Armed Resistance

Seeing they had not demonstrated proper protocol, Lyons and Schwarz followed suit. They should have presented their identification and orders to investigate to the base commander immediately on arrival, but they knew the oversight would be forgivable under the circumstances. If nothing else, Blancanales was convinced Saroyan didn’t know anything about the missing weapons; his choice to not tell them Scott was actually AWOL was little more than courteous. No matter whom they represented, in Saroyan’s and Shubin’s view the trio were outsiders and would be treated as such where it concerned reputable Army officers until they had proved their trustworthiness.

Once Saroyan made a cursory inspection of their credentials, he sat back and smiled, although Blancanales didn’t see much warmth in it.

“Now that we’ve dispensed with formalities,” Saroyan said, “I’d like to follow up on your earlier comment. I’ve known Colonel Scott for a good many years, gentlemen. As a matter of fact he served as my S1 officer during Operation Iraqi Freedom. He’s a man of good reputation, not to mention a United States Army officer and a gentleman. I’m sure his family emergency has nothing to do with the missing weapons.”

“Sir, you’ll understand if we tell you that it’s our responsibility to investigate anything we think may be related to these missing weapons,” Lyons said.

“I know your responsibilities, Mr. Irons.”

“I think what Chief Irons is actually trying to say,” Blancanales cut in, “is that we must consider Colonel Scott’s sudden departure as a little untimely. We do need to review all possibilities, of course. However, under the present circumstances will be more than happy to work with Sergeant Major Shubin until we can speak with Colonel Scott.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Rose,” Shubin said.

“You must understand, sir, that we will have to speak with Colonel Scott before we leave Camp Shelby and return to Washington,” Schwarz hastily added.

“Of course, absolutely,” Saroyan said. “As I’ve already told you, gentlemen, you will have the full cooperation of me and my staff and the resources of Camp Shelby at your disposal. We’re ready to cooperate with your investigation.”

“Thank you,” Lyons replied.

Saroyan turned his attention to Shubin. “Sergeant Major, escort these men to their quarters. I’m sure they would like to get cleaned up before heading to the armory and speaking with Lieutenant Jaeger.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And who’s Lieutenant Jaeger, sir?” Lyons said.

“Jaeger’s Colonel Scott’s XO. He’ll be able to answer any questions you have to your satisfaction.” Saroyan favored Schwarz with a glance and added, “That is, of course, until Colonel Scott can get back here.”

“Exactly how long is Colonel Scott expected to be gone, sir?” Blancanales asked.

Lyons had difficulty repressing a smile. While his tactics were much different in human interactions, there were times the wisdom of his friend shone through. He knew that Blancanales hadn’t asked the question because he actually wanted to know when Scott would return; Blancanales wanted to see how Saroyan would dance around the inquiry.

Saroyan replied straight-faced. “I’m not really certain since it was an emergency. I approved a pass of up to seventy-two hours for him if needed, and so I would expect him back here in that time unless he notifies my office prior to that, of course. Will there be anything else?”

“Not at all,” Blancanales replied. “Thank you again, sir.”

The three men rose, the meeting obviously adjourned, and Shubin escorted them out to the parking lot. They decided to follow him rather than ride in his vehicle so they could discuss the short, if not very strange, meeting with Shubin and Saroyan. Rather than go to their quarters, however, Lyons had insisted Shubin take them straight to the armory depot where the missing weapons had been stored.

“I don’t like him,” Lyons said when they were alone.

“Who…Saroyan?” Schwarz asked.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think he’s a bad egg,” Blancanales said. “And he doesn’t strike me as the type who would get into arms smuggling, especially not with all the checks and balances that are required.”

“This was obviously an inside job, Pol,” Lyons insisted.

“I don’t disagree.” Blancanales shook his head. “But at the end of the day I don’t think Saroyan had anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, but he lied for Scott with that cockamamie story about him having emergency leave,” Schwarz said.

“Covering the ass of a trusted officer doesn’t automatically qualify the guy for collusion with Sudanese terrorists,” Blancanales reminded his friend. “Not to mention the fact that we have no hard evidence to suggest even Colonel Scott’s culpable. We’re talking about high treason here, committed by more than one Army officer, and I’m not entirely convinced that’s the case.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time somebody inside the U.S. military flipped sides,” Lyons said.

“Of course not. But let’s consider motives, Ironman, or at least the lack thereof in this case.”

Schwarz said, “He’s got a point there. There really isn’t any evidence to suggest Scott or Saroyan is working with the Lord’s Resistance Army.”

“I can think of one very good motive,” Lyons countered. “Money.”

“According to the initial reports we got from the Farm, only twelve weapons were missing,” Schwarz said. “The U.S. military property ownership stampings were still on them along with the serial numbers, making them easily tracked, which means that most of the guns could have fetched a price of maybe five hundred dollars each.”

“So six grand for the lot, and that’s before you pay off customs inspectors, smugglers and anybody else who’s due a cut,” Blancanales said. He looked at Lyons and replied, “Doesn’t seem worth spending the next thirty years at Leavenworth for chump change.”

“Okay, so maybe I hadn’t thought of that,” Lyons admitted.

“You know what strikes me as odd?” Blancanales asked.

“The fact you haven’t been on a real date in the last decade?” Schwarz offered.

“Oh…we have a funny guy on our hands,” Blancanales said. He continued in a more serious tone. “What really strikes me as odd is why only a dozen guns. Sure, they’re military-grade small arms. M-16 A-3 carbines in the hands of trained terrorists or guerrillas can do some significant damage. But you’re not going to win a war with them and it seems like an awful lot of effort to go to just for a few guns.”

“Especially if you’re shipping them to a country where guns are a dime a dozen,” Schwarz said.

Lyons had to admit he hadn’t considered it and there was no disputing Blancanales’s point—no surprises since most of his friend’s observations were equally astute. Conflict had been going on for so long in Sudan with the skirmishes and microcosmic civil wars between the various groups, each fighting for its own power and political position, that the arms market had all but consumed the meager resources of the country. Illegal weapons came from every part of the world: Europe, China, parts of Southeast Asia and the Middle East.

And now the United States.

There was certainly no shortage of guns in Sudan. Way more money could be made sending things like food, potable water and nutritional supplements. Medications were also a big game in Sudan. An entire pharmaceutical underground had been established in the country, selling everything from antibiotics to painkillers to experimental drugs. American military personnel getting involved in smuggling weapons out of the United States, even civilians, appeared to create a risk much greater than would prove profitable. It just didn’t make any sense.

“Well, whatever’s going on,” Lyons finally said after a time of silence, “we need to get to the bottom of it so we can get the intelligence to Phoenix Force. David and friends are going to need that information in order to accomplish their mission objectives.”

“No argument from me,” Schwarz said.

“Agreed,” Blancanales added. “I would hate to think our dragging ass caused them a lot of additional heartache. If we—”

Blancanales never got to finish his statement as Schwarz shouted and pointed in the direction of a van hurtling toward the intersection they were approaching from their left. At the speed they were moving it seemed evident they would impact Shubin’s car at precisely the moment he reached the middle of the intersection. The cross street had the stop, and from Shubin’s speed it appeared the Army noncom hadn’t spotted the looming peril.

“That’s trouble!” Schwarz cried.

“He doesn’t see them, Pol,” Lyons said. “We need to get in front of him!”

Blancanales was obviously already in tune with the thoughts of his friend because he’d tromped the accelerator and whipped the nose of their sedan into the oncoming lane to pass Shubin. As they gained ground, the precious seconds ticking, Blancanales ordered his friends to brace for impact.

And then they smashed headlong into the fender of the van.

CHAPTER FOUR