I walked past the vacant lot to the diner. Lunch, for one. I ordered the cheeseburger again, and then stepped over to the phone by the door and called the Pentagon. Colonel John James Frazer. Senate Liaison. He answered on the first ring. I asked him, “What genius decided to classify that plate number?”He said, “I can’t tell you that.”“Whoever, it was a bad mistake. All it did was confirm the car belongs to a Kelham guy. It was practically a public announcement.”“We had no alternative. We couldn’t put it in the public domain. Journalists would have gotten it five minutes after local law enforcement. We couldn’t allow that.”“Now it sounds like you’re telling me it belonged to a Bravo Company guy.”“I’m not telling you anything. But believe me, we had no choice. The consequences would have been catastrophic.”Something in his voice.“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I said. “Because right now you’re making it sound like it was Reed Riley’s own personal vehicle.”No response.I asked, “Was it?”No answer.“Was it?”“I can’t confirm or deny,”
