Rebel in Time

Chapter 2

Sergeant Troy Harmon rode the Metro in from the Pentagon, wondering just what the hell this assignment was all about. It was so hush-hush that he had been told nothing, absolutely nothing about it. Other than to get over soonest to this address on Massachusetts just up from Union Station. Transportation was not provided. He rode the Metro, looking down at the thick, sealed envelope he was carrying. His own records, the history of his nine years in the Army. Decorations, promotions, goof-ups, Fitzsimmons Hospital records when they dug the shrapnel out of his back. Two years in Vietnam without a scratch — then a short round from his own supporting battery. A Purple Heart from a chunk of Detroit steel. Then a transfer to the MPs, then G2, military intelligence. The records were all here. It would be interesting to look at them. And military suicide if he were to open the envelope.

And what organization was he going to on Massachusetts Avenue? He knew most of the spook outfits, starting with the CIA out in Langley right on down. But he had never even heard of this one. Report to Mr Kelly. And who the hell was Kelly? Enough. He'd find out soon enough. He looked up to check the station, McPherson Square, then looked back down just in time to catch the eye of the girl sitting across from him. She looked away quickly. A very foxy girl, what they used to call a high-yellow when he was a boy. She glanced back again and he gave her his toothpaste commercial smile; lips pulled back so his white teeth showed in nice contrast to his dark-brown skin. This time she raised her nose slightly and sniffed as she turned away.

Rebuffed! He had to smile. Didn't she see what she was missing? Five feet ten of handsome, cleancut soldier.

The train slowed as it entered Metro Center. Troy was the first one off and he stayed ahead of the pack as they rushed for the escalator to the Red Line. He rode up into the indirectly lit cavern, more like a futuristic spaceship hangar than a subway. It made the old Independent in New York look like the filthy hole that it really was.

There was a cool, autumn bite to the air as he walked down Massachusetts checking the numbers. There it was, a tall, brownstone house, just across New Jersey. No name, no identifying plate, nothing. He climbed the steps and pressed the polished brass button, well aware of the fisheye of the micro TV camera above it. The door buzzed and he went through into an airlock arrangement, with another door ahead of him that did not open until the outer one had closed. Very neat. And another TV pick-up here as well. Inside was a marble-floored lobby with a desk at the far end. His heels clacked as he walked the length of it. The receptionist, a very cool redhead in a very tight sweater looked up at him and smiled.

'May I help you?'

'Sergeant Harmon. Mr Kelly is expecting me.'

'Thank you, Sergeant Harmon. If you will take a seat I'll let him know that you are here.'

The couch was too deep and soft to be comfortable, so he sat on its edge. There was a copy of Fortune and a copy of Jet on the low table in front of him. What was this — catering to his special needs? He tried to smile as he picked up Jet. Maybe they were trying to tell him something. If so he had got the message a long time ago. Pics of a big party at the Hotel Theresa, then babies with rat bites in the slums just a few blocks away. It was a different world to him. He had grown up in Queens, in South Jamaica, a nice, secure middle-class area of frame houses and green trees. He knew as much about Harlem as he did about the back of the Moon.

'Mr Kelly will see you now.'

He dropped the magazine, took up his envelope, and appreciatively followed the receptionist's sweetly rotating bottom into an adjoining office.

'Come in, Sergeant Harmon. Pleased to meet you,' Kelly said, coming from behind his desk to take Troy's hand. The way he pronounced Harmon was positive proof that he was from Boston. His elegantly tailored three-piece pinstripe suggested Back Bay and Harvard as well. 'I'll take that envelope, thank you.'

Kelly took the folder of military records and added it to the file on the desk before him, tapping the edges until all the papers were neatly in line. He looked at the sergeant as he did this, noting what he saw. Late twenties, good service record, he could read that from the ribbons without looking at the file. Not too tall, but solidly built. Jaw like a rock, face expressionless. Eyes black and unreadable. Sergeant Troy Harmon was obviously a professional soldier and a man very much in charge of himself.

'You've been sent over here on temporary assignment from G2, because of your specialized knowledge,' Kelly said.

'Just what would that be, sir? I fired sharpshooter on the M-16.'

