Small Wars Read Free

performance.”
    “We’re of equal rank.”
    “Pretend she comes from a planet with double the gravity. Her rank is worth more than yours.”
    “How long will she be here?”
    “As long as it takes. You people need to think ahead. This reorganization is going to come out exactly ass-backward. You’re not going to be up on a hill, peering down on all you survey. You’re going to be deep in a hole, getting buried in paper. Because this is going to be the cover-your-ass unit. Everyone in the army is going to report everything, so whatever turns bad in the end is automatically our fault, because we didn’t follow it up at the time. So you need to develop a very aggressive attitude toward paperwork. If you hesitate, it will bury you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Therefore you also need to trust your intuition. You need to smell the ones that matter. No time for extensive study. Are you an aggressive person who trusts his intuition, sergeant?”
    “Maybe not enough, sir.”
    “What’s on the piece of paper you’re holding in your hand?”
    “It’s a fax, sir. A history of Colonel Crawford’s postings.”
    “Did you read it on the way in?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And?”
    “She’s in War Plans. Currently liaising with the special operations school at Fort Smith.”
    “Which tells us what?”
    “I don’t know how to put it.”
    “In your own words, sergeant.”
    “She’s a pointy-head.”
    “The pointiest of all. War Plans is special. Regular pointy-heads can’t even get in the door. We’re talking needle sharp here. Shot to death. Should we be worried?”
    “I think we should, sir.”
    “Intuition,” Reacher said. “It’s a wonderful thing.”
    “Any practical steps?”
    “Start playing bad cop with the guys at Smith. Tell them we need more things sooner. In fact tell them we require a Xerox of everything. A complete file, as per protocol.”
    “I think that’s one of the issues not yet decided.”
    “Fake it till you make it, sergeant. Get them in the habit.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And close the door on the way out.”
    Which the guy did. Reacher dialed his phone. The Pentagon. A number on a desk outside an office with a window. Answered by a sergeant, inevitably.
    Reacher said, “Is he there? It’s his brother.”
    “Wait one, major.” Then a shout, muffled by a palm on the receiver:
Joe, your brother is on line two
. Then a click, and then Joe’s voice, asking, “Are you still in Central America?”
    Reacher said, “No, they pulled me out and sent me to Benning. Some other guy got in a car wreck. So I’m a day late and a dollar short.”
    “What’s at Benning?”
    “It’s a new thing. A lot of incoming reports. Success or failure will depend on high-speed triage. Which is why I’m calling. I need background on a name at War Plans. It would take all day to get it anyplace else.”
    “What’s happening at War Plans?”
    “One of them died.”
    “What exactly is it you’re doing at Benning?”
    “The mission is to supervise all criminal investigations in the southeastern military districts. The likelihood is it will become a gigantic file cabinet.”
    “Who was supposed to get the command?”
    “A guy named David Noble. Never met him. Fell asleep at the wheel, probably. Too eager to get here.”
    “So you got it.”
    “Luck of the draw.”
    “Who died from War Plans?”
    “Caroline Crawford.”
    “So you’ll be investigating that.”
    “I expect someone will, eventually.”
    “How did she die?”
    “Shot on a lonely road.”
    “Who by?”
    “We don’t know.”
    “She was a big star,” Joe said. “She was going all the way. Lieutenant general at least. The Joint Chiefs’ office, probably.”
    “Doing what exactly?”
    “There are three possible vectors for the Cold War. It could go hot, or it could stay the same, or the Soviet Union could fall apart under its own weight. Obviously a diligent planner looks at option three and asks, OK, what’s next? And small wars