Cut Out by Bob Mayer Page A

specialties, then the surviving students were assigned training teams and sent to Camp Mackall for a final training exercise called Robin Sage. For the students the course was a one-time grind. For the instructors it was a never-ending rotation, as the long-range training calendar on the wall of Riley’s cubicle constantly reminded him.
    Riley stared with consummate distrust at the laptop computer he’d been issued when assigned to A Company. Every officer who came in as a student to A Company was issued one of the computers for use during the course. Riley imagined that somehow it helped training, but he would have preferred to see each student issued a 9mm pistol and spend the sixteen hours learning to operate that weapon instead of a computer. Riley often joked with the commander of A Company, Major Welch, that he was going to put his computer in his rucksack on the next jump and see how it fared.
    The phone rang and Riley ignored it. He made it a rule never to answer the phone in the company area. Usually the company training NCO up front handled all calls, and Riley didn’t see “secretary” listed anywhere in his job description. Besides, phone calls usually meant something was screwed up; in the army nobody ever called to say things were going well or as planned.
    The phone kept up its insistent braying, past the normal three or four rings. Riley gave it eight, then reluctantly picked up the receiver. “A Company, 1st Battalion, Chief Riley.”
    “Dave, it’s Donna.”
    Riley’s feet swung off his desk in surprise. Giannini had never called him at work. “What’s up?”
    “I’ve got a friend who’s in trouble and she needs help and she’s down in your neck of the woods.”
    Riley digested the run-on sentence without a blink. “What kind of trouble?”
    “I don’t know. She says someone killed her husband and now they’re trying to kill her.”
    “Sounds like pretty big trouble,” Riley commented warily. “Sounds like police-type trouble.”
    “I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, Dave, but I think she is in big trouble and needs help. She may have professional killers after her, and there may be a reason why she can’t go to the police.”
    “Where’s she at?”
    “Gordontown. It’s about five miles from I-85 just below Greensboro.”
    Riley twisted in his seat and glanced at the map tacked on the wall. Many of the exercises in which he was involved were run off the Fort Bragg Military Reservation, particularly one called Troy Trek, which covered almost a hundred miles in and around the Uwharrie National Forest, in central North Carolina. He spotted Gordontown on the northwest side of the national forest.
    “Yeah, I see it. How do I contact her?”
    “You don’t. She contacts you. I passed on to her what you and your truck look like. You go to the center of town and park outside the courthouse, across from the police station, and she’ll link up with you.”
    “What’s going on?” Riley asked. “Why all the secrecy? If someone killed her husband and is trying to kill her, why doesn’t she go to the cops?”
    “She says she doesn’t trust the cops. I don’t know too much about what’s going on. When you meet her, ask her what the story is and straighten all this out.”
    Riley leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, considering the situation. Giannini didn’t give him much time for reflection. “Hey, listen, Dave. I’m asking this as a personal favor.”
    She didn’t bother to add that he owed her one—indeed Riley owed her his life—but he had already added it into his mental calculations. “All right. I’m on my way.”
    “Thanks, Dave. Get in contact with me once you talk to her and tell me what’s going on.”
    “Okay.” Riley hung up the phone and headed out. He stuck his head inside the company commander’s door before exiting the fourth floor. “Hey, sir, I’ve got to take care of some stuff. I’ll be out the rest of the day.”
    “Roger.” Major