Sara Marshall stood beside Tom Gomez on the ramp at Andrews Air Force Base, waiting for the KC-135 to taxi in, drawing attention from the others on the ramp, not that it was unexpected. Sara would draw attention wherever she went. He admired her cool composure and apparent disregard of the interest in her. Gomez was sure a lot of people only saw a pretty face framed by deep golden hair and highlighted by luminous brown eyes. He saw a lot more, but unfortunately — or fortunately — was a happily married man. The third person out of the KC-135 was a rangy colonel, over six feet tall. In spite of his fatigue he walked with the springy grace of an athlete. Halfway down the steps he shoved a battered flight cap over his dark hair, pushing it forward on his forehead and denting it in the back. Gomez liked him right away — he knew another fighter pilot when he saw one. His optimism did not fade when he could read the name tag over the colonel’s right pocket: Anthony J. Waters.
Sara stepped forward, saluting the colonel. “Colonel Waters, welcome to Washington.”
Waters returned her salute with an easy motion, pleased, and impressed, with the Pentagon’s welcoming committee.
“May I introduce Colonel Gomez?” she said.
“Quit being so formal, Sara,” Gomez said. “Welcome to the Puzzle Palace, Colonel. Name’s Tom and I’ll be your guide dog for the next few fun-filled days.”
Waters’ handshake was firm. “Thanks, I go by Muddy, and I’m glad someone’s in charge, because I haven’t a clue about what’s going on.” They collected Waters’ bag and walked to Gomez’s car. Sara enjoyed the easy camaraderie that flowed between the two colonels and felt as though she was part of a real team.
In the privacy of Gomez’s car Gomez turned to Waters. “There’s bad news. Sundown wants a brief tomorrow on the Libyan incident. As usual, no one’s really sure what he wants, but the spotlight is right on us.”
Waters smiled slightly and shook his head. “Friday I was the honcho of an RC-135 over the Med. Hell, I was even minding my own business. Isn’t Sunday a bit soon?” Sara appreciated his easy acceptance of what they had to do and also noted he was not wearing a wedding ring.
“For Cunningham? He works seven days a week,” Gomez said. “We’re already at work on the briefing and need to finish it today. Hope you don’t mind going right to it. Briefing Cunningham is always a problem.”
Once they were at the Pentagon, they went to one of the back offices of the Watch Center and interrupted a heated discussion between Blevins and Williamson. Waters could feel the animosity between the colonel and young captain as Blevins outlined the briefing they were preparing and how he wanted it presented on thirty-five-millimeter slides for the general.
“Obviously,” Blevins said pompously, “General Cunningham will only be interested in addressing the questions raised by the State Department and the National Security Council on this unfortunate incident.”
The grim set of Williamson’s mouth and his silence made clear he did not agree.
Waters found a chair and sat down, listening to Blevins and Tom Gomez discuss what to tell the general. He noticed that Sara and Williamson did not say a word. The two colonels could not agree and kept circling around the subject. Finally they both gave up and the whole room was silent. This is no way to get anything done, Waters thought; someone needs to take charge of this headless committee.
“What do you think, Captain Williamson?” Waters asked.
“What the captain thinks is irrelevant at this point,” Blevins snapped.
Waters looked to the colonel, trying to fathom what was bothering the man.
Blevins turned away from his gaze and started to ruffle through a stack of notes. “We informed the War Room and they notified the White House. I called State’s situation officer myself and he stated, ‘Call us when someone gets shot down.’ Those are the points we should be concerned with, hammer home.”
“What do you think, Don?” Waters repeated.
Blevins shot Waters a look.
“I think General Cunningham wants to see the total incident, all the facts we can present and how they tie together,” Williamson replied.
“I think you’re both right,” Waters said. “Let me kick it around a bit while you take a break.”
Sara removed the jacket of her uniform while Williamson scampered out of the room ahead of Blevins and Gomez. She studied the new colonel who was doodling on a yellow legal pad. She liked the way he had taken charge without pushing.
Finally Waters wrote three words on the pad, threw down his pencil and leaned back in his chair. “Lousy way to ruin Saturday.”
“We’re used to it.”
“Who was the on-duty watch commander during this flap?”
“Colonel Blevins,” she said, wondering if she should confide in the colonel and tell him how Gomez had really made the critical decisions and forced Blevins into acting. While she wanted to trust this man, he was still of an unknown quantity and she had learned from experience how most colonels were only interested in advancing their own careers.
After the three men returned, Waters outlined his proposal. “Break the facts into three groups for the generaclass="underline" Intelligence, Command and Control, Operations. Do it in that order. Finish the brief on the points Colonel Blevins has made. Condense everything into less than fifteen minutes. Put all the information on slides. Cunningham can read faster than any of us can talk—”
“Colonel,” Blevins broke in. “General Cunningham is a well-studied commodity at the Pentagon. I know what will work and, more importantly, what won’t work when we brief him. I’m telling you, my approach will work.”
“Does that mean you want to present the briefing?” Waters asked.
Sara noted a glint of amusement in his brown eyes. Waters had touched on the one point Blevins had wanted to avoid. The maulings that Cunningham handed out to briefers were well known, and Blevins didn’t want to step into that line of fire. He stared at Waters.
Tom Gomez shrugged. “I can do it. But I’m not a golden orator. Sundown would have a field day on me.”
“I’ll do it,” Waters told them.
Relief crept into the room as they settled down to work. Blevins relaxed, now that he was safe. “I think I’ve done all I can for you. Why don’t I let you complete this and I’ll be back tomorrow morning for the final run-through?”
“I thought we’d finish this today,” Waters said.
“Brace yourself,” Gomez told him. “You’ll have to brief the chiefs of Operations and Intelligence before you brief the Big C. They always make changes. It’s a real bucket of worms getting a brief put together.”
Waters agreed with him, and an hour later the briefing was complete, to the surprise of the captains. Gomez congratulated Waters as they walked to his car. “It’s a damned good brief… Muddy. You work well with Sara and Don. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? Beats the hell out of the Boiling VOQ.”
“Thanks, I’d like that. They really are a matched pair of whiz kids, aren’t they? I like them, but can’t say the same about Eugene.” He paused. “You know, I found Sara a little… distracting. It wasn’t easy to keep my mind on business, and I’m an old bird of — forty-six.”
“Yeah, I know,” Gomez said. “You should see her in a pair of tight jeans. We’re required to wear civvies when we work on weekends unless we have to wear a uniform for a meeting or something like picking you up at Andrews. Sara makes the most of it. I made the mistake when I first got here of looking at her and not listening to what she had to say. She’s got plenty of smarts to go with the rest of her… ”