“Can it be done?” Emil asked.
“With the right profile and some careful planning.”
“Will you help us with tactics?” Emil asked.
“Tell me the threat,” Pontowski replied, “and I’ll tell you the tactics.”
McMasters stood and walked to the center window of his office. For a moment, he fixed his gaze on the bronze statue of the rearing bronco, NMMI’s symbol and mascot. Behind the statue, cadets hurried through the Sally Port into Hagerman Barracks, anxious to get out of the rain. For the superintendent, the Sally Port was the true symbol of the institute, not the bucking bronco. “What a stupid teenage thing,” he said to the commandant who was standing beside his desk. Colonel Day didn’t answer. He knew how McMasters worked and his need to verbalize his decisions. “I suppose there is a rough justice here,” McMasters continued. “I wish we could ignore it.”
“But we can’t,” Colonel Day said. “It’s a pretty clearcut case of assault.”
McMasters nodded in agreement. “And in front of the entire Corps. Miss Trogger does pick her moments.”
“She’s never been a retiring wallflower,” Day added.
“Is Pelton going to prefer charges?”
“So far, he hasn’t,” Day replied. “I think he’s waiting to see what you do with her appeal.”
McMasters stifled a sigh. He knew what he had to do. “I could overlook a fight, even one between a boy and a girl. But I cannot tolerate an assault.” He returned to his desk and buzzed his secretary. “Please send Miss Trogger in.”
Zeth marched through the door and reported in. She stood at attention in front of the superintendent’s desk, her eyes focused on the wall behind him. She was very aware of the commandant standing on her right as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She chanced a sideways glance. Day was a very unhappy man. His decision to suspend her had not been easy.
“I don’t have many options here,” McMasters said.
“Miss Trogger’s past record has been exemplary,” Colonel Day said. “And she has taken full responsibility for her actions.”
“That’s commendable,” McMasters said. “Unfortunately, my hands are tied in cases of assault.” He tried one last gambit, searching for any excuse. “Did you know you were committing an act of assault on Mr. Pelton’s person before you did it?”
“Yes sir, I did.”
“But you went ahead anyway.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeth said. She almost said Pelton had assaulted her reputation. But she knew that wasn’t an excuse.
“I have no choice,” McMasters said. “I must deny your appeal. You are to clear your room and be off campus as soon as possible, no later than by call to quarters tonight. If your parents can’t pick you up, we will provide a hotel room and meals until you can arrange transportation home.”
“I can hook a ride to my folks’ ranch in the Hondo Valley,” she said. “It’s not far.”
He looked at her sadly. “I can’t tell you how much I hate doing this.”
Zeth came to attention. “I understand perfectly, sir.”
McMasters thought for a moment. “I know you want to attend the Air Force Academy. It will be my privilege to write a letter of recommendation, should you decide to apply.” And speak to a few old friends, he mentally added.
“Thank you, sir.” She threw him a perfect salute. He returned it. The two men watched her leave.
Colonel Day said, “She’s too good for you zoomies. West Point needs cadets like her.”
“Hands off,” McMasters ordered.
“May the best service win.”
The two boys stood in the doorway, watching her pack. Their hats and ponchos were still dripping from the rain. “Come on in,” she said.
“It’s my fault,” Matt said. “If I hadn’t shot off my big mouth…”
Zeth interrupted him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I can get my mom to help,” Brian offered.
“No, you won’t,” she replied. She zipped up her last bag. “Look, I knew it was wrong and I went and did it anyway. Get this through your thick heads, I’m responsible. Now I’ve got to live with the consequences. That’s what leadership is all about. Even Colonel Day agrees with me on that one.”
“But Pelton deserved it,” Matt said. “Everyone in the Corps says so.”
“Since when has a vote determined what is right or wrong?” She picked up her bags. “Time to go.”
Maddy stood at the deck rail taking in the sunset. She was alone and savored the moment. It was her favorite time of year in San Luis Obispo when the hills were green with spring. For a moment, she was free of the Imperial City on the Potomac, with all its posturing and deception, greed and unfettered ambitions. A breeze washed over her, carrying a hint of rain, bringing her back to the moment and why she was on the West Coast. Is it really going to get worse? she asked herself. I hope the meteorologists are wrong. The irony of it struck her. The major test of her administration could be the storm building in the Pacific.
A slight shudder made her clasp her arms to her body. “Are you cold, Madame President?” It was one of the ever-present Secret Service guards. She shook her head and said no. Ever since the helicopter crash, they had been more protective and more attentive, if that were possible. It was as if they had to atone for the crash.
She wanted to do something, to meet the storm head-on. But it wasn’t going to happen. All she could do was wait and trust others to carry out her wishes. Like tax reform, she thought. How hard had they worked on that? Yet in the end, the bureaucrats had gone their own way and done exactly what they wanted. Her lips compressed into a narrow line. She could correct that. Or could she? Who could she trust? Images floated through her mind. It was not a big gallery and was smaller with the deletion of Dennis and Noreen Coker. How she missed those two.
Another image drifted out of her subconscious. “Ah, Mazie,” she said to herself. How I use you. But why do I sense you know it and don’t mind? But the facts were clear. Mazie was up to something because of what she had said.
And there was Bender. “My brave general,” she whispered. The breeze whipped up, turning into a cold wind.
“Madame President. You might want to come inside. It’s starting to rain.” Maddy turned to her new personal assistant. It was Nancy Bender, five months pregnant and beautiful. Maddy went slowly inside to wait for the storm to arrive.
Herbert von Lubeck carefully stoked the burning logs in the huge fireplace. He was a tall man and had to bend over to reach the hearth. Although it was mid-April, a winter’s cold held the continent in its grip and he wanted his guest to be comfortable. It was one of the amenities of which he was proud. He glanced at the doll-like woman cuddled up in the high wingback chair. So different from her mother-in-law, he thought. Turner should have sent E.M. Hazelton if she wanted results. He shuddered at the thought of doing business with the Bitch Queen of Capitol Hill.
“Brandy or cognac?” he asked.
“Brandy, please,” Mazie answered.
He poured her a snifter from his private reserve. It carried no label, but it was the finest brandy in the world. He handed it to her, remembering the last time he had been in this same room with Mikhail Vashin. So different. And so much easier.
Mazie held the snifter up and examined the golden liquid. She took a delicate taste. “Magnificent,” she murmured. She drew her legs up, cuddling into the chair and, for a brief moment, von Lubeck pictured her nude. Concentrate! he warned himself. Save the distractions for later. He fought the urge to light up a cigar. Let the brandy do its magic.