The Enemy

Year’s Day.”
    “That’s an offense now?”
    “You wore your nameplate.”
    I said nothing.
    “You put two civilians in the hospital. While wearing your nameplate.”
    I stared at him. Thought hard. I didn’t believe the fat guy and the farmer had dropped a dime on me. Not possible. They were stupid, but they weren’t that stupid. They knew I knew where I could find them.
    “Who says so?” I asked.
    “You had a big audience in that parking lot.”
    “One of ours?”
    Willard nodded.
    “Who?” I said.
    “No need for you to know.”
    I kept quiet.
    “You got anything to say?” Willard asked me.
    I thought:
He won’t testify at the court-martial. That’s for damn sure. That’s what I’ve got to say.
    “Nothing to say,” I said.
    “What do you think I should do with you?”
    I said nothing.
    “What do you think I should do?”
    You should figure out the difference between a hard-ass and a dumb-ass, pal. You should figure it out real quick.
    “Your choice,” I said. “Your decision.”
    He nodded. “I also have reports from General Vassell and Colonel Coomer.”
    “Saying what?”
    “Saying you acted in a disrespectful manner toward them.”
    “Then those reports are incorrect.”
    “Like the UA was incorrect?”
    I said nothing.
    “Stand at attention,” Willard said.
    I looked at him. Counted
One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand.
Then I came to attention.
    “That was slow,” he said.
    “I’m not looking to win a drill competition,” I said.
    “What was your interest in Vassell and Coomer?”
    “An agenda for an Armored Branch conference is missing. I need to know if it contained classified information.”
    “There was no agenda,” Willard said. “Vassell and Coomer have made that perfectly clear. To me, and to you. To ask is permissible. You have that right, technically. But to willfully disbelieve a senior officer’s direct answer is disrespectful. It’s close to harassment.”
    “Sir, I do this stuff for a living. I believe there was an agenda.”
    Now Willard said nothing.
    “May I ask what was your previous command?” I said.
    He shifted in his chair.
    “Intelligence,” he said.
    “Field agent?” I asked. “Or desk jockey?”
    He didn’t answer.
Desk jockey.
    “Did you have conferences without agendas?” I asked.
    He looked straight at me.
    “Direct orders, Major,” he said. “One, terminate your interest in Vassell and Coomer. Forthwith, and immediately. Two, terminate your interest in General Kramer. We don’t want flags raised on that matter, not under the circumstances. Three, terminate Lieutenant Summer’s involvement in special unit affairs. Forthwith, and immediately. She’s a junior-grade MP and after reading her file as far as I’m concerned she always will be. Four, do not attempt to make further contact with the local civilians you injured. And five, do not attempt to identify the eyewitness against you in that matter.”
    I said nothing.
    “Do you understand your orders?” he said.
    “I’d like them in writing,” I said.
    “Verbal will do,” he said. “Do you understand your orders?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Dismissed.”
    I counted
One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand.
Then I saluted and turned around. I made it all the way to the door before he fired his parting shot.
    “They tell me you’re a big star, Reacher,” he said. “So right now you need to decide whether you keep on being a big star, or whether you let yourself become an arrogant smart-ass son of a bitch. And you need to remember that nobody likes arrogant smart-ass sons of bitches. And you need to remember we’re coming to a point where it’s going to matter whether people like you or not. It’s going to matter a lot.”
    I said nothing.
    “Do I make myself clear, Major?”
    “Crystal,” I said.
    I got my hand on the door handle.
    “One last thing,” he said. “I’m going to sit on the brutality complaint. For as long as I possibly can. Out of respect for your record. You’re very lucky that it came up internally. But I want you to remember that it’s here, and it stays active.”

    I left Rock Creek just before five in the afternoon. Caught a bus into Washington D.C., and another one south down I-95. Then I removed my lapel insignia and hitched the final thirty miles to Bird. It works a little faster that way. Most of the local traffic is enlisted men, or retired enlisted men, or their families, and most of them are suspicious of MPs. So