Britnell held up a finger to the bartender, already signaling for another one. He belched lightly. “There’s something about you that knocked me out. You sure the hell didn’t look that old when I first saw you.” He flushed. “You know what I mean.”
Vikki smiled tightly. “Tell me more about this high-tech business you’re in. Maybe it is fascinating.”
Britnell laughed. He grabbed for the beer pushed in front of him. “High-tech business. That’s great.”
Vikki sat with a smile painted on her face, waiting for Britnell to finish his third beer. She wanted him to talk, to tell her everything about himself. Britnell would never get close to her if she simply tried to pick him up; she had to cultivate a trust, stretch out the relationship so it wasn’t just based on sex.
Which was important to her, too. The thought of prostituting her body, allowing her very essence to be used to further her goals, was something she didn’t take lightly. The guilt from her past, growing up in the Bible-banging foothills of Colorado Springs, was something she had overcome years ago. Or at least she had tried to overcome.
She looked upon using her body as a means for accomplishing ends. Bringing Britnell into her confidence would take more than shaking her fanny at him. But if that’s what it took to initiate the relationship, then she would put her thoughts and emotions aside. For what was more important to her — chastity, or showing the world how easy it was to steal nuclear weapons?
There was just no comparison.
She quietly slipped the bartender more than enough cash to cover the additional drinks and the tip. When Britnell drained the last drop, she stood and took him by the elbow.
“Hey—” he sputtered, not too coherently.
“Let’s go to my place. I really do want to learn more about you.” She led him out the door, and once he hit the night air, almost collapsed into her arms.
Chapter 6
McGriffin sat munching an Army Air Force Exchange Service grease burger: easy on the meat and heavy on the grease. Actually, the sandwich had a lot going for it He’d first had the ubiquitous AAFES grease burger as an undergraduate pilot training student at Laughlin AFB, Texas. Every BX grill in the world boasted of it
After stumbling in from a flight at zero dark early, it was usually the only thing he could find at the AAFES eatery. Heavy on the mayo, double pickles, and it would fill you right up. That and a cherry Coke.
The hamburger hit the spot. It was like taking an old friend around with him. All he needed to do now was to find a plane to fly.
An aero club was just around the corner — his private pilot’s license was still good, but he’d have to wait until they were open. Likewise, there had to be something to get him introduced to the local social scene — a dance group, a hiking club or even a church fellowship. Things were looking up.
“Good morning, Major.” Chief Zolley pulled out a chair at the next table.
McGriffin waved him over. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” Zolley plopped down across from McGriffin. He glanced at McGriffin’s grease burger and shuddered.
Pushing back his plate, McGriffin leaned back against his chair. “If every night’s like tonight, I’m going to have to find something to keep me from going crazy.”
“It gets worse. At least tonight we had that killer rabbit attack for excitement.”
“Great. I can see it now: three years of boredom punctuated with five minutes of terror.”
Chief Zolley chewed on his sandwich before speaking. “Major, if I were you, I’d learn everything I could about our tenant units.”
“Tenant units?”
“Yes, sir. All we do is keep house. You know, supply the security guards, hospital, civil engineers, golf course — that sort of thing. Since you command the CP, you’ll come into contact with them one of these days. Besides, you might see something interesting.”
McGriffin laughed in the middle of taking another bite. Choking, he brought up his napkin as he coughed. “I tried to stay as far away from those places as I could.” He shook his head. “I’m lucky to have been able to fly as long as I did without doing anything else. This nonrated nonsense is all new to me.”
“Really, sir, give it a chance. You ought to at least take a trip out to Alpha Base. Wendover wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them.”
“We’ll see.” He dove back into his grease burger.
When Chief Zolley and McGriffin departed the AAFES snack bar, Zolley threw McGriffin a salute. “Good luck, sir.”
“Are you sure Alpha Base won’t mind me snooping around?”
“Not at all. Once they know you’re from the command post, they’ll let you in with open arms. After all, they might need a favor someday.”
“Thanks, Chief. I’ll see you at 1800—I’ve got to get my body adjusted to this new schedule.”
The apartment complex sat in a dark neighborhood two streets from Main Street. Vikki Osborrn entered the door with her arm wrapped around Britnell’s waist. His youthful body felt firm. She grasped him tightly, uneasy about the place they entered.
She left her purse and sweater in the car. A bare bulb burned at the top of the stairs. As they negotiated the wooden stairway, the boards creaked, adding to the music leaking from the door at the top. A shrill cry of laughter pierced the air. Vikki made out the music as an old punk classic. She drew in a breath as Britnell opened the door.
The crowd barely noticed them, as if they were regulars.
Sleep with a comrade and you’re one of the crowd, she thought.
Britnell patted her fanny and squeezed his way to the drinks. Eight air force security policemen filled up the kitchen, popping beer, laughing. Most of the men had women standing next to them. The women listened, not talking, and smiled at the men’s words.
Vikki sipped lightly at the glass of white wine Britnell thrust to her. She brushed back her hair. “I want to look around. Be right back.”
The women around her reeked of youth — eighteen-year-old girlfriends of immaculately sculptured airmen. The music blared. It was so loud she couldn’t hear much more than garbled words over the monotone beats. One of the women—girls! — swayed slowly back and forth to the music, her eyes glazed over. Vikki gave a silent praise of thanks that the girls weren’t popping gum.
One of the women approached her. Her smile was friendly enough, but yet as the girl looked her over, Vikki saw her eye linger on her face, no doubt taking in the telltale marks of age. The girl smiled warmly.
“I don’t believe I’ve met you. I’m Daria.”
Vikki extended a hand. “Vikki. Glad to meet you.”
Daria sipped coyly on her wine. “I haven’t seen you around. George has done well. Are you playing the Pit, or is he your first?”
Vikki looked puzzled. “Playing the pit?”
Daria glanced around at the faces of the other women who gathered around. She looked shocked. “Why surely you know that George works in the Pit?”
“Sure. What about it?”
Silence.
From the kitchen laughter split the solemn moment for an instant. Daria regained her composure and took another sip of wine. “You really don’t know, do you?” Vikki just stared back at her. Daria put her drink down and grasped Vikki by the arm. “This is just so unusual, I’m really going to have to introduce you around.”
She steered Vikki back past the kitchen and into a cramped living room. Music pulsated from two speakers at opposite ends of the room. Wire ran up the walls from the amplifier to each of the speakers. Daria raised her voice over the music.