Duty and Dishonor Read online

  DUTY AND DISHONOR

  by

  Merline Lovelace

  * * *

  Copyright by Merline Lovelace

  All Rights Reserved

  Print Edition

  Published by Onyx

  An imprint of Dutton Signet

  A division of Penguin Books, USA

  First Printing November 1997

  Electronic Edition

  July 2010

  Cover Design by Kelli McBride

  Dear Readers

  For most of us the U.S. involvement in Vietnam now seems like ancient history. As though it happened in another life. Another world. And so it did. Yet for those of us who were there or who waited for loved ones to return from the conflict, those years will never be forgotten.

  I have to say, thought, that I never imagined my year in VN would one day provide fodder for a novel of sizzling suspense. To make the finished product come together I had to comb through a ton of memories -- and put my imagination to work overtime. It was quite a journey!

  All my best,

  Merline Lovelace

  Dedication

  To the men and women who served in Vietnam.

  With special thanks to:

  Brigadier General Jerry Dalton, USAF (Ret), for his extraordinary generosity in sharing his time and insights into the PAO’s role in Vietnam.

  Colonel Virginia Pribyla, USAF, SAF/PA, for not batting an eye when I called to ask who would convene her court martial if she were charged with, oh, say, murder.

  Major James Pasierb, USAF, Chief Public Affairs, for the USAF Office of Special Investigations for his invaluable assistance.

  Lieutenant Bill Price, Oklahoma City Police Department (Ret) for his expertise in combat trigger and 110-grain Super Vels.

  And most especially,

  My husband, Colonel Cary Lovelace, USAF (Ret), with whom I’ve shared one war, two careers, and four decades of adventure and romance. Thanks for the glorious ride, my darling.

  Chapter One

  Washington DC

  December 1991

  When her intercom buzzed that bright December afternoon, Colonel Julia Endicott had no idea that the simple message her secretary delivered would change her life forever.

  “General Titus wants to see you, ma’am.”

  Julia’s lips curved into a wry smile as she surveyed the crowd huddled around the work table in her Pentagon office. “Right now, I suppose?”

  Her secretary’s confirmed the supposition. “When else? His exec is holding on the line, waiting to confirm your availability.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way.”

  Julia hung up and closed the leather-bound notebook she’d been scribbling in. Rising, she waved the others to remain seated.

  “I want you all to keep working the media release on this base closure list. Hard! Pete, you get on the line to the Senate Liaison office. We need to know the minute the list gets voted out of subcommittee. Use my hotline.”

  “Will do, Colonel.”

  The tall, thin captain in wire-rimmed glasses reached for the phone on the console behind her desk. Notebook in hand, Julia headed for the door.

  “Donner, make sure the Installations folks coordinate on the economic impact numbers we’ll give the media. There were two different sets of figures floating around the halls when we worked the initial hit list last week.”

  “Right.”

  “The rest of you finish working the Chief’s statement. The draft he approved addresses most of the major issues, but I want an update on the closure schedules and estimate of jobs that will be lost.”

  She paused at the mirror behind the door. A quick glance assured her that she hadn’t chewed off all of her lipstick during her hellish round of afternoon meetings. She tucked an errant strand of silvery blond hair into the smooth twist at the back of her head and straightened the tab collar on her blouse. As Deputy Director of Air Force Public Affairs, she’d met with the Vice Chief of Staff often. She didn’t feel it necessary to don her service dress jacket with its rows of colorful ribbons and shiny silver eagles on each shoulder to answer his call. She satisfied herself with simply running a hand around the waistband of her slim, navy skirt to make sure her blouse was neatly tucked in.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she assured the group huddled around the conference table.

  “We’ll be here,” one of the civilians answered with a small grimace.

  Swiftly, Julia walked the echoing hallway of D-ring, the second of the Pentagon’s five concentric rings. The offices of the Director and Deputy Director of Public Affairs were on the fourth floor of the five-sided building, just minutes away from the executive suites on the outer ring. Uniform walls in an uninspiring shade of muddy cream stretched endlessly before her, broken by rows of glass-fronted doors and the broad corridors that intersected the rings at regular intervals. Deemed the Puzzle Palace by some long forgotten wit, either because of its confusing layout or because of the complex issues of national defense its occupants grappled with daily, the Pentagon was a familiar maze to Julia.

  After two tours within its granite walls, one as an eager, energetic young captain and now as a more seasoned colonel, she had learned her way around the corridors of power. While most officers avoided a second tour at the Air Staff like the plague, hating the long hours and never ending-stress, Julia thrived on the fast pace and the adrenaline-pumping issues. Of course, she didn’t have a spouse or children waiting at home while she put in so many endless hours, or the worries about the high cost of living in the D.C. area that made a Pentagon assignment seem like a to many. Over the years, she’d had a few close brushes with marriage and one early, broken engagement. Of late, she’d put most of her energy into her career.

