Water Rites (28 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I
t was late when Carter looked up. He felt a mild sense of shock at the flood-lit darkness beyond his office window. It had been late afternoon when he had finally made it back to his deskful of flow reports. He stretched, wincing at the crackle of vertebrae in his neck. It had been a relief to bury himself in solid, comprehensible numbers. He understood turbulence and flow dynamics. The numbers always meant the same thing.

Private First Class Carolyn Allison had been shot today while out on patrol. Someone had hidden in the rocks along the riverbed, had shot her in the chest with a 30.06. An old hunting rifle, probably. Possibly the same rifle that had killed Delgado’s brother. Carter stared at this reflection on the window glass. Stranger’s face — flat and unfamiliar, the mouth set in hard lines, the eyes unreadable. He had spent part of the afternoon in the infirmary. Carolyn Allison would live, but it had been close.

My fault? How much? The face in the window stared back at him, eyes accusing. If he had come down hard on the Shunt demonstration, would it be better now? Or worse? Carter shook his head. A flood of transfer requests cluttered his desk. He had denied them all — although he couldn’t blame people for wanting to bail out. Hastings had told him he couldn’t expect any new people for at least another week, and maybe not even then. Sick calls were escalating. The accident rate had soared. Tired people made mistakes, and the doubled patrols he’d had to put out were wearing them all ragged. Morale sucked. And now Durer was on his case, claiming that a Corps member had committed a rape and murder in The Dalles. He’d undoubtedly broadcast his damned verdict to everyone in town — which had probably resulted in the shooting. Carter had ordered an armed fast-reaction team to be kept on five-minute alert status. Things were that bad.

A knock on the door made him jump. “Come in.” He turned away from the window.

Delgado marched in and saluted, his posture stiff and straight. “I have exceeded my authority, sir, but I’ve come up with something that I have to show you.”

“How exactly did you exceed your authority, Major?” Carter reined in his temper with an effort. Since the beating incident and his subsequent discipline of the major, relations had been strained, to say the least. Damn Hastings, anyway. “You’re walking a thin line with me,” he said coldly.

“I understand, sir.” Delgado stared at a spot on the wall above Carter’s head. “I had one of my men keep an eye on Greely.”

“The Dalles is off limits. By my direct order.”

“Yes, sire, but I sent him out before you gave the order, sir. He was discreet.” Delgado pulled a tiny digital camera from his pocket. “Permission to upload this to your computer, sir?”

Carter jerked his head and Delgado plugged the camera into his CPU. The screen flickered as the camera uploaded and suddenly a photo blinked to life on the screen.

Two men stood together in front of the government store, apparently deep in conversation. Dan Greely and the red haired agitator, or someone who looked a hell of a lot like him. Greely had said that he didn’t know the man’s name, that he’d only seen him around. “Who took this?” Carter asked heavily.

“Sergeant Roth, sir, from Support. He’s good with a camera.”

“I want to talk to him. Right now.”

“Right away, sir.” Delgado gave him a brisk salute and departed.

Carter stared at the screen. He had liked Dan Greely, and he had resisted the evidence that was all around him — dismissed it as too convenient, as circumstantial. He swallowed, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

*

By the time he finished interviewing Roth it was very late. Carter printed up a copy of the photo and pocketed it, locking his office on the way out. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. There would be coffee in the mess. He should go get a sandwich, he told himself, but he wasn’t hungry. A private was coming in as he reached the main doors.

“Sir?” She saluted. “I just escorted Chief of Police Durer off the base. I called your office, but you’d left.”

“Oh, yeah.” Carter ran a hand across his face, realizing just how tired he was. “He stuck around this long?” That meant he hadn’t found anything very useful. Carter swallowed his anger and looked more closely at the woman. “You kicked that local off me at the Shunt,” he said, recognizing her. “Wasson, right?”

“Yessir.” She grinned. “I was glad to be of service, sir.”

“Did Durer find anything?” Carter asked as they walked to the doors.

“He copied all the gate logs.” Her face was carefully neutral. “And he took prints from tires down at the motor pool. I don’t think he was satisfied, sir.”

“He thinks we’re covering up for someone, never mind that we’ve given him full cooperation.” Carter’s lips tightened. “He wants to pin this on the Corps so bad he can taste it. Damn local.”

“Sir.”

Carter looked at Wasson. Her face had gone tight, closed. “Something wrong, Private?”

She shook her head, eyes averted.

“Hold it a minute.” He put out a hand as she started to open the door. “I’d like to know. It’s not an order, Wasson. I’m asking.”

She looked at him, looked away, obviously angry. She had something to say, but he was a colonel. “I . . . grew up in Hood River, sir.” Twin spots of color glowed on her cheeks and she stared stiffly at the wall. “It’s hard for us, sir. We’re locals. Our families are ‘hicks.’” She gave him a hard, bright look from the corner of her eye.

Expecting a reprimand? Carter sighed. “I haven’t given much thought to that, and I should have,” he said wearily. “Tell me about it, Private.”

“We’re . . . caught in the middle,” she said tightly. “We’re
Corps
. They were our friends, the ones who got killed, one of us. I knew Sonny and Tom real well. Sonny and I were . . . close.” Her lips twitched. “My family used to grow pears in Hood River, but the trees were old and they died off when I was young. Mom’s still there, living with my brother. I don’t know how they’re going to make out with this water cut. I mean —” She stared at the doors in front of her, struggling for words. “I know we don’t make the rules, but I feel like the goddamn enemy sometimes. Excuse me, sir.”

