Back in the Trenches Part One

Back in the Trenches
Part One

by

Diana Walker and Reagan Kavanagh

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. Copyright Reagan Kavanagh and Diana Walker 2006.

SOOZE
Now this is odd. Terry's been back in town an hour, and Dee, who NEVER comes to the office, shows up. I guess the emails that have been flying through the server between those two ever since Dolores' first riding lesson with Dee really have been hot. Too bad I didn't grab them when I had the chance; by now, Terry's copied them, put them on one of his encrypted USB's, and deleted them from the server. I think the extra it cost us to make each of the offices a white room will come in handy today.

“Hey, Stranger! What brings you so far south?” Dee's almost as good at masking her feelings as Terry is – almost being the operative term here. Her smile reaches her eyes, but there is a tightness around them. Other than that, you'd never think a thing is wrong. That and her arrival at the office.

“I had nothing better to do so I thought I'd see what the Old Man was doing today.”

“Which one – Max or Terry?”

“Why Max, of course. Terry can't make it back from the airport for …,” she checks her watch, “ …another 15 minutes.”

Interesting. Is she keeping him on that tight a leash?

We might as well have a cube farm for the way Max and Dino come popping out of their offices. Curiouser and curiouser; no Terry. Reags has a much lower pitched voice than Dee and, to my ear, a more seductive sound. Maybe that's how she makes sure the football players get through her classes with passing grades. Whatever the sound of their voices, both those women have these three dancing to their tunes.

“Beautiful!” Dino draws back from the hug he's giving her. It's a good thing Dino's negotiations are on a radio; he cannot hide his emotions to save his life. He’s gone from overjoyed at seeing Dee to mild concern. Wisely, he steps aside for Max to handle the problem, whatever it is.

“Diana, what a pleasant surprise!” She's watching the front door over Max's shoulder anticipating Terry's arrival. Her eyes themselves are alert, watchful; the tightness has not increased, but then it hasn't decreased. Given that kind of a bear hug and warm greeting, it should have.

“Max, I'm sorry. I didn't really mean you’re an old man, but between the two choices, I'd rather have you annoyed with me than Terry.”

Terry steps out of his office, quickly stuffs his apprehensive look away in a blink of an eye, and makes a Diana sandwich between Max and him.

“Hello, Lady.” I swear I can feel his words, rather than hear them, his voice is that deep, and his mouth is that buried in her neck. Max gently pushes Diana deeper into Terry's arms and turns her. He and Dino melt away back to their offices. I look to my computer screen trying to decide if I ought to lock the front door and do a quick inventory in the storeroom, with my iPod on to drown out the sound that surely will come from these two. By the time I look up, they, too, have soundlessly disappeared, but Terry's door is shut. Yes, indeed. Soundproofing all the offices is good.

TERRY
As soon as I got in, I'd waded through some of the emails that had accumulated on my two-hour flight; Diana's stopped me in my tracks.

I need to talk to you. I'll be at the office when you get there.

Thanks to a good tail wind and light traffic, I'd beaten her here. I'd been so engrossed in deciphering her email I hadn't heard her in the outer office. Diana's email was in command mode – issuing orders and expecting only a “Yes, Ma’am.” from me. Whatever was on her mind was dire.

I'd only stepped out to warn Sooze of Diana's imminent arrival to see Max's bear hug and the troubled question to me on his face. When he turned her to me, her eyes were bright but clear. Her face told me an entirely different story; she was worried. Her body told me how much; she didn't mould into me. Her body was stiff as a rough cut two-by-four. I'd best be very careful, or I'd have a splinter deep in me.

Let them think whatever they want – we're having a major row; we're fucking like bunnies; we're about to lose the farm. Fuck, I don't know what to think.

I close the door quietly behind us. Diana leads me by the hand to the centre of the office and whispers in my ear, “Is this a white room?”

Fuck. Something in her notes has resurfaced or has come back to bite her in the arse. The Pentagon isn't so short of manpower that they would recall someone who has been out of the game as long as Diana.

