“Suck it up, kid. You better get some hand warmers then,” Mark humorously told him, as the whole room started laughing.
It wasn’t anything to laugh at, though. The cold air temperatures at altitude were professional cold, and the cold-weather gear would have to be of superior quality. Ford’s face would be covered by the oxygen mask, and his head covered by his helmet, but any uncovered skin would be an issue.
As an example, a temperature of 0 degrees Fahrenheit, and a simple wind speed of just fifteen miles per hour, would produce a wind chill of -19. In these conditions, exposed skin would freeze in less than thirty minutes. By comparison, an outside air temperature of -35 degrees up at altitude, with a sixty-mile-per-hour wind, was -84 degrees.
“Robert, can you at least acquire two new cockpit seats to sit in, you know, two individual pilot seats, so I can fly her home?” Maybe some good cold-weather gear, like L.L.Bean gear?”
“Consider it done. Can’t promise custom sheepskin seat covers but I can get pilot seats. Cold-weather gear as well,” Robert answered.
Mark made some more notes on his pad, curious about perhaps flying at a lower and warmer altitude, then looked at his watch quickly. “OK, this is what I want to do. You guys sit here and generate a detailed timeline and take a look at any recent stuff. Again, all ideas on the table to make this happen. I’m going to arrange for the China military brief from upstairs for Burns. Will be back in a few.”
Jason then knocked on the door and peeked his head in. “Mark, you have a second?”
“What’s up?” Mark looked at him, bothered that he was interrupting.
“Mr. Burns wanted me to come down here and share some news with you guys.”
“All right. These guys are all cleared for the mission. You can tell everyone.”
“Oh, it’s not related to… whatever you’re working on. I’m not cleared for it,” Jason replied.
Mark looked at Jason strangely. “What is it then?”
Jason cleared his throat, almost nervously. “The undersecretary of the air force just resigned. Mr. Burns is being seriously considered for the position, which means he’ll leave DIA. Finding out more information now.”
“Christ. We got a real Washington politics and power problem then. No top cover on this mission,” Mark said out loud.
The secretary of the air force and White House liaison had come in to see Calvin Burns in his office only hours ago, which was unusual, as Calvin usually went to see the secretary on his turf. Air Force Under Secretary Henry A. Parker had resigned, stating that the results of a recent General Accountability Office publication and subsequent Inspector General investigation were a distraction to the president of the United States and the secretary of the air force. The news would be public later today, and he was sending over his messengers to the Hill to inform the Senate Armed Services Committee leadership. The message was that the secretary of defense accepted his resignation, and to respectfully accept Calvin Burns as the acting undersecretary. In addition, the president should respectfully consider Calvin Burns as the permanent nominee.
Calvin was honored for the opportunity to serve in such a leadership capacity, but was taken aback since he was preparing for his pending retirement himself. What? Under secretary? he thought. Need to consider this.
Calvin had taken a few minutes to comprehend the news and called his wife down in Alexandria, Virginia, and they decided together to take it on. They discussed their adult children and grandchildren, their mortgage payments, retirement accounts, and free time. Traveling together was also discussed, and finally their good health. They came up with the joint decision that he should continue a bit longer in the service of his country. His entire life was being ready for opportunities, and this was yet another time to accept responsibility. Time to take care of business.
He made a short list of the items that could kill his nomination, items that the press could use to embarrass the air force and DIA if disclosed by accident. Items that would be a go or no go, items that would crush the air force and himself because they were overlooked. At the top of his list: the Chinese stealth program. Devil Dragon and Black Scorpion were on his mind, and being concerned about this latest aircraft and its future was putting it lightly.
The person he thought of to help him with the management of the committees and elected members of Congress was Michelle Boyd, a DIA foreign missile analyst with former Legislative Affairs experience. Calvin worked with her a few months ago when she was responsible for tampering with his recent testimony to an Intelligence Committee. Michelle essentially owed him for not terminating her, or worse, sending her on orders to Timbuktu or some other undesirable location.
The only way to really sum up Michelle Boyd was to say she was rough around the edges. Michelle, in her late twenties with short, brown hair and a thin runner’s body, had worked for DIA for the past nine years after graduating from the University of Scranton. Born around Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, her tough blue-collar upbringing in the economically depressed area of central Pennsylvania made her a force to reckon with in white-collar Washington. While others in Washington drank glasses of Chardonnay, Michelle drank cheap, draught beer. When Michelle went out to the bars back at home, she drank Genesee Cream Ale. She watched ESPN fishing shows and Duck Dynasty, enjoyed hunting, and played women’s soccer. She ran tough mud runs. She had tattoos up and down the inside and outside of her right arm and neck. Best of all, Michelle was successful, empowered, and strong, and she didn’t take shit from anyone, especially men.
Rather than stay at home and work at the Susquehanna Valley Mall in Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, like her girlfriends, she applied for an entry-level government GS-9 position years ago and got it. It was her springboard away from her go-nowhere-fast high school friends, in addition to her unemployed boozed-up mom, alcoholic father, and younger brother — especially her brother, who was constantly in trouble with the Lewisburg Police, or even sometimes, the Department of Public Safety at nearby Bucknell University.
Michelle’s upbringing made her a tough cookie, and Calvin saw something special in her. Any employee who had the guts to interfere with the testimony of the deputy director of DIA on Capitol Hill had some real intestinal fortitude, and Calvin recognized that. She was a fighter, and Calvin needed a fighter, for both himself and the air force. The Hill was where business and fights were conducted, and Michelle was Calvin’s ticket to success.
“Hello, Michelle. Thank you coming back up,” Calvin said, greeting her in the doorway.
“Hey, Mr. Burns. I’m surprised that you called me up here. I swear, I haven’t stirred the pot on anything. I haven’t breathed a word of our last conversation to a soul, including my supervisor, Mike Klubb.”
“I know, I know. Please have a seat. I figured you didn’t. Last time we met, I was, indeed, livid, and you know why. But,” Calvin shrugged his shoulders, “let’s put that behind us, OK?”
“Yes, we can,” Michelle answered.
“So, Michelle, I need your help,” as he touched his fingertips together. “It’s regarding confirmation, or rather potential confirmation, and prep… some Hill work.”
“OK. I don’t understand. I’m in foreign missiles now, not LA,” Michelle answered. LA was Legislative Affairs.