What he should tell her, of course, was that she was Corps, first and foremost. But she knew that, or she wouldn’t be hurting. Carter sighed. “It’s tough, isn’t it? You catch shit from your buddies for siding with the locals and you feel like a traitor to your family at the same time. You’re damned either way.” There weren’t too many locals on base, but there were some. He’d better find out who, first thing in the morning. He should have found out at the beginning.

“I was stationed in Chicago when the big riot started,” he said. “We got sent out to break down the barricades afterward and help pick up the bodies. I . . . recognized one. We used to play ball together, after school.” Domino had been one of the few people in Johnny’s crowd who had accepted Carter. How the hell had he ended up on the lakeshore, ragged and dirty and dead? “I felt like shit.”

“If you’d had to shoot at him, would you have done it?”

Carter met Wasson’s eyes, seeing the fear in them. “Chicago won’t happen here,” he said flatly.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She snapped him a brisk salute.

Carter watched her march down the corridor. That salute was the first one he’d seen in days that had really been meant. He pushed through the doors, leaning against their weight and the heaviness in his chest. He sure hoped he could keep that promise he’d just made.

Outside, he shivered in the night chill. The wind was picking up. Grit rasped on concrete and Carter blinked, his eyes tearing as they filled with dust. His goggles were on his desk but he was too tired to go back for them. All he wanted to do was fall onto his bed and sleep. Even a shower could wait. He cut through the alley, seeing nothing. Who had grabbed him and why? In the glow of the porch light, Carter fumbled with the lock, swung the door open . . . and froze. Dan Greely was sitting on his sofa.

“We need to talk,” Greely said.

“You’re right. We do.” Carter stepped inside and closed the door very softly behind him. “I have something to show you.” He walked past Greely, into his bedroom, his anger a cold weight in his gut. He opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out the Beretta. Greely was still on the sofa. He went very still as Carter reentered the room.

“I’m not armed, not even with a knife.” He fixed his eyes on the gun. “What’s gotten into you, Carter?”

“Keep your hands on your knees. Where I can see them.” He lifted the phone, called Security.

“Carter, will you wait for one minute?” Greely said urgently. “What the hell is going on here? I snuck in because what I have to say is important. If you really give a damn about what’s happening on the riverbed, listen to me, for God’s sake.”

“Did you ever find that agitator?”

“No.” Greely shrugged. “He split as far as I can find out. I never did catch up to him.

The cold anger was spreading through his body. The man had a damned golden tongue.

“You need to hear this.” Greely spoke rapidly. “Someone is getting permits to irrigate new acreage down in the Willamette Valley.”

“Bullshit,” Carter snapped. “They’re already irrigating to capacity down there. That’s why we have to absorb the flow cut.”

“That’s what you told us.” Greely’s eyes were intent on Carter’s face. “Do you know this for sure?”

“General Hastings gave me the numbers himself.”

“How good are his sources?”

“You have proof?”

“No.” Greely looked troubled. “I was hoping that you could check this out. That’s why I came here — to ask you to do that. I think maybe we’re all being set up.”

“You talk very slick,” Carter said. He edged sideways to the computer desk, slipped the CD into its tray. The screen lit with the photo, the agitator’s red hair flaming in the bright sun. “After I talked to you at City Hall, my car broke down. And a little welcoming committee was waiting for it to happen. And my phone was gone.” He watched Greely’s eyes fix on the screen. “Someone fixed the engine very neatly. And we found a wrench down in the engine compartment. It had the initials DG on it.” He stared at Greely. “If Judge Lindstrom and Durer weren’t in your pocket, you’d be in jail right now.”

“They’re not in my pocket but they’re fair men. Who took that?” He jerked his head at the screen.

“One of ours. I talked to him.”

“He’s lying to you. That’s a fake.” Greely’s shoulders slumped. “I wondered who swiped my tools. It’s a frame, Carter. A good one.”

“It’s uploaded right out of the camera. And don’t tell me about any three days for trespassing. This time, we hold you for the US Marshal. We’re charging you with tresspass, tampering with government property, and water-flow obstruction. And kidnap.”

“I don’t think you can make any of that stick. Except the trespass.”

“Maybe not, but it will be at least two weeks before the marshal even gets around to collecting you. I can’t spare anyone to transport you, and he’s down in Medford right now. If you are innocent, you’ll have a great alibi for anything that happens.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Greely’s eyes were bleak. “Sandy Corbett and I have been working our asses off to keep a lid on things. You need our help a lot more than you realize.”

“If that turns out to be true, I’ll apologize.”

“It’ll be too damn late to apologize by then.”

Security knocked on the door and Carter let the MPs in. Greely stood quietly as they cuffed him, his face expressionless. He looked over his shoulder as the MPs ushered him out of the room. “You’re wrong,” he said. “About a lot of things.”

Carter waited until the door latched behind them, then he went to put the Beretta away. He had never thumbed off the safety. “Hell,” he said and slammed the drawer closed.

And what if Greely had been telling the truth? About the new Valley fields?

He was lying. Feeding Carter a new line of bull.

But if he wasn’t lying . . . the Corps was cutting water that didn’t need to be cut. Carter remembered Private Wasson’s face as she talked about her family in Hood River.

Pacific Biosystems? They were the prime suspect of course. Carter shrugged as he stripped off his coverall. It would be easy enough to check. They couldn’t keep that kind of thing secret; the permit application for any new irrigation line had to go on record, and the records were accessible. Just to be sure, just for Wasson’s sake, he’d check.

He threw his dirty coverall into the corner, feeling less sure of himself than he had on his first day here.