“Enough of one for you to talk to me. Yes. Let me pull the shade.” One more bit of baffling to confuse listening ears. One of Diana's hands has mine in the webbing between my thumb and forefinger; the other is gripping that same hand at the heel below my little finger where our ring normally resides. I'd been in and out of the country so often lately, Diana had insisted that I keep it on my key chain until life settled down again. God knows when that will be; I sure as hell don't.

Diana leads me back to the visitor side of my desk where we turn two chairs facing each other and lean toward each other, mouths at ears, cheek to cheek, hands on the outside of faces pushing them closer, her knees between my thighs.

“Who?”

“I don't know. It's big enough the Admiral wouldn't tell me on the phone.”

The assignment isn't coming from Capt. Bigelow? “What did he say?”

Diana mimics their tones and quotes their words exactly as she relates the convo to me; she knows the drill. She probably wrote it long before I got in the game. Their voices are friendly – two old friends catching up. “This is Bill Longworth. Remember me?” Bill Longworth has to be a code name, though I don’t know who he actually is.

“Of course. How are you?”

“I'm well. One of your old friends is around. I'd like you to be here for lunch tomorrow. What flight will you be on?”

Christ, they are recalling her. I know I blinked at least twice. “Go on.”

“Let me check the schedules. I'll be there in time for lunch.” I know she has no choice.

“Use my old email address to let me know. I'll save you the expense of a car.”

As my head drops, it ends up below her jaw, my temple on her throat; I feel her swallow. There will be at least one Air Marshall on the flight seated somewhere near her; they'll meet her bloody plane with a discreetly armed guard. He damned well better be ready to have his cover be her brother picking her up at the airport, as her bloke will be on the plane with her.

“What time do we leave in the morning?”

“Oh-six-fifty.” In all the time I've known her, Diana has never used military time. Never once even when all the rest of us reel it off in anything we do. I always thought she translated the times we use to civilian time, but I thought she was slow at it. I was wrong from the speed at which she answers my question. I bump her jaw as my head comes up. The left side of her face winces.

She sits back in her chair to smile sadly at me. “Welcome home.”

“Are you packed yet?” She's in for the duration. She'll need at least six weeks worth of work clothes, two of my t-shirts for the little rack time she'll likely get, and that's it. She'll be issued toiletries, or some grunt will run out to the closest chemist's for anything liquid she needs, as she won’t check any baggage.

“I have underwear in the washer. When it comes out of the dryer, I'm good to go. Can you come home early without raising suspicion?”

“With your help I can.” This is the first genuine smile we've shared in person since I left 10 days before. Diana's kisses are greedy, bruising, needy, demanding, as is her grind into me. The shirt button she deliberately rips off skitters somewhere only an investigative cleaning staff will find it.

She whispers, “I'm sorry,” right before she plants a calculated bite on my neck so it appears she was trying to be at least a little discreet in marking me but couldn't quite control herself. Her fingers drive the hair at the back of my head up so it appears the sofa has had a work out. She rebuttons my shirt haphazardly with the tails bunched awkwardly inside my Levis.

She unbuttons the first button in the denim placket. Thank God; without that bit of room, my stiff dick would certainly make Levi Strauss a liar about his rivets not giving way.

I'm astonished at her ruthless efficiency. “You've done this before.”

“Most of it. The button on the jeans is new and stuffing your shirt back in your pants is not something I’ve done before,” she gets out between deep, probing kisses and rubbing her face over the beard I have grown since shaving yesterday morning. I can no longer tell which is the flush from her arousal and the beard burn she’s inflicted on herself.

“My bra. Push my bra up.” She stops abruptly and puts her hands on each side of my face, looking into my eyes intently. “You have to believe me. From here on, this is all new. I never had to go out and face the public so we never bothered with making me look like a freshly fucked female.”

