

Böblingen
, Germany

The military gas
station was crowded with soldiers and dependents filling their gas tanks for their
weekend activities.
 
The attendant was on
his toes in the small hut, collecting the USAREUR gas coupons, allowing his
customers to purchase fuel at well below half the price they would pay on the
German economy.
 
Kenny Mars, after
waiting for two cars to fill up, squeezed the handle on the regular unleaded
pump, allowing fuel to flow into his Explorer when an olive-colored Army TMP
van pulled behind him.
 
A cold breeze
swirled.
 
Kenny listened to the pump
ticking, feeling eyes on him.
 
He turned
to the van.
 
Two men stared back at him.
 
Finally, the van’s occupants, a
fifty-something black man and a younger, bird-faced white fellow, exited,
stretching as they stood.
 
They were both
in civilian clothes and, as tall and thin as they both were, made an unusual pair.

“Sergeant First
Class Kenny Mars?” the older one asked with a toothy grin, stepping beside the
pump.

“Yeah, who are
you?”
 
They were driving an Army vehicle,
but the fact that they were in civvies didn’t match, putting Kenny slightly on
edge.

“Kenny, I’m Captain
Damien Ellis, this here’s Sergeant Jim Sorgi,” the man said in a friendly tone,
producing his badge and credentials.
 
“What do you say we buy you a cup of coffee over at the Burger King?”

“Why?”

“It’ll take just a
minute,” Ellis said.

“
Why
do you want to talk to me?” Kenny
demanded.

“It has to do with
a friend of yours.”

Kenny hid his
reaction, shrugging and finally nodding as he stared at the gas pump.
 
During the week of planning, he and Gage had
several conversations about culpability, and how to avoid Kenny’s becoming
entangled in Gage’s mess.
 
How in the hell could Gage have already been
caught?
 
Maybe they nabbed him at the
first train stop and he immediately spilled his guts.
 
But why?
 
It didn’t seem to fit with his character to roll over so easily,
especially on a friend.
 

And even had the
police found the disassembled Walther, they couldn’t track the serial number because
it wasn’t registered.
 
And if it ever had
been, it would be shown as the property of the biggest drug-runner in Mexico.
 
No,
this is some sort of investigative check—it has to be.

The old
investigator was still standing there, just staring at him.
 
Kenny refused to look at him, trying to
appear relaxed while his mind raced.

On his third day
with Gage, sitting on the bleachers at the soccer field behind his apartment, his
old friend had listed the items he thought he might need.
 
Simple things like telescoping mirrors and
lanyards.
 
The tougher things, a lock
pick-gun and the Walther, were provided to Gage from Kenny’s personal stash,
kept in his locker back at the unit.
 
Kenny
swiped the flares from the flammable items
conex
.
 
They weren’t numbered, so their remains
couldn’t be traced back to anyone.
 
The
flares were inventoried, though, and would eventually be missed.
 
But something as simple as trip flares would most
likely be written off without much notice.
 
The passport would possibly be missed, but by the time anyone looked for
it, Gage’s task would long since be over.

The pump clicked
to a stop as the safety valve kicked in.
 
Kenny replaced the handle, glancing at the older investigator.

“That Ford use a
lotta
gas?”

“What friend do
you want to discuss?” Kenny asked, ignoring the question.

“Like I said,
let’s have a hot cup of coffee, my treat.
 
If we don’t, I might fall asleep,” he said, again showing his toothy grin.

“Let me pay for my
gas,” Kenny said flatly.

***

The Burger King
was located in the small PX complex just off of Panzer
Kaserne
,
on the eastern edge of
Böblingen
.
 
The gas station was next door and, after Kenny
paid the attendant, they parked the two vehicles and the three men walked without
a word around to the Burger King.
 
Sorgi
ordered a bottled water for Kenny and two coffees for himself and Captain
Ellis.

Kenny stared at
Ellis across the table.
 
Ellis met his
eyes and waited patiently on Sorgi in thunderous silence.

“So who
exactly
is this about?” Mars asked after
three full minutes.
 

Ellis offered a
kind smile.
 
“Let’s wait on Sergeant Sorgi,
if you don’t mind.”
 
He twirled the salt
shaker, knowing he would have to play this just right.
 
He definitely had a feeling he was on to something,
at least in regard to the look in Kenny’s eyes.
 
Old Kenny has something to hide.
 
Yeah…it’s in there, hidden behind his
professional mask of trying to act curious, demanding the name and all that.
 
It was the right emotion to feign, and Mars
wasn’t bad at it, but Ellis could see through the ruse.
 
Better
skip the local theater, Mister Mars.
 
Sign up for acting classes instead.
 

Ellis gently
touched the green beret that lay on the table.
 
“Special Forces, huh?” he asked, whistling through his teeth.
 
