The Cornwalls Are Gone (Amy Cornwall #1) - James Patterson Page 0,15

combat zone. Still, in a hip holster is her Army-issued SIG Sauer 9mm P228 pistol, and in her inside jacket pocket is her government ID and gold-and-blue CID badge.

Her black leather courier bag is on the carpeted floor, next to her chair.

She waits.

The door before her opens up and an apologetic Army major pokes his head out, his name tag saying WENNER, wearing the camouflage Army combat uniform.

“Special Agent Vasquez, Lieutenant Colonel Denton will see you now.”

“Outstanding,” she says, grabbing her dispatch case and following the slim, young-looking major into the lieutenant colonel’s office.

The office is twice as large as the waiting area, with the same type of framed photos as wall decorations. There’s a small black leather couch on the left that Major Bruno Wenner takes, and one wall is covered by filing cabinets. Three unlocked drawers have bright-red cardboard signs saying OPEN slid in just above the handles. There are two brown leather chairs in front of Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Denton’s desk. He doesn’t get up, just gives her a crisp nod.

She takes one of the chairs, and says, “Sir.”

“A moment,” he says, looking down through a pair of reading glasses at an open file folder, a telephone system before him, a computer terminal at his elbow. Denton has broad shoulders and a barrel chest, wiry gray hair, and a frowning weathered face. He seems to be about forty-five.

Rosaria waits. She knows the lieutenant colonel hates having her here, hates having her presence known on Fort Belvoir, quietly spreading the news that some sort of blemish has been placed on his unit.

He finally looks up. “Captain Cornwall isn’t here.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “Will she be in at all today?”

Major Wenner speaks up from the other side of the room. “She’s…ah…she called in sick.”

Rosaria doesn’t turn her head to the major. She keeps looking at Lieutenant Colonel Denton. “Sir…I’ve come up here today from Quantico, expecting to meet with Captain Cornwall about an incident that occurred while she was on deployment in Afghanistan. This interview is vital to my investigation, sir. Is it my understanding that she could not make this appointment because she is ill? Sir?”

Lieutenant Colonel Denton’s eyes narrow. His eyebrows are the same gray color as his hair.

Major Wenner speaks up. “She is ill.”

Rosaria says, “Is she in a hospital? At some medical facility? Major?”

Some quiet seconds pass. Rosaria hears a jet overhead, probably heading to DC.

Major Wenner says, “I believe she’s at home, Special Agent Vasquez. And not at a medical facility.”

Rosaria can tell the lieutenant colonel’s executive officer is very good at his job, being the quiet intermediary, the one who calms the lieutenant colonel, who supplies information, excuses, and anything to make the office run smoothly and cleanly. Like the good mom, trying to smooth things over among squabbling siblings, although Rosaria has never known a real mom or dad in her life. Although she’s only just met the executive officer, she’s sure he’s popular among the personnel at this intelligence battalion.

“Colonel Denton…is that true?”

“If Major Wenner says it, then it must be true.”

“I see, sir.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that you’ve just wasted a morning drive,” he says sourly. “Three years ago, we were at Fort Gordon, in Georgia. It was a nice posting, until some bureaucrats and a congressman moved us here to Virginia in some high-class shuffle.”

Rosaria says, “I’ll certainly keep that in mind, sir.”

He abruptly closes the manila folder. “I suggest you come back tomorrow.”

Rosaria slowly picks up her leather bag. “At oh-eight hundred, sir?”

Lieutenant Colonel Denton stares at her. “My XO will advise you later today.”

“Very well, sir.”

She stands up and Denton says, “Call me old-fashioned and cranky, Special Agent Vasquez, but I don’t like seeing on-duty Army personnel wearing civilian clothes on my post.”

Rosaria says, “Then I won’t do it, sir.”

“What?”

She starts out of the office. “I won’t call you old-fashioned or cranky. Sir.”

CHAPTER 16

LESS THAN twenty minutes later, Rosaria Vasquez is parked in the driveway of Captain Cornwall’s home in Kingstowne, Virginia. She steps out of her government-issued white GMC sedan, notes a light-blue Honda CR-V with Virginia license plates in the driveway. She checks paperwork in her folder. Registered to Captain Cornwall and her husband, Tom, a former reporter for the AP, the New York Times, and other news outlets. They have a young girl, named Denise. Ten years old. They’ve been together for eleven years, got married when they were in their early twenties. Lots of moving around in the States due to their