“Diana, I do believe you, but this is my office. I've lived here for days at a time. And yes, I've had women here. You could actually be a finely, freshly fucked female, and I could be a very happy man without this pretense.”

“Sorry. I kicked into 'Spare no effort to make it look real' mode. I forgot I'm allowed to fuck you.”

“Your head is already in operational mode as well. You need to slow down, back up, or your planning phase will turn to shit. You'll make mistakes. You don't make mistakes in your plans. You are the textbook for how to plan an operation. And having said that, let's have your shirt.”


DIANA
I ought to be offended that I wasn’t the first woman he’d had in the office both literally and figuratively, but I’m not. Terry was a man long before I’d met him – a man who spent a lot of time in work mode. We’d both had friends and lovers before we met; they simply got us ready for each other. There was no need for jealousy over relationships that had been over years before.

He has my shirt and his off as he proceeds to wipe any thoughts of another woman here with his kisses. “Terry, don’t you want to lock the door?”

“No. It’s closed. That’s as good as locked.” I had forgotten in ten short days how his hands cradle me, how his eyes flicker and dance as I gasp, how his legs feel between mine. “Let go, Lady. I’ve missed you, but I won’t beg.”

He lifts my arms from his neck and steps back from me. His eyes flash lightning bolts but not from wanting me. The super-charged atmosphere between us would be thick if we were standing at opposite sides of the office; since we are within reaching distance of each other, it is almost visible.

“I’m sorry. I sure can spoil a mood, can’t I?”

“On rare occasions, yes.” He’s not giving an inch. He is so lucky I’m interpreting his uncharacteristic, sudden burst of anger as his fear for me.

“Do you want me to explain or just seduce you?”

His look says, “Right here, right now.” I create another mental compartment, stuff my social and office etiquette concerns in there, and begin a slow strip, closing the no-man’s land between us. Some lacy nothings would come in handy right now; hell, my underwear doesn’t even match. My bright blue riding bra comes off over my head. Once I can see again, I trace the moles on his chest with the tips of my fingers; he leans away from my touch unwilling to give up his anger or fear. I step closer and trace the same triangle with the girls. His tension eases though he makes no move to touch me. He takes a step back and bumps into the chairs where I had related my phone convo to him.

“Please sit down so you can enjoy the show.” He sits with his hands on the chair’s arms and his feet propped on the chair opposite him watching me warily. He may be thinking back to all the strip shows he’s seen where he could look but not touch. My focus is getting him to make contact, not that sex can heal all problems, but in this case, a good root will fix both of us. My innate shyness about what I consider public sex started this; my more recently acquired sexual freedom can end this.

The shimmy as I toe off my Blundies isn’t really necessary, but I think a shimmy or two is mandatory in a strip; the jiggling has reawakened his interest. Terry appreciates it; he slides down in his chair to come closer to me. At this point leaning towards me would be uncomfortable at best, probably impossible. His cock will not bend. He finally is close enough to stroke my breasts ever so softly and then to trail his fingers down my side over to the waistband on my jeans. He unbuttons my jeans, and I unzip. Another shimmy is required as I peel the denim down my legs, Terry’s hands following behind mine down my legs. I snag the functional, white socks at the same time my jeans come off, and from the look on Terry’s face, he’s forgotten they’re even there.

He pulls me close to him and nudges my breasts with his nose before settling his mouth on my breast. His nips and sucks target my nipple. I could be wearing the flimsiest of knickers right now instead of my serviceable, everyday undies. Terry is fully engaged. He spreads his fingers wide between my thighs encouraging me to spread my legs wider for him. He runs his fingers inside the leg opening onto my slit as he has done so many times before; he has my body fully memorized. I slide one leg from my last piece of clothing before setting my foot on the soft rug giving Terry a view that I know he loves. I lift my foot to his chair’s seat and wiggle my toes under his leg. Then and only then does he touch my clit; I have to brace myself on his shoulders from the sensation.

