“Okay, but if he orders me, I’ll have to tell him.”
“I don’t think he’ll order you to tell him.” Stone told everything, beginning with the disappearance of the mahogany secretary and continuing through the story of the theft near the end of the war.
“What did they steal?” Holly asked.
“I don’t know, b
ut it must have been fairly easily transported and easy to dispose of after they got it back to the States. And it must have been substantial in value, as it seems to have funded the lives of the participants when they became civilians again.”
“Makes sense.”
Stone picked up the first folder. “My guess is that the other participants are likely to have come from Sergeant Cantor’s squad, since he would have been closer to his men and known them better than he would as a platoon or company commander.” He opened the folder.
“He had five men in his squad,” she said, “but two of them were fatalities before the end of the war.”
“One of them was probably murdered by someone else in the squad,” Stone said, “when he was unhappy with the way the loot was divided.”
“Both fatalities occurred in ’Nam and are listed as KIA,” Holly said.
“I guess it’s easier to shoot somebody when your outfit is being shot at.”
“Right, and what you’ve got there are the service records of the remaining three original squad members and Cantor. I didn’t think you’d be interested in the replacements.”
“Probably not,” Stone said, looking through the folders. “He would have trusted the original guys more.” He glanced through the records. “Two of these guys were from New York: one from Queens, one from the Bronx. Bob Cantor is from Brooklyn. Would it be unusual for three of a squad to be from the same city?”
“It’s the luck of the draw, so it’s probably a coincidence,” Holly said.
“I think it makes sense to start with the two other New Yorkers,” Stone said. “We’ve got their addresses here.”
Holly shook her head. “Those are probably not current; they were the addresses when they enlisted. But there should be next of kin listed with an address. They could still be alive.”
“These are guys in their fifties,” Stone said.
“Lots of people in their fifties still have living parents.”
Stone picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Let’s see.” He put the phone down again. “Out of service.” He tried the other one.
“Hello?” A small child.
“Hi,” Stone said, “can I speak with your daddy?”
The kid dropped the phone like a rock, and Stone could hear him screaming for his father.
“Hello?” a male voice said. “Who do you want?” The voice was heavily Spanish-accented.
Stone hung up. “Hispanic. Not our guy. The Pentagon wouldn’t have current addresses?”
“Not likely, but the Veterans Administration might, especially if either guy has used his veterans’ benefits. I can do a computer search but not now.” She leaned over and kissed him hotly.
“I guess it can wait until tomorrow,” Stone managed to say.
13
Stone woke the following morning with a warm girl heating his rib cage. He was ravenously hungry, and it occurred to him that they, in their enthusiasm, had never gotten around to dinner.
“I’m not awake,” Holly whispered.
“Do you want breakfast?”