“Bet you’ve been some places.
 
Done some stuff.”

“I guess,” Kenny
answered disinterestedly.

“I hear they’ve
tripled the size of special ops, in regards to the number of personnel.
 
Part of the military’s new order of battle.”

Kenny waved a
hand, dismissing it.
 
“Seems that
way.
 
New guys all over.”

“Bet they’ve eased
the selection process too.
 
Doesn’t that just
get your goat?” Ellis asked.
 
“Guys like
you who bled for that fancy beret.
 
Now
they give ‘
em
out like jump boots.”

Kenny licked his
lips, nostrils flaring somewhat.
 
But he
remained silent.

Sorgi finally
arrived, sliding the water to Kenny and the coffee to his boss.
 
The two investigators took long sips of the
hot liquid.
 
“Sorry ‘bout the wait,”
Ellis said. “Been going strong for over a day and needed this caffeine badly
hours ago.”
 
He slurped the coffee
again.
 
“Very badly.”

“So, sir…all due
respect…what the hell is all this?
 
I’m between
deployments, trying to get some stuff done, and have a
helluva
lot to do.”

“Sure, sure.”
 
Ellis leaned forward, showing his big grin
for a third time.
 
His question came like
a sudden burst from a machine gun.
 
“When
was the last time you saw
Matthew
Schoenfeld
?”

Both men stared at
Kenny’s reaction closely.
 

Kenny didn’t
flinch.
 
His eyes didn’t dilate or
blink.
 
He sat stone still, finally
taking a deep breath and exhaling as he answered.
 
“Wow.
 
Schoenfeld
.
 
Assuming
you’re talking about the one I’m thinking about, I knew him way back in
training.”

Ellis nodded.
 
“That’s the one.”
 

Kenny blinked
several times before continuing.
 
“We
went out as a big group to celebrate our language school graduation, in San
Fran.
 
That would have been…jeez…ninety-four,
and that was the last time I ever saw him.
 
Heard he was killed shortly thereafter.”

“Really?” Ellis asked,
surprised.
 
“That’s awful.”

Kenny stared at
the two men without saying anything.
 
He remained
expressionless.

“And you haven’t
spoken to him since, sergeant?” Sorgi asked.

“Didn’t I just say
he was dead?”

A long, pregnant
silence ensued.

Kenny Mars alternated
his view between both men.
 
“Why are you
asking me about a dead man?”

“Drove from
Frankfurt,” Ellis said.
 
“Just curious.”

“How did you know
where to find me?”

“You told the guys
at your unit that you were heading to the gas station and the PX.”
 
The corner of Ellis’s mouth turned up.
 
“Not many blue Ford Explorers around here
driven by a black man wearing a green beret.
 
Wasn’t too tough to find you.”
 
He
gulped down the rest of his coffee and asked Sorgi to go get refills.
 
He turned back to Kenny.
 
“You want anything else? I’m buying. A
Whopper?
 
Milkshake?”

“No.”

“Go ahead,
Jim.”
 
Sorgi took the two cups and walked
to the beverage bar, lingering there and staring out the window.
 

Ellis waited a
moment, making little chuckling sounds on purpose.

Kenny narrowed his
eyes.
 
“Why are you laughing, sir?
 
What is all this?”

The chuckling
ceased.
 
Ellis leaned forward, speaking
to Kenny in the way only two black men can understand and appreciate.
 
“Kenny Mars, it’s plain to these tired old
eyes that you’re
lyin
’ outta your black butt.
 
Your reaction to all my crazy questions was
too bland, too
dadgummed
vanilla.
 
Have you talked to a
dead
man?” Ellis asked, mocking his own query.
 
“What the heck
kinda
question is that?
 
Someone asked me that,
I’d look at them like a giant water moccasin was
slitherin
’
out their mouth.”
 
Ellis leaned back and stared
at Mars from the corner of his eyes.
 
“Now, if you
woulda
shown just enough surprise
at such a question, then I’d probably be back at square one.
 
But your response was so cold, so controlled,
that I knew you had spoken with him and most likely had
even
seen him.”

Kenny’s gaze was
hardened steel, locked in on Ellis’s eyes as if drawn by a magnet.
 
They shared the moment, both of them
appreciating it for what it was.

“So, where is he,
Kenny?”

Silence.

Ellis opened his
hands in a surrendering gesture.
 
“You
need to know that I don’t think he’s guilty, Kenny.
 
I know that girl in Frankfurt was his
girlfriend.
 
As a matter of fact, I’m
rogue on this thing, working on my own hunch.
 
But I
gotta
stop him before he goes too far,”
Ellis said, his face taut.
 
“I can save
him now, but if he goes back to Metz for revenge, he’ll be off the
reservation.
 
The Germans and the
French’ll
eat him up, and the U.S. will turn a blind eye to
him.”