I kiss his temple, hair, and forehead with light brushing strokes. His mouth has not left my breasts nor have his fingers moved from stroking my thighs and lips. He looks up to my face taking my mouth with his, pulling me onto his chest. I want him naked, but it can wait until he is ready.

He breaks our kiss to look at my folds again, now glistening from wanting him. His fingers dance over my folds. I am always so humbled at the awe on his face when he’s engrossed in looking. It never ceases to fascinate him, as if it’s a machine he hasn’t yet mastered. His slow smile seems to say that he loves watching my petals, as he would enjoy a lovely, living painting.

I remove my foot from under his leg, turn my back to him, and straddle his legs in the small opening between the two chairs where he has watched my show. I bend over to reach his shoes and get them off to be greeted by his groan of barely contained want. His hands move to my hips holding me steady until the air reaches his bared feet. He pulls me back to his face, and a strong tongue licks from my clit to my entry. He feasts on my sex as he satisfied himself on my breasts. It amazes me how his bites are gentle yet strong enough to drive me wild. My hands support me for as long as they can on his shins. When he makes me come, I collapse on his denim-clad legs.

I can feel him unfastening his belt and Levis under my stomach. I lighten my weight on him; it is the most I can do at this moment. His groin rises under me as he divests himself of his Levis. His cock springs into my valley, and I move up and down on him. Terry lifts my torso to his chest, and I am on my back on the floor in a second. In another moment, Terry is inside. I heave a sigh of completion as I run my hands over his broad back, coming to rest on his face. I rise to kiss the rest of his face, the parts I hadn’t been able to before. He slows his thrusts to lift my legs above his waist and slowly withdraws to bore back into me.

I’m still shaking from my orgasm when Terry’s motion becomes erratic, hitches, and then he collapses on me. He pulls away from me slowly with a satisfied smile. He lies on his back, tucking me into his side.

“And I thought we couldn’t be any quieter when we made love.”

Terry and I walk down the center concourse at Reagan International Airport. We’re both wearing our Kevlars, the additional bulk making us look like refugee tasters from this year’s Pillsbury Bakeoff. Terry’s military haircut doesn’t look out of place at all in DC; in fact, compared to the men walking past us, he looks absolutely shaggy. To the casual observer, we look like a couple of beltway bandits on their way to some nondescript government agency for some boring meeting. We’d both identified the Air Marshall behind us on the plane into DC soon after settling into our seats; he’s still dogging our steps.

We reach the front drive and look up and down the phalanx of congressional cars clogging the front entrance. If our duly elected congresspersons had to fight for parking places at airports like the rest of us, maybe it would help them get their collective heads out of their asses. I don’t have long enough to do a full mental rant about congressional representatives and their ridiculous perqs before my driver steps up and says, “Ma'am?”

Shit. This is worse than I thought. They aren’t even willing to use my name in public. He is dressed like every other DC driver waiting for his passenger in this long line of hired cars. Terry shakes the driver’s hand, and I see him pass an envelope to the driver.

“She’s going to be in meetings all day, Mate. Be sure she has everything she needs by the time she gets to her quarters tonight.” The driver nods, and Terry continues. “She’s in good health and one piece. I expect her to be in the same condition when I next see her. I’m holding you personally accountable, Mate.”

“Yes, Sir.” Well, if my driver hadn’t been on my team before, he is now. My driver scans me and stops when he gets to Gran.

“Ma’am, that has to come off.” That tells me everything I don’t want to know. I’m going to the field. I pull my beloved symbol of my tie to Terry over my head and pool her in his outstretched palm. That will be our last physical contact for God knows how long. His eyes are grim as he takes her, nods once to no one in particular, and stuffs her into his pants pocket. I guess he didn't get the memo about how to send your soldier off to war with a smile. Perhaps he didn’t get it because men haven’t been on the distribution list until fairly recently, and I may be the first soldier he’s ever sent off.

“Be safe.” He had told me he loved me on the plane where we had fewer prying ears to listen over the engines. He'd also told me not to let some stiff pricked military guy overrule me, to fight for my opinions and plans. He already knew I’d fight for my instincts.