'Nothing quite that deadly,' Kelly said, smiling for the first time. 'We understand that you know a great deal about gold. Is that true?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. That particular knowledge will be most helpful to us since we are predominantly headquarters staff here at QCIC. We depend on the other security services for field personnel.' He glanced at his Rolex. 'You'll be seeing Admiral Colonne in a few minutes and he will explain the operation in detail. The admiral is the man who directs this agency. Now — do you have any questions?'

'No, sir. I don't know enough about what is happening here to think of a question. I was given this address and told to bring my records to you. You just mentioned that this department is QCIC. I don't even know what those initials stand for.'

'The admiral will explain all that to you as well. My role is strictly liaison. You'll file all reports with me.' He wrote quickly on a piece of paper and passed it over. 'This is my twenty-four hour phone number. Keep track of expenses and let me have the slips once a week. Also contact me for any equipment or specialized-assistance that you might need. The admiral will brief you on this operation, which is code-named Subject George.'

Kelly hesitated, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk, before he spoke again. 'The admiral is old Navy, Annapolis, been around a long time. You know what that means?'

'No.'

'I think that you do, sergeant. When he was on active duty during the Second World War, blacks were called Negroes and they weren't allowed in the Navy. Other than as mess attendants.'

'Say mess boys, Mr Kelly, that was the term. And my father was in the Army then, fighting to make the world safe for democracy. Only the Army was segregated and, since blacks couldn't be trusted to carry guns, they drove trucks and dug ditches. But that was a long time ago.'

'For us, maybe. Let's hope it is for the admiral too. But this is a one hundred per cent WASP outfit. It couldn't have got that way by accident… hell, sergeant, maybe I'm talking too much.'

Troy smiled. 'I appreciate the thought, Mr Kelly. I'm a firm believer in field intelligence. I'm not too worried about the admiral.'

'You shouldn't be. He's a good man. And this is a damned important job.' Kelly picked up the file as he stood up. 'We'll go see him now.'

The roar of the traffic outside on Massachusetts Avenue was muted to a distant hum in the large conference room. Heavy curtains covered the windows; floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. The admiral sat behind the long mahogany table, carefully loading tobacco into an ancient briar pipe. He was suntanned, and almost completely bald; his blue uniform was smooth and unwrinkled, the rows of ribbons on it impressive. He waved Troy to a chair opposite, nodded at the file that Kelly placed before him, then struck a wooden kitchen match and puffed the pipe to life. He did not speak until Kelly had gone out and closed the door.

'You've been seconded to us by military intelligence because of your specialized knowledge, sergeant. I want you to tell me about gold.'

'It's a metal, admiral, very heavy, and people set great store by it.'

'That's all?' Admiral Colonne scowled from behind a cloud of blue smoke. 'Are you being facetious, Harmon?'

'No, sir, I'm telling the truth. Gold is an important industrial metal, but that is not what most people care about. They buy it and steal it and hide it because other people prize it highly. In the West we treat it as a commodity — but the rest of the world sees it as a safer investment than banks or bonds. Gold purchased legally here is worth twice as much after it has been smuggled into another country, say India. That's how I got involved with it. The US Army has men stationed right around the world. The temptation to turn an easy buck by selling gold is something a number of grunts just have not been able to resist.'

The admiral nodded. 'All right, that's one aspect of gold. What about the industrial use you mentioned? Other than jewellery — what is it good for?'

'Electronics. It's malleable, does not rust or tarnish — and is a good conductor. All of the contacts in computers are plated with it. You'll also find that it is used in windows to cut down on the amount of sunlight that is allowed to pass through…'

'None of this has any goddamned relevance to the case we have here!' The admiral slammed the file on the table before him. 'What we are interested in are the reasons why a certain Army colonel is buying a lot of gold. I know that it is all perfectly legal, but I still want to know why.'

'May I ask what "a lot" is, sir?'

'A little over a hundred thousand dollars' worth, as of yesterday. Do you know what the initals QCIC stand for?'

Troy accepted the abrupt change of topic without comment. 'No, sir, I don't. Mr Kelly said that you would explain.'

'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. Do you know what that means?'

