Free Word of Honor by Nelson DeMille Page B

Tyson said to Marcy, "The Grenvilles, who are important personages in the old guard, have asked us to cocktails. Next Friday, if you're interested. "
    Marcy replied, "I suppose they want you to autograph Picard's book. I'll bring the Life magazine to pass around."
    Tyson smiled. Marcy, if nothing else, he thought, was well equipped to handle friends, neighbors, and family.
    As Tyson saw his car coming down the drive, a voice behind him called out,
    "Ben. Marcy."
    Tyson and Marcy turned. John McCormick and his wife, Phyllis, had come through the doors.
    McCormick said, "I didn't get a chance to speak to you guys tonight."
    Greetings, handshakes, and perfunctory kisses were exchanged. McCormick said bluntly, "I have some more bad news for you, Ben. I hope you don't hold anything against the bearers of bad news."
    Tyson rather liked McCormick, but two pieces of bad news from the same person in two weeks might, he supposed, prejudice him against the man.
    Tyson saw the thick newspaper under McCormick's arm and made a guess at what the news might be.
    McCormick said, "Sunday Times. Just came in. The book got a major review.
    Your name is mentioned."
    Tyson nodded. "Okay." He noticed that Phyllis McCormick looked at her husband in a way that suggested this was not her idea. Tyson saw McCormick hesitate, much as he had hesitated on the train before handing him the book. Tyson had a sense of d6jA vu, coupled with a sinking stomach, as McCormick offered him the separated Book Review section. Tyson smiled gamely. "Do you want me to autograph it?"
    McCormick's smile seemed more forced. "You can keep it. "
    The Volvo stopped at the curb, and the doorman held the passenger door open. The Tysons wished the McCormicks good night, and they parted. Tyson slipped behind the wheel of the Volvo and put it into gear as the attendant shut his door. He pulled up the curved drive toward the road. Marcy sat quietly with the Book Review section on her lap.
    Tyson said, "Well."

    WORD OF HONOR 0 65

    "Well what?"
    "Well, with a national circulation of about two million, things are going to begin happening."
    Marcy nodded. "I'll arrange for an unlisted phone number Monday."
    "Good idea.
    "The school year is nearly over."
    "Right. I I
    "Should I list the house with the brokers?"
    "Don't overreact."
    She thought a moment, then inquired, "How are your employers going to take this?"
    Tyson swung the car onto Stewart Avenue. "Who knows?" He headed west toward Eaton Road. "I can't get a handle on that bunch. They really are inscrutable."
    "I'll let the racist remark pass, Ben, because I know you're under some strain."
    Tyson didn't reply.
    She asked, "Did Phil find you?"
    "Yes." He turned left on Eaton Road. "Spoke to me in the men's room. Do you realize how much business is conducted in men's rooms?"
    "What did he say?"
    "Sue the bastards."
    "He must be under the impression you're innocent."
    "No, he's under the impression that the government is not clever enough or motivated enough to seek an indictment. Therefore, Picard is vulnerable to a civil suit. Poor Andrew Picard. He may find out that the truth doesn't pay as much as it costs."
    She looked at him in the dim light. "Would you sue a man who told the truth?"
    Tyson pulled into his long driveway and shut off the engine. He listened to the insects for a while.
    "Would you?" she asked again.

    Lieutenant General William Van Arken, the Army's
    Judge Ad-
    CHAPTER vocate General, flipped
    through the personnel
    file in front of him. "I
    see he has two Purple
    Hearts. Scow one point
    for Mr. Tyson."
    Fraser Duncan, from
    the Secretary of the
    8 Army's office, looked
    at Tyson's medical file
    and commented, "Both wounds were superficial. Score only half a point."
    Herbert Swenson, an aide to the Secretary of Defense, observed, "He has the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry, awarded by the Vietnamese government for actions at Hue. That could get sticky."
    Thomas Berg, a presidential aide, looked down the long,