I can’t even turn around and watch Terry walk back in to the terminal to catch his flight home. That isn’t something business associates do. The driver opens the door for me, and I climb into the front passenger seat. I peek into the wing mirror for just one more look; Terry has already disappeared.

My driver escorts me around the turnstiles into the Puzzle Palace and straight into the Credentials Office. I’d assumed my driver was a Petty Officer like every other driver in the world; I was very wrong. The entire compliment of staff in the office snaps to and salutes as the call went out …“Officer on Deck!” How the hell they can tell he’s an officer is beyond me. His nondescript black suit and tie give absolutely no indication of rank.

“Ma’am, if you’ll step this way, Lt. Johnson has your documentation ready for signature. He’ll get your picture for your tickets.”

I’d always been on a Visitor’s Badge when I came to town until now – granted, my clearance always showed – but as my trips to the Pentagon had been infrequent, that had been good enough. Johnson gets me processed with predictable efficiency, and I clip the badge to my blazer's left breast pocket but not before noting that my security clearance has been upgraded. I am officially back in The Game. I’m struck by how silent this office had been since I’d walked in. It lacked the usual buzz that every security office in the world has. My driver collects me from the Lieutenant and escorts me out of the area. I hear the buzz resume as we walk out the door. This is serious shit.

“Ma’am, do you know the way to Admiral Webb’s office?” Admiral WEBB? I’d talked Jennings on the phone, and he was plenty high enough for me to pay attention. If a two-star is making logistics calls, Webb has to have at least three on his shoulder boards.

“Uh, no I don’t. I'll need an escort.”

“Be glad to, Ma’am.”

“It appears you and I may be spending a lot of time together …and since you aren’t in uniform, I can’t call you by your rank. So what do I call you?”

“Just call me Mac, Ma’am.”

“Okay, Mac, my name’s Diana.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Oh, shit. This is a lot more serious than I’d thought.

Admiral Jennings opens the door to Admiral Webb’s office. Mac stays in the hallway, and I have no doubt that if I were to open the door, Mac would snap to attention and stand to the side from his current position blocking the door. Jennings looks down at me as he closes the door.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Walker. Step this way, the Admiral’s waiting for you.” He taps on the door to the inner office and waits for the ‘Enter!’ from inside. He opens the door and steps to the side to let me precede him.

“Admiral Webb, Ms. Walker. Ms. Walker, Admiral Paul Webb.” The Admiral sticks out his hand, and I take it. He has a handshake very similar to Max’s when I first met him.

“Take a seat, Ms. Walker.” I sit at attention on one of his visitor chairs.

“Gunther Klostermann has disappeared.” Oh, fuck.

“I thought he was still in prison, Sir.”

“Federal prosecutors blew the case; he was released a year ago on good behavior and time served. We’d had tabs on him until a month ago; we’ve been looking for him for three weeks. You have the misfortune to be the walking intel on the man. If anyone has a ghost of a chance of finding him, that person is you. Ms. Walker, your Country appreciates your service. Now, follow me …your team is waiting for you.”

I trot down the hall behind Jennings with Mac at my side and Webb behind him. I talk over my shoulder to Webb.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve been out of The Game for a long time, and I don’t feel my instincts are good enough to lead this team. I’ll be more than happy to provide any information that may not be in my notes on Klostermann, but ….”

“We’ve brought in Ron Traub as designated Team Leader, with you officially as XO, but make no mistake, you’re calling the shots. We know you’re rusty, but we need what’s in your head, and we need your gut feeling on Klostermann.”

Jennings enters the conference room, and the call goes out.

