The General's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

to sell a few hundred M-16 rifles, grenade launchers, and sundry other dangerous items
     from the armory to a group of Cuban freedom fighters who wanted to overthrow Mr. Fidel Castro, the Antichrist. In fact, the
     Hispanic gentlemen were Colombian drug dealers, but they wanted to make us feel better about the transaction. Anyway, I was
     sitting in the armory at 0600 hours, conversing with my coconspirator, Staff Sergeant Elkins. We were talking about what we
     were going to do with the $200,000 we would split. Sergeant Elkins was actually going to jail for the rest of his life, but
     he didn’t know that, and men have to dream. It’s my unpleasant duty to become their worst nightmare.
    The phone rang, and I picked up the receiver before my new buddy could grab it. I said, “Post armory, Sergeant White speaking.”
    “Ah, there you are,” said Colonel William Kent, the post provost marshal, Fort Hadley’s top cop. “I’m glad I found you.”
    “I didn’t know I was lost,” I replied. Prior to my chance encounter with Cynthia, Colonel Kent was the only person on the
     post who knew who I was, and the only reason I could think of for him to be calling me was to tell me I was in imminent danger
     of being found out. I kept one eye on Sergeant Elkins and one on the door.
    But as luck would have it, it wasn’t as simple as that. Colonel Kent informed me, “There’s been a homicide. A female captain.
     Maybe raped. Can you talk?”
    “No.”
    “Can you meet me?”
    “Maybe.” Kent was a decent sort of guy, but like most MP types, he wasn’t overly clever, and the CID made him nervous. I said,
     “I’m working, obviously.”
    “This is going to take priority, Mr. Brenner. It’s a big one.”
    “So is this.” I glanced at Sergeant Elkins, who was eyeing me carefully.
    Kent said, “It was General Campbell’s daughter.”
    “My goodness.” I thought a moment. All my instincts said to avoid any cases that involved the rape and murder of a general’s
     daughter. It was a lose-lose situation. My sense of duty, honor, and justice assured me that some other sucker in the special
     unit of the CID could handle it. Somebody whose career was down the toilet anyway. I thought of several candidates. But, duty
     and honor aside, my natural curiosity was aroused. I asked Colonel Kent, “Where can I meet you?”
    “I’ll meet you in the provost building parking lot and take you to the scene.”
    Being undercover, I shouldn’t be anywhere near the provost marshal’s office, but Kent is annoyingly dense. I said, “Not your
     place.”
    “Oh… how about the infantry barracks? The Third Battalion HQ. It’s on the way.”
    Elkins, tense and paranoid already, was getting fidgety. I said to Kent, “Okay, sweetheart. Ten minutes.” I hung up and said
     to Sergeant Elkins, “My girlfriend. Needs some lovin’.”
    Elkins looked at his watch. “Kinda late… or early…”
    “Not for this little gal.”
    Elkins smiled.
    As per armory regulations, I was wearing a sidearm, and, satisfied that Elkins was cooled out, I unhooked the pistol belt
     and left it there as per post regulations. I didn’t know then that I would need a weapon later. I said to Elkins, “Might be
     back.”
    “Yeah, okay. Give her one for me, boy.”
    “Sure thing.”
    I had left my Blazer back at the trailer park, and my POV—that’s Army talk for privately owned vehicle, not point of view—was
     now a Ford pickup truck, issued to me for my current impersonation. It was complete with shotgun rack, dog hair on the upholstery,
     and a pair of hip waders in the back.
    So off I went, through the main post. Within a few minutes I was into the area of the Infantry Training Brigade, long wooden
     World War II era barracks, mostly deserted now and looking dark and spooky. The cold war is over, and the Army, while not
     exactly withering away, is definitely downsizing, and the combat arms branches—the infantry, armor, and artillery, the reason