Chapter 26
THEY ENTERED THE RESIDENTIAL CUL-DE-SAC and Brodie walked past their house.
Taylor asked, “Where are you going?”
“Not home, where Captain Pickman’s lying in wait with his Beretta trained on the door.”
“Good point. For now, we’re better off not being where we say we’re going to be. And we have some outstanding business to attend to.” He headed toward the late Major Roger Ames’s house, number six, which still had yellow police tape across the front door.
On the way, Brodie looked across the cul-de-sac at Brigadier General Morgan’s house, where an MP vehicle was now parked.
He wondered if the general’s wife was happy to get so much quality time with her husband—which would become even more if he was relieved of command, and considerably less if he was sent to prison. It’s not easy being an Army wife.
Brodie approached the door to house number six and ripped away the police tape. Taylor punched in the code that Captain Spencer had given them yesterday and then opened the door.
They entered a house identical to their own.
Brodie walked through the living room, looking for personal items or effects that might clue them in to anything about the deceased, but as Captain Spencer had indicated, Mendez and his people had already emptied everything out.
Maybe he’d spot something they hadn’t. Wouldn’t be the first time.
They entered one of the bedrooms, which was cleared other than furniture and a bedside lamp. There was a safe in the corner that was opened and empty.
They went into the second bedroom, which was identical, and identically barren. Taylor searched the closet, then got on her knees to inspect the floor.
“What is it?” asked Brodie.
“Loose baseboard.” She pried at something, then after a minute came out with a clear plastic bin the size of a small shoebox. The bottom was packed with dark soil and spilling out the top were about two dozen mushrooms.
“I guess you found his stash.”
They inspected the mushrooms, which were of varying sizes, all a creamy white color with circles of brownish gold in the center of each cap.
“The question,” said Taylor, “is whether this has anything to do with the case or is just a private hobby of the murder victim.”
Right. Did this offer any clues to the major’s state of mind at the time he was killed?
Had he been flying high when Bucky killed him, and did that have something to do with his death?
Brodie recalled that psilocybin had been found in his hair but not his blood, where the drug is cleared more quickly, making it unlikely Ames had ingested these in the hours before his demise.
Taylor said, “Let’s give this to the MPs, who can arrange to send it out for testing. Not that I think he was growing mushrooms for his omelets in a secret compartment behind the molding, but we should be thorough.”
“Good idea.” He eyed the mushrooms. “You ever try these?”
She nodded. “In college a couple of times. One time was lovely, in the woods on an autumn day. The other time was for the cherry blossom festival at the National Mall in DC. Bad idea. The trees were spectacular but that whole place is pulsing with malevolent energy.”
“I don’t need to take hallucinogens to know that.”
“Sure,” said Taylor. “You know it, but you don’t feel it in your soul.”
“So, these kind of tune you in?”
“Sort of. They tune you in to the world, and they tune you out of all the bullshit going on inside your head. It can cause a kind of ego death.” She added, “Though I think you’d need to eat this whole grow box to kill your ego.”
“Cheap shot.”
She smiled, then looked at the mushrooms. “They can make you feel like you’re part of everything, like everything in the world is connected, and it’s comforting.
It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Also, the experiences kind of stay with you.
Unlike alcohol or marijuana, it doesn’t affect your memory.
And the positive feelings can be long-lasting, well after it’s out of your system. ”
“What about the negative feelings?”
She nodded. “Those too. There’s a risk with this kind of thing, which is why I never touched them again after my bad trip. They’re not going to harm your body in any appreciable way, but they can wreak havoc on your mind.”
Maybe Roger Ames, like PFC Tom Greer and many others at this godforsaken place, had been losing his grip on reality. He’d just picked a different poison. Brodie said, “Let’s check the back.”
They left the bedroom. Taylor put the grow box back into the secret compartment behind the baseboard, then they left the bedroom and stepped into the backyard, which, like theirs, featured a small patio with a few pieces of outdoor furniture, high wooden fences on both sides, and a spread of rock-and-succulent landscaping running to Camp Hayden’s tall steel perimeter fence.
Both agents looked around, not really knowing what they were searching for, and understanding that this stop in the investigation was mostly a bust. Yes, they’d uncovered the major’s funky fungi stash, but all that did was corroborate what the coroner had already found.
Brodie walked through the small sandy yard toward the perimeter fence. In the distance he saw the training village, and he wondered if the major had ever stood here, watching from inside the wire as his toy soldiers overran the real ones.
He turned to walk back and noticed a strange feeling underfoot. Hard and hollow. He stomped his shoe and hit something that wasn’t earth.
He dropped to his knees and began to dig. Taylor joined him. They uncovered a piece of plywood sheathing about the size of a door, then dug around its edges until they had enough leverage to lift it up and flip it to the side.
They looked into a trench about eight feet by four feet, covered by a dark-green tarp. Brodie ripped off the tarp to reveal two plastic heavy-duty storage trunks. He leaned down and flipped them open.
Both trunks were filled with weapons: three M4s with EMP barrel attachments, two grenade launchers, two shoulder-fired RPGs, a few handguns, two body armor vests, and dozens of boxes of ammunition.
“Holy shit,” said Taylor.
Brodie spotted some writing on the underside of the plywood that had covered the trench. In thick black handwritten letters, it read: SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM.
Brodie recognized the ancient Latin phrase, and as he looked back at the pit full of weapons Taylor translated it aloud:
“If you want peace, prepare for war.”