A cadet stepped out of the shadows and stopped her. “Leave it alone,” he warned her.
“No way,” she growled.
“Forget it, Zeth,” the cadet said. “Pontowski has the smallest pecker I’ve ever seen on a rat.”
“You an expert on rat penises now?” She barged past and ran across the field. Ahead, the shadowy backs of cadets formed a wall. She put on a burst of speed. “Hey!” she yelled. One of the upperclassmen turned in time to take the full blow of her running block. He fell over as she crashed into the circle, fully expecting to see Little Matt strapped naked to a chair. She had arrived in time and Little Matt was okay. But she was furious. “You sons of bitches!” she screamed.
“Hey, Zeth,” one of the cadets said, trying to soothe her, “we’re not going to hurt him.”
“Damn right you’re not,” she shouted. The cadet put a hand on her shoulder and tried to pull her out of the circle. It was a mistake. She rounded on him and threw a punch directly into his chest. Zeth was a conditioned athlete, big for a woman her age, and not afraid of any man at NMMI. Her fist was doubled into a hard knot and she punched like a man, straight from the shoulder, putting her weight behind the blow. She hit him in the sternum and knocked the wind out of him. He went down, gasping for a breath that wouldn’t come.
“Who’s going to give him mouth-to-mouth?” she challenged. She advanced on the closest cadet. “How about you? You going to put a liplock on him. Save your buddy?” The other cadets stared at her, their eyes wide as she challenged them. “Afraid to kiss a guy?” she shouted. She snorted and bent over the prostrate cadet. She grabbed his jaw and jerked his mouth open before blowing a big puff of air into his lungs. It worked and he gasped for air.
She stood up. “Which one of you dumb shits thought this one up?”
“This is none of your business,” the ringleader said. “Drop it. Quit playing mother hen.”
“I’m taking care of my troops, asshole!” She advanced on the speaker, her right hand knotted in a fist.
“She’s crazy,” another cadet said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” They all took it as good advice and ran toward Hagerman.
“Do it again,” she yelled, “and I’ll cut your balls off!” She turned to Little Matt. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Who do I tell?”
“The TLA,” she answered. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t. Not if you want to stay here. This is serious and the commandant will kick the assholes out. But you’ll be blamed for it. Find another way to even the score.”
The two undercover Secret Service agents posing as track coaches and living in the top-floor apartment of the north tower of Hagerman Barracks had recorded the entire incident through a night-vision scope. “Should we tell the superintendent?” one asked.
“Nah,” the other replied. “Brian wasn’t involved and she stopped it before they got started.” He thought for a moment. “I wish Brian would grow up and think about his buddies for a change.”
The other agent agreed. “He’s a spoiled bastard.”
Madeline Turner relaxed into her chair and sipped the freshly brewed tea she loved. The cup in her hand was a beautiful and delicate creation that was being called the “Turner Collection.” Is that what I’ll be remembered for? she wondered. It was a quiet moment in her day and she savored the serenity of her private study. Unlike the Oval Office next door, this retreat had become her place.
She glanced at the grandmother clock in the corner. It was time to end her day. She leaned forward and set her cup down before resting her elbows on her desk. She clasped her hands together and considered what she was going to do. The silence around her was punctuated by an occasional sound, little more than a murmur in the background of the real world outside. She lived in a confined world where every word she uttered, every move she made, every hand she reached out for, was considered the people’s business. Yet, in the end, it always came down to this: she was alone.
The intercom buzzed. “The Senate just approved Bender,” Parrish said. “They’re on their way back.”
“Please show them right in,” she replied, breaking the connection. She had a few more moments to herself. She focused her thinking on the problem at hand, determined to move it to a back burner so she could move on to other issues. Her decision made, she thought about Brian’s phone call. I’m not going to let him quit, she thought. Not yet.
A polite knock on the door rechanneled her attention as Richard Parrish held the door for Sam Kennett to enter. Mazie and Bender followed him in. As usual, Parrish settled into a corner chair, at the meeting but not part of it. What he had to say would come later when he was alone with the president. “Well done,” Turner said. “That was the fastest confirmation vote we’ve had.”
A rueful look spread across the vice president’s face. “We paid a price for it. Leland’s on a slow boil and the pressure is building.”
“Is he going to be a problem?” Bender asked.
“Not for you,” Kennett answered. “For us. Leland considers the appointment of ambassadors his personal bailiwick, regardless of what the Constitution says.”
“The good senator,” Turner said, “doesn’t have to live with the consequences of what he does. We do. Robert, I’m worried that Poland is destabilizing and Russia is a major player.”
“And has delusions of empire,” Mazie added.
“When we were in Poland on vacation,” Kennett said, “I got the impression of a country on the edge. Everyone was worried about crime and the Russians. Unfortunately, the secretary of state has a different interpretation.”
“That’s why Stephan is not here,” Turner replied.
“In Serick’s defense,” Mazie said, “the exact contours of the problem are still emerging. We simply don’t know who is doing what to whom. He’s also worried about the Germans and, to be perfectly honest, so am I.”
Turner nodded. Mazie was one of her most valued counselors because she was not afraid to disagree. Turner steepled her fingers and studied them. “I will not see Poland partitioned a fifth time, not in my presidency.”
“Madame President,” Kennett said, “I don’t think we have to worry about that. This is the twenty-first century.”
“I hope you’re right. Robert, find out what is going on over there. I want to know where we can help and what we can offer them to stabilize the situation. I want to put some counters on the table.”
Bender was stunned. These were explicit marching orders and his spirits soared. He was done with the endless meetings, the talking, the political give-and-take that marked life in Washington. He was returning to the danger zone where the action was. He was back on the wire! Then reality came crashing down. He was still an ambassador reporting to the secretary of state. Everything he said or did would be filtered through the bureaucracy of the State Department. Hard experience had taught him that bureaucracies were immovable objects with a life of their own, resistant to change. “One of the best fighter pilots who ever strapped on a jet always said that when things go wrong, get aggressive. I don’t think the State Department is quite ready for that approach to foreign policy.”
“There will be resistance,” Mazie said, thinking about her husband who was a comer at State. “We need to set up a separate reporting channel so we know what you are telling State.”
“That’s easily arranged,” Parrish said. “But Serick will be furious if he learns about it.”