'I should. After two years of Latin in college. A literal translation would be — who shall keep watch over the guardians?'

'Right. Who shall watch the watchers? That little problem has been around for a very long time — or it wouldn't have a Latin tagline attached to it. Policemen who take bribes are bad enough. But what about the people who are entrusted with the security of our nation? Someone has to keep an eye on them. Well — we're the people who have to do just that. That's what this agency is here for. You must realize that what we do here is vital to the security of this country. Without any conceit, this is undoubtedly the most important security operation in the land. We cannot afford to make mistakes. As the old saying goes, the buck stops here. We have the ultimate responsibility in ensuring this nation's security because we must watch all of the other security operatives. That is the reason why I approved your assignment to us. There are three things in your record that I like. First, you know all about gold. Second, your security clearance is Top Secret. Can you imagine what the third reason is?'

Troy nodded slowly. 'I think I can. Is it the fact that I blew the whistle on my CO when I caught him on the take?'

'It is. A lot of soldiers would have looked the other way. Did you expect some special reward for doing what you did?'

'No, admiral, I did not.' Troy held his temper under careful control. 'If anything, I expected the direct opposite. I am pretty sure that the Army doesn't like enlisted men taking potshots at officers. But this was special. If he had been pocketing officers' club funds or something like that, well, maybe I might have thought twice. But this was in an MP outfit where we were working full time trying to keep drugs out of the barracks. Our problems were not just with grass or uppers and downers, but the hard stuff, H, and it was getting in. When I found out that my own commanding officer, the guy who was supposed to be stopping the stuff, was getting payola from the pushers, well that was just too goddamned much.' Troy smiled coldly. 'The last I heard he was still in Leavenworth. I was pulled out of my outfit, I expected that, but I didn't expect to be bumped two grades and transferred to G2.'

'That was my doing. I overruled some of your officers who were thinking of doing just what you said they would. No one has ever lost money underestimating the reflex thinking of the military. I have been keeping a watchful eye on your career ever since. Because men like you are rare enough.' He caught Troy's expression and smiled. 'No, sergeant, that is not an attempt at flattery but the honest truth. When I say that I mean that I value most highly men who put their oath of loyalty before personal friendship or job security. We need you here. I hope that after this operation is completed, that at that time you will consider a permanent transfer. But that is still in the future. Right now I want you to turn your attention to this operation. It is code-named George.'

He opened the file and took out a sheaf of papers, then leafed through them.

'Operation George began as a routine check. This sort of thing takes place on a regular basis, all of the time, a routine surveillance of people with high security clearance. The subject of this particular investigation is a United States Army colonel named Wesley McCulloch. He has a fine military record and first class security clearance. Unmarried but, if you will pardon the expression, not unlaid. He keeps fit, skis in the winter, surfboards in the summer. Owns a small house in Alexandria and only has a few thousand more to go on his mortgage. All of this is very dull and ordinary stuff…'

'Except that the colonel has been buying a lot of gold.'

'Correct. It started quite recently, just a little over six months ago. At that time he had some money invested in gilt-edged stock, plus a little more in a savings account. He cleared everything out and bought gold. Sold some bonds that he had inherited as well. Now we both know that all of this is completely legal. But I still want to know why.'

'May I see the file, admiral?'

Troy flipped through it quickly but methodically, then held it up. 'There's no mention in here of the colonel's duties.'

'There wouldn't be. The FBI agents who make up these reports operate on a need-to-know basis. McCulloch is in charge of security at one of our most important and secret laboratory facilities. His work there cannot be faulted in any way — he's doing an excellent job. That's not what is bothering us. It's the gold. It doesn't, well…'

'Smell right?'

'Correct. Call it a hunch, call it anything. It is just too much out of the ordinary — the only unusual thing that McCulloch has done in his entire lifetime. That's your assignment. Find out why he is buying the stuff.'

'I'll do that, admiral. I'm intrigued by it as well. I can't think of any possible reason for a man in the colonel's position to be doing this sort of thing. Legal reason, that is.'

'You think that it could be illegal?'

'At this point I think nothing, sir. I have an open mind. What we need are some hard facts before we can decide anything.'