over and he doesn’t have anyone left? He’s been talking about leaving, letting his soldiers rest and refit, which likely means sitting out the war. We can’t afford that just now as we’re stretched thin enough as it is.”
“Got it,” Paul said. One man versus twenty-five thousand, yeah, he got it all right. One man like him didn’t count much stacked against all those thousands of badly needed soldiers.
“Colonel Valdez has highly placed contacts,” Anderson said, “powerful people that want to keep him happy. Some of them have put pressure on General Ochoa.”
Here it comes, Paul thought. “Yeah?” he asked.
“I can understand your cynicism, but you have nothing to worry about.”
“Who’s worried?” Paul asked.
“I wouldn’t be party to handing over an American soldier in my command to anyone. I give you my word on that.”
Paul sensed something in Anderson. And he recalled how the captain had lost his hand. Back in Alaska, he’d held the rearguard for an outfit pulling out from the advancing Chinese. Second Lieutenant Anderson had been one of the soldiers staying behind, firing a heavy machine gun to give the rest of the unit cover. The Chinese attacked swarm-style. Anderson had remained at his post, firing until an enemy bullet destroyed his hand and the machine gun. Another bullet had ricocheted around in his helmet, knocking him unconscious.
The Chinese advance reached his position and passed the unconscious officer by. Later, with a bleeding head and ruined hand, Anderson had begun a long, long journey back to American lines. The captain had guts, and he didn’t quit. No, he didn’t seem like the kind of officer to hand over one of his men.
Paul Kavanagh sat up and nodded. “I believe you, sir.”
“Good. I don’t like my men thinking I’m a turncoat or a sellout. Like our country, you’ve been through a lot. Personally, I’d like to see this problem taken care of. General Ochoa agrees with me. To that end, I’ve arranged a meeting between you and Valdez.”
Paul had to work not to swivel his head to look behind him. He could imagine MPs waiting outside for him. Despite the captain’s words just now—
“When and where would the meeting take place?” Paul asked.
Flicking his wrist and pulling back the cuff, Anderson checked his gold-rimmed watch. “In three minutes. He’s coming here, alone with his driver. Are you armed, Master Sergeant?”
Paul felt a prickle along his neck. Despite everything, was this a sellout? He couldn’t believe it. “Yes sir, you probably see I’m wearing a gun. Do you want my sidearm?”
“General Ochoa told me to take it from you,” Anderson said, staring Paul in the eyes.
Paul’s chest tightened.
“But I’m not going to do that,” Anderson said.
Paul’s nostrils flared, and he nodded in the manner of one elite warrior to another.
There came a knock at the door.
“Ah, it appears Colonel Valdez is a little early,” Anderson said. “Are you ready, Master Sergeant?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Paul said.
“Enter,” Anderson said.
A sergeant opened the door. As he did, Paul stood and turned around. He didn’t like having his back to Valdez. A hard-faced man entered. It must be the driver. The man was big, in uniform, and he stared at Paul with cold eyes.
This one means to kill me.
Colonel Valdez strode in next. He was shorter than the driver and an inch taller than Captain Anderson. He had darker, pitted skin. He must have had chicken pox as a kid. A cigar smoldered between his lips. He had a sharp nose and a fierce presence radiating from him. His eyes burned black like coals as they focused on Paul.
Kavanagh’s neck hairs prickled and his right hand instinctively dropped onto his hostler. With a twitch of his fingers, he unsnapped it.
Valdez shot an accusing glance at Captain Anderson. “Ochoa promised me he would be—”
“Colonel Valdez!” Anderson said at parade-ground volume.
It seemed to take an effort of will, but Valdez tore his gaze from Paul to look at Anderson.
“I’d like to show your driver into the other room,” Anderson said.
“My driver stays with me,” Valdez said.
“Sergeant,” Anderson said to the man at the door. “Draw your weapon and point it at Colonel Valdez’s driver. If he twitches a muscle, shoot him, kill him.”
The driver had been busy staring down Paul. His eyebrows lifted now, he turned and his hand dropped toward the weapon on his belt.
Paul didn’t wait for the surprised sergeant to do as he’d been told. He drew his gun before anyone else did. “This isn’t the place for it,”