Time to Hunt by Stephen Hunter Page B

watch.
    That is, except for Donny.
    He was done, and still in his cone of isolation, finally changing into civvies—jeans and a white Izod shirt—when a runner came from headquarters and said he was wanted ASAP. No, he didn’t have to dress in the uniform of the day.
    Donny returned to Captain Dogwood’s office, where Bonson and Weber waited.
    “Captain, we could take him to our offices. Or would you allow us to use yours?”
    “Yes, sir, go ahead,” said Dogwood, who wanted to get home to see his own wife and kids too. “Stay here. Duty NCO will lock up when you’re finished.”
    “Thank you, Captain,” said Bonson.
    So Donny was alone with them at last. They were in civilian clothes this time, Weber looking like the Sigma Nu he’d undoubtedly been at Nebraska, and the dour Bonson in slacks and a black sport shirt, buttoned to the top. He looked almost like a priest of some sort.
    “Coffee?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Oh, sit down, Fenn. You don’t have to stand.”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
    Donny sat.
    “We want to go over your testimony with you. Tomorrow there’ll be an arraignment, at the Judge Advocate General’s Offices at the Navy Yard, nothing elaborate. It’s simply a preliminary to an indictment and trial. Ten hundred. We’ll send a car. Your undress blues will be fine; I’ve arranged with Captain Dogwood for you to be off the duty roster. Then I think we’ll give you a nice bit of leave. Two weeks? By that time, we should be able to cut orders for your new stripes. Sergeant Fenn. How does that sound?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Tomorrow won’t be hard, Fenn, I assure you. You’ll be sworn in and then you’ll recount how at my instruction you befriended Crowe and traveled with him into a number of peace movement functions. You’ll tell how you saw him in the presence of peace movement strategists such as Trig Carter. You saw them in serious conversation, intense conversation. You needn’t testify that you
overheard
him giving away deployment intelligence. Just tell what you saw, and let the JAG prosecutor do the rest. It’s enough for an indictment. He’ll have a lawyer, a JAG JG, who’ll ask you some rote questions. Then it’s over and done and off you go.”
    Bonson smiled.
    “Clean and simple,” said Weber.
    “Sir, I just … I don’t know what I can tell them. There were hundreds of people at those parties. I saw no evidence of
conspiracy
or deployment intelligence or—”
    “Now, Donny,” said Bonson, leaning forward and trying a smile. “I know this is confusing for you. But trust me. You’re doing your country a great service. You’re doing the Marines a great service.”
    “But I—”
    “Donny,” said Weber, “they knew. They
knew.”
    “Knew?”
    “They knew we had Third Infantry committed in Virginia,that the DC National Guard was a complete fuckup, the 101st Airborne was stuck at Justice and the 82nd down at the Key Bridge and that the cops were frazzled beyond endurance after eighty straight duty hours. It was an elaborate game of chess—they move here, we countermove; they move there, we countermove—all set up to get them to that bridge where they’d be faced by United States Marines where the chances of a big-time screwup on television were huge. And that’s just what they got: another martyr. Another catastrophe. The Justice Department humiliated. A propaganda victory of immense proportions. They’re parading with Amy’s name in London and Paris already. Give them credit, it was as skillful a campaign as there was.”
    “Yes, sir, but we tried to save her. The girl panicked. It had nothing to do with us.”
    “Oh, it had
everything
to do with you,” said Bonson. “They wanted her going off the bridge and the Marines to take the fall. See how much better that is than the Washington Metro Police or some third-rate National Guard unit, most of whom’d be demonstrating themselves if they had the chance? No, they
wanted
a big scandal to be laid