“Attention on deck!” I look around as we enter; I’d never seen so many silver eagles and gold stars in one place in my life. I scan the ID badges …Departments of the Navy, Army, Marines, a Navy Seal, and an operative from Delta Force – I recognize the insignias – FBI, CIA, NSA. Jesus! What the fuck was Klostermann up to now? The man has a Ph.D. in nuclear physics and has been the explosives designer for Black September. With their demise, he had become a gun for hire to any and every terrorist group or government who could pay his price. He has no scruples, ethics, or morals; he’s the coldest man I had ever set eyes on. He never stuck around long enough to find out if his plans had worked. He’s too valuable as a thinker to be allowed to touch the explosives.

Webb stops just inside the door.

“Gentlemen, you’ve talked around Ms. Walker, and you’ve studied everything she’s written on Klostermann. She’s here now so you can pick her brain. Ms. Walker, it’s your team.”

“At ease, Gentlemen. Would someone please slide me a copy of my notes from five years ago?” A yeoman puts a packet on the table in front of where I sit; it is marked “Eyes Only.”

“Are you gentlemen already organized with who’s doing what, or are you still in cluster fuck mode?” That gets me a laugh; I’ve just returned to being one of the boys. Whatever their preconceptions were about me as the tight assed, cold, calculating bitch from my prior assignments, I’ve just shattered them. From their nervous laughter, it’s obvious they’re still at cluster fuck.

“Ron, while I’m getting back up to speed, would you get some roles assigned, and we’ll go from there?” It’s relatively quiet for the first few minutes as I scan the briefing packet, and then the hubbub starts at the far end of the table. I give up on trying to review my own notes and go straight to the new G-2 on Gunther. After finishing the initial scan, I listened in on the territorial squabbles.

Some things never change. Well, shit. I might as well wade hip deep into it and make my presence felt; if I fall back into their bitch pool, so be it. I stand at the head of the table.

“ATTENTION ON DECK. Since you boys can’t seem to get this sorted, let me make the assignments for you. Seals, Delta Force …stand down for the moment. I’ll let you know when your presence is required. We have to locate the son of a bitch before we get into ops mode and finding him isn’t your forté.”

“NSA, FBI, CIA …who’s actually doing the work for you? I want him or her here at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. You’re welcome to attend if you like, but talking to you won’t be on my priority list for a few days. Your people will keep you up to speed on what we're doing in their spare time. Don't expect them to have any in the near future.

“OK. I’m sure all of you have questions for me. Shoot.”

I spent the remainder of the afternoon explaining the motivations behind Gunther’s prior movements and habits before deciding to back up and give the yahoos a quick lesson in modern Germanic culture. I’d never seen a bunch of bureaucrats write so fast in my life. I finally stop at eighteen-forty-five when Biggie walks into the room with Mac in front of him.

“Diana, it’s time for your disappearing act.”

I survey the team in its current configuration. “Gentlemen, I expect your worker bees here at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow fully briefed on all you’ve heard this afternoon. Thank you.”

We walk through the tunnel from the Pentagon to the hotel on the perimeter, exit the hotel through a service entrance, and climb into the back seat of a civilian car. Mac and I now have a driver. Our driver pats the seat beside him – there is a black suitcase beside him.

“I got everything you requested, Sir.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

“What’s in the bag?”

Mac smiles. “The list of supplies the gentleman who accompanied you to Reagan gave me right before he threatened my life.”

“Is that what was in the envelope?”

“Yes, Ma’am, and the money to pay for it.” I get stuck in thinking how my toiletries were going to get to the safe house after we changed cars. Mac’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Ma’am? I need you to be alert.”

“Sorry, Mac. I’m out of practice, and I’m tired.”

“You’ll be back in practice in 24 hours, and you don’t know the meaning of tired yet.”

“Not ever having used a safe house, are they out in the open or are they so hidden that you can’t even tell they’re there?”

“It depends. There’ll be a guard around the perimeter – you won’t see them – and three inside the house with us. I’m your roommate for however long this takes, so I hope we’re going to get along.”

“We’ll get along fine, Mac, don’t worry about that. And don’t worry about Terry …his bark is much worse than his bite.”