  It helped that she was good at her job, damn good. Having joined the Air Force as a young, incredibly naive journalism grad, she’d spent the last twenty-four years learning how to frame the military’s triumphs and tragedies for public consumption. She’d also earned several early promotions in the process, and one or two wrinkles that skillfully applied make-up kept hidden. So far.

  General Titus, the Air Force’s second-in-command and Julia’s gruff mentor, had hinted that she was heir apparent for the director’s position when her boss retired next year. When that happened, Julia doubted if all the make-up in the world would disguise the pressures of the job. Still, promotion to one star would be worth a few more character lines.

  General Endicott.

  Julia K. Endicott, Brigadier General, USAF.

  Julia Endicott, Director of Public Affairs, United States Air Force.

  The title had a nice ring to it, she admitted with a grin, turning left onto Corridor 8. Her grin softened into a small, private smile as she thought how proud her father would have been to see silver stars on her epaulets. Lieutenant Colonel Paul Endicott hadn’t lived to see his daughter commissioned as a lieutenant, let alone pin on her eagles so many years later. He’d died while she was still in school, but Julia knew she was close to fulfilling his dreams for her as well as her own.

  A few more steps brought her to E-ring, the prestigious outer circle that housed the offices of the most senior civilian and military executives. The tile under her feet took on the resonance of marble. Oak pillars defined the long stretch of hallway that comprised the Air Force’s locus of power. Life-sized portraits of former Secretaries and Chiefs of Staff of the Air Force stared down from paneled walls.

  She speared a quick glance at her favorite, General Curtis LeMay. Bristling with medals, he held his famous cigar in hand. She’d once heard the crusty old warrior speak at the Air War College and had admired his blunt honesty. He’d never held a job he felt qualified for, LeMay claimed. Circumstance
and chance had always thrust him forward. Just as they had Julia.

  Halting outside the door to the Vice Chief’s suite of offices, she drew in a deep breath. For all his support of her career over the years, General Titus had a temper that matched what remained of his fiery red hair. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, and had been known to throw generals and captains out of his office with equal ruthlessness. Not for the first time since her summons a few moments ago, Julia wished she’d had just a little more time to finalize the press release on the pending base closure list. It was such a touchy political issue, impacting so many people’s lives. Every word of the release needed to carry just the right blend of concern and assurance. She was sure the Vice Chief would ask her about its status.

  Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, Julia opened the heavy, wood-paneled door. The general’s executive officer rose to his feet.

  “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Afternoon, Dave. Hello, Norma.”

  The executive assistant returned her greeting cordially. A pleasant-faced woman whose grandmotherly appearance hid a razor-sharp mind and a tenure that stretched back through six Vice Chiefs, she kept the general and his exec both straight. While Norma buzzed her boss to let him know of the colonel's arrival, Julia queried the exec.

  “Any idea what the boss wants to see me about, Dave?”

  The exec shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’ve got my trusty brain-book,” she replied with a smile, holding up the leather notebook that went everywhere with her. “If I don’t have all the facts and figures on whatever he wants to know right here, I’ll eat this sucker.”

  Norma’s smooth voice carried over the exec’s laughter. “The general’s ready for you, Colonel Endicott.”

  Nodding her thanks, Julia pulled open the heavy oak door. Her heels sank into plush blue carpet as she stepped into a huge, oak-paneled executive suite with a magnificent view of the Potomac. Rare December sunshine streamed through the tall bank of windows to her left. The bright sunlight illuminated the glittering array of memorabilia from three wars arranged on the built-in shelves that took up one whole wall.

  Only after she’d stopped before the general and snapped him a crisp salute did Julia notice the tall, unsmiling man in civilian clothes standing quietly a few feet away. Wondering who he was, Julia waited for General Titus to wave her to one of the elaborately carved chairs in front of his desk, as he normally did. The ebony Elephant chairs had been gifts from the Ethiopian government to an illustrious previous occupant of this office. As Julia had discovered, the elaborately carved chairs were uncomfortable as hell for anyone who had to sit in them for any length of time. She suspected General Titus kept them in his office for just that reason.

  To her surprise, he didn’t invite her to sit down. Under thick, red brows sprinkled with touches of frost, his blue eyes held a cool reserve.

  “Colonel Endicott,” he said finally, his voice terse, “this is Special Agent Ted Marsh of the Office of Special Investigations.”

  Her heart sinking, Julia turned to the tall, broad-shouldered man in the three-piece gray suit and discreet red tie. Oh, Lord, she wondered. What was going down now?

  As the Air Force’s investigative arm, the OSI worked all kinds of nasty stuff. Everything from drug smuggling to child molestation to old-fashioned, cloak-and-dagger spy rings fell within their purview. With the base closure list pending, her boss out of town, and half the Public Affairs staff on Christmas leave, the last thing Julia needed was for some sensational case to hit the front pages of the national press.

  “Special Agent Marsh,” she acknowledged with a small nod.

  “Colonel Endicott.

  The fact that she couldn’t interpret the closed expression in his gray eyes bothered her. After two decades of dealing with a frequently disdainful and hostile press corps, she’d learned to size people up at a glance. Marsh, with his hard, lean face and gunmetal eyes, defied easy categorization.

