Murphy drained his coffee mug, reviewed and signed and set aside inventory forms and transfer forms and forms for every other damned thing. His sergeant had carried them into his office by the armload and then collected them again after Murphy finished.
He shrugged. Kelham was slated for closure. Somebody had to do the grunt work. That’s what soldiers were for. Always had been grunts. Always would be. No way to change the army’s role in the scheme of things, and no one had the desire to change it anyway.
Which didn’t mean he’d miss Kelham when he closed up shop and bugged out on Friday at dawn.
Not that it mattered how he felt about the base or this Podunk town or the rubes who lived here. He’d been a soldier more than half his life. He served where he was sent and did what he was told and he was damned good at it. Simple as that.
He wasn’t leaving the army. The army had left him high and dry long ago. He just hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
Again, the sergeant came in without knocking, carrying another armload, and the cup of black coffee he’d requested, and said, “General, you have a call on line three.”
Murphy looked up from the mass of closure papers, “What?”
“Major Eugene Hammer on line three,” the sergeant repeated.
“Who is he and what does he want?” Murphy demanded.
“I don’t know, Sir. I asked. He said he outranks me and to put the call through, and that was an order,” the sergeant replied as if he was more than happy to comply. He had plenty of work to do, too.
The skeleton crew still left on base was working almost around the clock to get the place closed and move on to more interesting work. Murphy, too.
The sergeant walked to the desk, picked up the completed paperwork and deposited the new batch, collected the empty coffee cup, and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Murphy looked at the blinking light on his phone, a signal that Major Hammer was still there. He’d wait until hell froze over if he had to.
“Damn straight.” Murphy nodded.
Majors waited for generals. That’s the way the system worked. Murphy grinned. He enjoyed that part of the army. He liked being at the top of the food chain. He’d miss the privilege of status when he retired.
He left Hammer waiting and drank the coffee while it was hot. He thumbed through the current stack of paperwork, scribbling his initials where required.
When he reached the end of the pile and swallowed the last of the coffee, he glanced at the phone. Hammer was still there.
Fifteen minutes.
That was nothing.
Murphy had waited hours for a superior officer many times.
Briefly, he considered going to lunch before he took the call. Nah. No point in jerking this guy around.
Hammer was probably calling about equipment or personnel or some such. Might as well get it handled.
Murphy picked up the handset and pushed the button. Gruffly, he stated, “General Murphy.”
“Major Eugene Hammer, MP, sir. 110th Special Investigative Unit. This is a courtesy call to let you know that I’ll be arriving at Kelham today at eighteen-hundred hours,” Hammer said firmly, without inquiry or apology.
Which meant he was following orders. No more, no less. Straight up.
Murphy appreciated the style. Old school. Just the way he liked it.
As if Hammer’s words were nothing out of the ordinary, Murphy said, “What’s this about, Major?”
“I’ll brief you when I arrive, Sir.” Hammer paused. “It’s a little sensitive.”
Which meant he’d been ordered to deliver his message in person.
“You know we’re closing down here Friday at oh-five-hundred. Cupboards are bare. None of the comforts of home. Might want to bring your own pillow,” Murphy replied.
“Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you, Sir.” Hammer said, like a new recruit, before he hung up.
Which made Murphy both curious and suspicious.
A special investigator’s arrival was strange enough at any time. Particularly when he hadn’t been invited. Kelham had its own MPs.
What sensitive thing could be going on here to justify the disruption at this point?
Murphy didn’t spend any more time guessing about Hammer’s assignment. He had more important things to do.
CHAPTER SIX
Wednesday, May 11
Memphis, TN
3:00 p.m.
On the way to Memphis, Kim had read the contents of the jump drive the Boss had included in the manila envelope. The dead woman was a difficult case. The autopsy was hot off the coroner’s desk, still stamped classified, and the results were anything but straight forward.
She’d also spent half-an-hour online during the flight checking out the town and its public persona. Carter’s Crossing had a long and convoluted history, even in the official versions.
It was an old town near the northeastern corner of Mississippi, close to the Alabama and Tennessee state lines. It grew up during the nineteenth century and almost died in the next. But for government spending, it probably would have. The fate of Carter’s Crossing seemed tied to the whims of transportation.
Like a lot of towns in Middle America, Carter’s Crossing thrived when the railroads ruled the country. It was a stop on the route for locomotives to take on water and where the passengers could get a meal.
The town had its expansion and contraction along with the fate of the railroads until about 1950 when the Federal Government put an army base there. That worked out well for Carter’s Crossing until the interstate highway system was built.
At that point, the base was too far east of I-55 and too far west of I-65 to thrive. Economies were fed by trucking and motor vehicle travel on the interstates instead of railroads. Carter’s Crossing dwindled until it might have become a ghost town, like so many others.
The development of air travel changed the town’s fortunes again.
Kelham Army Base had an airstrip to make it viable in the aviation age.
Until the base experienced a similar growth and decline pattern following the fortunes of the army.
Warfare had changed, and so had the need for soldiers. Kelham, like many other military bases around the country, had little to offer the modern military.
Fifteen years ago, when Reacher worked undercover on the three murders in Carter’s Crossing, Kelham had already been downsized into little more than a specialized Ranger school. Which it still was.
Which meant that whatever Reacher was involved in back then didn’t hit the fan enough to result in closing the base at that time.
Over the past fifteen years, the town’s fortunes had improved. Industry and good jobs were lured in by tax breaks and cheap labor. A casino had opened up on the Native American reservation on the outskirts.
Jobs and tourism combined had increased the town’s population from ten to sixteen thousand. Which was a respectably sized community. The town Kim grew up in hadn’t been much larger.
She’d checked the maps. Tupelo, McKellar-Sipes, and Muscle Shoals regional airports were all closer to Carter’s Crossing. She’d have a long drive from Memphis.
Kim assumed the Boss had chosen Memphis because it was bigger and provided more options, including nonstop flights from DC and other cities. More flights and passengers milling around made anonymity somewhat feasible, too.