us reconvene again by conference call in a fortnight. My heartfelt appreciation, and best wishes for good hunting.”
The determined secrecy of the Preacher Lady’s movements, Andrea believed, was designed not only to avoid the press, but confrontation with angry members of religious groups who had been heckling her speeches. She assumed that other competent people had tried to interview Hannah in recent months, and realized that half the challenge in getting her comments on camera would be finding and confronting the woman alone.
Sammy probed hotel chain databases in the southeast for group room reservations made for five or six men and one woman during the next two weeks. When he found them in the Holiday Inn in Macon, Georgia, he booked two rooms on the same floor.
He had not been prohibited from working the artifact story by Rand Duncan, and had been scrolling through the 82 nd Association web every chance he got. When he came to Andrea’s office with the details of her motel reservations, he told her he had located two Bravo Company troopers, one who had not been quizzed during the MI investigation.
“ The guy was on 30 day leave that summer, from which he’d been transferred directly to the 101 st Airborne Division, Fort Campbell, Kentucky.”
She took the printout from Sammy’s extended hand. “Corporal Brian L. Davidson, Third Aviation Platoon,” she read aloud. “On the ground spring of ‘03 in a unit just like Mitchell’s. Good one, Sam.”
“ Davidson poked into the association site to find a friend back at Bragg. No idea if he knows anybody in Mitchell’s Second, or heard some scuttlebutt about the artifact.”
“ Right now, I have to get ready for my Preacher babe. Track him down for me, will you, Sam? I’ll call you from Georgia.”
“ The other name, William Carr, since discharged, was an MP in Callaghan’s 3 rd Battalion.”
She held the sheet of paper in one hand, and reached for her briefcase with the other. “Great stuff! Set them up for my Q & A if they sound like they have anything to offer.”
“ Not until after your doctor’s appointment.”
“ I have to cancel that. I do not have time for....”
He pulled the data sheet out of her hand, folded and put it back in his shirt pocket. “No tickee, no laundee.”
“ Bastard!”
They sat in partner’s chairs in front of Doctor Lawton, who was seated at a wide table whose surface was all but obscured by stacks of colored file folders. The chief neurosurgeon at Georgetown University Hospital was average height, fit, in his late fifties with a ring of white hair around his bald pate and close-cropped beard to match. His demeanor seemed almost phlegmatic except for the alert brown eyes, which apparently did not require the aid of glasses. The walls of his small, windowless office were lined with bookcases jammed with medical texts, reference books, periodicals and stacks of papers. This cubbyhole was not where he performed his most important work.
The physician had examined Andrea in an adjoining room, his expression registering no change as he probed the muscles of her left leg and other extremities before concentrating on the back of her neck and spine. He assured her that the MRI scan she had undergone an hour ago revealed no tumors or other major abnormalities, nor did her previous computed and position tomography. The reset test, however, did suggest that a bone in her neck might be pressing on a motor nerve, causing the leg problem. Lawton asked her several questions about the weakened leg, tremors, her right leg, arms, speech and breathing before leading her into his office where Sammy waited.
“ So now it’s my neck,” she told Sammy.
“ It may be,” the doctor corrected.
“ What is this, a game of craps?” Andrea’s response was accusatory. “First it was physical therapy, then medication, now you want to operate on the basis of guesswork?”
Accustomed to the aggressive techniques Andrea often
The determined secrecy of the Preacher Lady’s movements, Andrea believed, was designed not only to avoid the press, but confrontation with angry members of religious groups who had been heckling her speeches. She assumed that other competent people had tried to interview Hannah in recent months, and realized that half the challenge in getting her comments on camera would be finding and confronting the woman alone.
Sammy probed hotel chain databases in the southeast for group room reservations made for five or six men and one woman during the next two weeks. When he found them in the Holiday Inn in Macon, Georgia, he booked two rooms on the same floor.
He had not been prohibited from working the artifact story by Rand Duncan, and had been scrolling through the 82 nd Association web every chance he got. When he came to Andrea’s office with the details of her motel reservations, he told her he had located two Bravo Company troopers, one who had not been quizzed during the MI investigation.
“ The guy was on 30 day leave that summer, from which he’d been transferred directly to the 101 st Airborne Division, Fort Campbell, Kentucky.”
She took the printout from Sammy’s extended hand. “Corporal Brian L. Davidson, Third Aviation Platoon,” she read aloud. “On the ground spring of ‘03 in a unit just like Mitchell’s. Good one, Sam.”
“ Davidson poked into the association site to find a friend back at Bragg. No idea if he knows anybody in Mitchell’s Second, or heard some scuttlebutt about the artifact.”
“ Right now, I have to get ready for my Preacher babe. Track him down for me, will you, Sam? I’ll call you from Georgia.”
“ The other name, William Carr, since discharged, was an MP in Callaghan’s 3 rd Battalion.”
She held the sheet of paper in one hand, and reached for her briefcase with the other. “Great stuff! Set them up for my Q & A if they sound like they have anything to offer.”
“ Not until after your doctor’s appointment.”
“ I have to cancel that. I do not have time for....”
He pulled the data sheet out of her hand, folded and put it back in his shirt pocket. “No tickee, no laundee.”
“ Bastard!”
They sat in partner’s chairs in front of Doctor Lawton, who was seated at a wide table whose surface was all but obscured by stacks of colored file folders. The chief neurosurgeon at Georgetown University Hospital was average height, fit, in his late fifties with a ring of white hair around his bald pate and close-cropped beard to match. His demeanor seemed almost phlegmatic except for the alert brown eyes, which apparently did not require the aid of glasses. The walls of his small, windowless office were lined with bookcases jammed with medical texts, reference books, periodicals and stacks of papers. This cubbyhole was not where he performed his most important work.
The physician had examined Andrea in an adjoining room, his expression registering no change as he probed the muscles of her left leg and other extremities before concentrating on the back of her neck and spine. He assured her that the MRI scan she had undergone an hour ago revealed no tumors or other major abnormalities, nor did her previous computed and position tomography. The reset test, however, did suggest that a bone in her neck might be pressing on a motor nerve, causing the leg problem. Lawton asked her several questions about the weakened leg, tremors, her right leg, arms, speech and breathing before leading her into his office where Sammy waited.
“ So now it’s my neck,” she told Sammy.
“ It may be,” the doctor corrected.
“ What is this, a game of craps?” Andrea’s response was accusatory. “First it was physical therapy, then medication, now you want to operate on the basis of guesswork?”
Accustomed to the aggressive techniques Andrea often
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