  She turned back to the general, her nerves tingling at the tense atmosphere in the room. Whatever had made these two men look so grim meant long, late hours for her and her staff tonight. So much for the leisurely dinner she’d planned with friends at Georgetown’s newest watering hole!

  When the heavy silence seemed to stretch interminably, Julia ventured a comment. “I take it the presence of the OSI means that you wanted to see me about something other than the Base Closure List.”

  As hints went, that was about as unsubtle as a colonel dared to be with a four-star general. General Titus didn’t respond.

  Seriously alarmed now, Julia’s nimble mind raced through the possible disasters that could have put such a stark look in his eyes. None of the catastrophic scenarios she imagined, however -- from mass casualties as a result of an aircraft crash to a loss of a nuclear warhead -- came close to preparing her for what he had to say.

  He leaned forward, bracing both palms on his desk. “I've just spoken to the Chief and to the Secretary of the Air Force. With their concurrence, Colonel Endicott, I am relieving you of all public affairs duties, effectively immediately.”

  His words were so unexpected, so absurd, that Julia didn’t fully absorb them at first.

  “You are now assigned as special assistant to Colonel Richards, head of the Issues Group.”

  His terse message finally penetrated her stunned mind. My God, he was serious! Reeling with shock, Julia gaped at him.

  “I...I don’t understand.”

  The man she’d always thought of as her mentor regarded her coldly. “You will be remain with the Issues Group pending an Article 32 investigation to determine whether you should be charged with murder.”

  “With what?”

  “Murder, Colonel Endicott. Wrongful death, as described in Article 118 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

  Julia stared at him blankly. She shook her head, trying desperately to force her brain to process the information it was being fed.

  Murder?

  Wrongful death?

  The words reverberated in her head, having no basis in reality.

  “With all due respect, sir, just what the hell is going on here?”

  A muscle twitched at the side of the general's jaw. At any other time Julia might have worried about this sure sign that he was holding himself in check with great effort. Now, she was too stunned to care.

  “The State Department recently negotiated a new cooperative agreement with government of Vietnam. A provision of that agreement included return of several sets of unidentified remains.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “One set has been positively identified as belonging to Captain Gabriel Hunter.”

  The leather notebook slid from Julia’s grasp. It hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud that echoed in the sudden silence. Lifting wildly trembling fingers, she pressed them against her lips, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the hoarse cry that ripped from her throat.

  “Gabe! Oh, my God, Gabe!”

  General Titus leaned forward, his mouth compressed to a thin, taut line. “Before you say anything else, Special Agent Marsh will advise you of your rights.”

  His voice sounded as though it were coming from a deep well. Julia heard the ripples of sound, but they bounced off the wall of her shock.

  They’d found Gabe!

  She didn’t turn, didn’t move as the special agent stepped forward. Her wide, unseeing eyes were fixed on the winter sunlight streaming through the windows. A distant vision shimmered in her mind, of tropic greenery and shell-pocked walls.

  “Colonel Endicott, I must advise you that you’re the prime suspect in Captain Hunter’s death.”

  As if her head was too heavy for her neck, Julia turned slowly to face the OSI investigator. She opened her mouth to speak. No sound emerged. She swallowed painfully and tried again.

  “Why?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Why am I a suspect? Captain Hunter disappeared after a Viet Cong
ambush during the 1972 Easter Offensive. He was listed as MIA, then KIA more than a dozen years ago.”

  Marsh hesitated, glancing at the general as if to confirm how much he should reveal. Julia’s stricken gaze turned to General Titus. The Vice Chief stared at her for a long moment, then nodded to the special agent.

  “Captain Hunter was ambushed," Marsh said flatly, "but not by the Viet Cong. A farmer found his remains in a shallow grave just a few yards off the road leading from Saigon to Long Binh.”

  The foul taste of nausea rose in Julia’s throat. A face shimmered in her mind. Laughing, arrogant, incredibly handsome.

  “A bullet was lodged in Captain Hunter’s skull,” Marsh continued. “Another in his chest cavity. A ballistic analysis has determined that they were a very special kind of bullet, Colonel Endicott. SuperVel, 110 grain, jacketed hollow points, to be exact.”

  Julia’s nails dug sharp, deep grooves in her palms. She knew what was coming next. Her face frozen, she stood rigid while her world crashed down around her.

  “The recovery team found a pistol buried in the grave with Captain Hunter. A Smith & Wesson Model 19, with a rosewood grip and a combat trigger. The serial number matches that of the weapon you obtained special permission to carry with you into Vietnam...the same weapon you reported missing two days after Captain Hunter disappeared.”

  She had to respond. She had to say something. Anything. Clenching her hands into fists to hide their trembling, Julia ran her tongue over dry lips.

  “The Smith & Wesson was stolen from my room at the women’s quarters.” She forced the words out, one by one. “A military policeman investigated the theft. One of the mama sans took the gun, he thought, although he couldn’t prove it.”