MAC
Terrence Steven Thorne, AKA, Terry Thorne. Where Diana Walker is concerned, I have every confidence that Terry Thorne’s bark isn’t even a hint of what he’d do if anything happens to her based on what I'd read in his jacket. I’d also read the jacket on Ms. Walker, and I was wondering when the Admiral’s call came if she’d had to tell Major Thorne what she’d done in her prior life. Given Thorne’s background, he wouldn’t have asked, and she wouldn’t have volunteered any information until it was necessary. Poor SOB. He’d never know the woman he was, for all intents and purposes, married to had been the most successful project manager we’d had during the early days of the War on Terrorism.

That was the problem for people like her – like us – because we lived through all of it and could never talk about it. I wonder how many times she’s gritted her teeth and kept her mouth shut when people were bragging all around her.

We arrive at the house, and she’s wasted. I need to make sure she eats because I know she’ll spend half the night going back over her notes from five years ago. This safe house is stocked with three days’ provisions; when the provisions here are exhausted, we’ll move to the next house. She won’t be anywhere longer than 72 hours.

I show her to her room and put her suitcase on the bed.

“What sounds good for dinner? We have Italian and Mexican in the freezer, and my wife says I make a mean omelet. Your call.”

“You're married? They actually issued you a wife?”

“That's the only time in my career I haven't asked permission, Ma'am.” She smiles and shakes her head.

“As long as I don't have to cook, anything is fine. I don't think I have enough spit left in me tonight even to stand at a microwave.”

“Italian it is.” I leave her and start KP duty. The three Delta Force members assigned to protect her have taken up their positions, one at each of the two doors and one in the stairwell. From the looks on their faces, they’ve already heard that she’s dismissed their boss this afternoon. Tough shit. They’re here to take orders, not think about who’s calling the cadence. She comes downstairs a few minutes later and finds me in the kitchen.

“I’m guessing that since the beds are exactly opposite from each other across the hall that we’re sleeping with doors open.”

“That’s a roger, Ma’am.”

“OK …if you hear me snoring, I don’t want to know.” That gets her a snicker from the Delta Force guy just outside the kitchen. I dish up the lasagna, and we carry our plates to the table. This is the first time since she’d arrived that I’ve had time to check her out. I’d had my ear bud on while she’d been in the conference room, and I was impressed with how she answered the questions thrown at her and went on to answer the ones the team hadn’t asked and should have.

She shoved a bite of lasagna into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and looked across the table at me. “So how did you manage to draw the black bean as my baby-sitter?”

“I’m Captain Bigelow’s contact at the Pentagon.”

“May I ask your rank?”

“Commander …in the zone.” She grins at that.

“So you could very easily be my boss one of these days.”

“If I keep my nose clean, yes, Ma’am.” I chew my food and look at her.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to attend the ceremony after the work you did for us at the Embassy in Cairo. I understand Mr. Thorne was injured when his team got the kid out. He looks like he’s recovered well.”

“He has, and thanks.”

“Maybe while you’re in town we can get you a meeting with the Secretary.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mac. I got my commendation, and it’s stored in my safe with the rest of them.”

I like this lady; she’s not a whiner. She'd been dragged back into a chaotic situation on very short notice from a very comfortable life. She looks at me as we carry our plates to the kitchen a while later.

“Mac, could I ask you a favor?”

“You can ask …I can’t promise I can deliver.”

“Could you tell the Delta Force guys that I threw their boss out of today’s meeting because I wanted to talk to the guys who are really doing the work on this team? We both know it isn’t the brass.”

“We’ll all be here tomorrow night. If we sit on the stairs and have a little talk, they’ll hear it …you can tell them yourself.”

0700 the Following Day – One of the Pentagon Briefing Rooms

DIANA
“Congratulations. You are the best and the brightest from your respective agencies. It’s nice to see Delta Force and Seal Intel here. I didn’t want to insult your bosses by going through the elementary education that I had to give yesterday afternoon. OK, we need to hit the ground running.

“CIA, NSA, FBI. Did your bosses give you their notes from yesterday’s briefing? Do you fully understand Klostermann’s MO?” The guy from the FBI nods.

“It filled in the few gaps in our intel.” Okay …now I know who the hot shot is.

“Well, if it filled in so little, why isn’t Klostermann in this fucking room? And can anyone tell me what the hell he’s up to that has us looking for him so fucking hard?”

NSA speaks up, and he doesn’t look at all comfortable. “We don’t know what he’s up to, Ma’am, and that’s what scares the shit out of us.”

“CIA, get with your German counterparts; I want to know what their suspicions are because I know damned well they have an idea.

“NSA, I want all phone records on Pieter Schmidt – Klostermann’s best friend – going back to the day Klostermann was released. Can anyone tell me if his parents are still alive?”

Delta Force nods. “Affirmative on that.”

“NSA, I want their records, too.” That gets the Seal to open his mouth. I guess a little inter-service and agency rivalry isn’t a bad thing if I can channel it into constructive exchanges.

“His sister’s in Lägerdorf.” I don’t even have to call the NSA nerd this time; he’s scribbling as fast as his little hand will move. When he brings the records back, I'll find out how good he is. I hope his early voluntary contribution indicates he’s an analyst as well as a collector.

“Okay, boys and girls. Everyone has their assignments. We meet back at seven o’clock. No, kiddies, that’s nineteen-hundred. We’re on seven-sevens unless you have something spectacular before then. Everybody have all the phone numbers?” Nods all around. At least they've spent their time before I got here fruitfully.

The FBI guy sighs. “What do you want me to do, Ma’am?”

“For starters, find out if the son of a bitch has been through the United States on a passport anyone recognizes. Think you can handle that?” The Delta Force and Seal snicker.

Delta Force smirks at me. “What are you and Mr. Traub going to be doing today, Ma’am?”

“Mr. Traub is going to be setting up work stations and dropping connections for all of you in this room. I can’t believe you have to leave here and go to separate offices after having been on task for three weeks. We’re a team, and from now on we all work out of this room. If you can’t put aside your turf wars and pissing contests, go back to your respective agencies and have them send me someone who can. As for what I’m doing today? I’m going to be tracking down Hilde.”

To be Continued

NOTES

USBs	Universal Serial Bus. A fast connection to a computer. Storage devices (portable memory or flash drives) now can store massive amounts of information on a very small device. Think the next generation of floppy disk or diskette.
White Room	A room with specialized materials to deflect outside listening devices.
Beltway Bandits	Companies who conduct a great deal of business with the Federal government have offices located in the DC area. Often these are small and no more than rented office space while the work is done elsewhere. Company employees who fly in to meetings with the different government agencies are nicknamed 'Beltway Bandits' because for the time they are in DC, they are on the payroll of the small, rented office space, often a separate division of their Corporation, to fulfil Government regulations.
Puzzle Palace	The Pentagon is known for its labyrinth of corridors and hallways with no maps to assist you in your travels.
Tickets	Credentials or badges required to be shown to move about in any secured facility.
Two-Star	A Rear Admiral identified by two silver stars affixed to his/her shirt shoulder seam.
With all due respect	When disagreeing with a superior officer, one ALWAYS precedes the objection with “Sir/Ma’am, with all due respect …” unless an opinion has specifically been requested before the superior officer has voiced theirs
Intel	Intelligence. Information about a person, group or operation
XO	Executive Officer. Second in command in a military operation.
Silver Eagles and Gold Stars	Military insignias denoting high ranking officers in the Army and Navy
Eyes Only	A security code assigned to classified documents indicating no notes may be made regarding the information. Most times an 'Eyes Only' document must be read and absorbed with at least one other person in the room.
Jacket	A folder of information collected by governmental security organizations about a person or organization.
In the Zone	On track for promotion to higher rank.
MO	Modus Operandi. A person or group's distinctive way of accomplishing tasks.

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