There’s absolutely no reason for it. None at all.”
A frown crossed Laurie’s face. “PRP? Isn’t that the program where you have to certify the physical condition and mental stability of people working around nuclear weapons?”
“You got it,” Ryan replied. “It doesn’t make sense since we haven’t had nukes on the island since 1972. Martini’s such a raving asshole. He wants to look good to the brass and is using our bodies as stepping stones to promotion.”
She nudged him with her hip. “Say, if you’re not using your body, I got a use for it.”
“When are you going to marry me?” he asked.
“Marriage is dull, hard work,” she replied, “and not for prima donnas.”
“Hey,” he protested. “Who’s a prima donna?”
She smiled at him. “Oh, someone I know.”
Washington, D.C.
Bender stifled a mental sigh and tried to estimate how much longer he would be buried under the reams of proposed Defense Department budget cuts he was reviewing for the Office of Management and the Budget. He was angry and frustrated; angry because he was being asked his opinion where he did not have expertise and frustratedbecause OMB wasn’t talking to the experts he kept recommending.
“Hi. Can we come in?”
He looked up at the sound of Sarah Turner’s voice. She was standing in his doorway with her brother. He smiled. “Sure. But I only got one chair.” Sarah flopped into the chair and started to swing her legs back and forth.
A man’s voice answered from the hallway. “I’ll get another one.” Chuck Sanford, the Secret Service agent who had been in charge of the Secret Service detail when Turner was vice president stepped into view. “Good to see you again, General.”
“Welcome back,” Bender said. “And Agent Adams?” Sanford nodded and moved out of sight, searching for a chair.
“Do you remember everybody’s name?” Brian Turner asked, still standing in the doorway.
“I try to,” Bender answered. He studied the president’s son. He was a tall and awkward fourteen-year-old discovering who he was and what he could do. Physically, he was totally different from the small and feminine Sarah. He was itchy to move and discover new places, new adventures. But there was no doubt that he was his mother’s son, and some day, he would be a very handsome man. “People are important.”
“That’s what Grams says,” Sarah said, wanting to be part of the conversation.
“Grams!” Brian snorted.
Bender laughed, understanding the boy. “I was trapped in a house full of women for a long time,” he said. Brian looked at him hopefully. “Strange, but I miss it now.”
Brian shot a sideways glance at his sister. “I won’t.”
Sanford was back with a chair. He sat it on the opposite side of the doorway from Sarah’s and disappeared. Brian stepped into the small office and looked around. His mouth fell open when he saw the picture on the wall. It was a photograph of the Thunderbirds against a magnificent skyscape. Although the six F-16s were very small, the red, white, and blue of the Thunderbird motif was clearly visible against a vast sky. Yet the aircraft and sky were one, in perfect harmony with each other.
“What a great photo,” Brian said. “Can I get one?”
Bender shook his head. “There were only eight prints made before the negative was ruined. That’s me on the extreme left.”
“You really flew with the Thunderbirds? And that was your airplane?”
“Yeah, I did. But that was a long time ago. But it wasn’t my airplane. It belonged to the crew chiefs. They just let me borrow it from time to time to go play.”
“The crew chiefs, are they sergeants?” Brian asked. Bender nodded an answer. “Oh. Just like servants.”
Bender chuckled. “You’ve never met a sergeant. Believe me, they are not servants. They do the work and they keep the aircraft flying. Without them, a pilot never turns a wheel.”
“Turns a wheel?” Brian asked.
“That’s just a way of
A frown crossed Laurie’s face. “PRP? Isn’t that the program where you have to certify the physical condition and mental stability of people working around nuclear weapons?”
“You got it,” Ryan replied. “It doesn’t make sense since we haven’t had nukes on the island since 1972. Martini’s such a raving asshole. He wants to look good to the brass and is using our bodies as stepping stones to promotion.”
She nudged him with her hip. “Say, if you’re not using your body, I got a use for it.”
“When are you going to marry me?” he asked.
“Marriage is dull, hard work,” she replied, “and not for prima donnas.”
“Hey,” he protested. “Who’s a prima donna?”
She smiled at him. “Oh, someone I know.”
Washington, D.C.
Bender stifled a mental sigh and tried to estimate how much longer he would be buried under the reams of proposed Defense Department budget cuts he was reviewing for the Office of Management and the Budget. He was angry and frustrated; angry because he was being asked his opinion where he did not have expertise and frustratedbecause OMB wasn’t talking to the experts he kept recommending.
“Hi. Can we come in?”
He looked up at the sound of Sarah Turner’s voice. She was standing in his doorway with her brother. He smiled. “Sure. But I only got one chair.” Sarah flopped into the chair and started to swing her legs back and forth.
A man’s voice answered from the hallway. “I’ll get another one.” Chuck Sanford, the Secret Service agent who had been in charge of the Secret Service detail when Turner was vice president stepped into view. “Good to see you again, General.”
“Welcome back,” Bender said. “And Agent Adams?” Sanford nodded and moved out of sight, searching for a chair.
“Do you remember everybody’s name?” Brian Turner asked, still standing in the doorway.
“I try to,” Bender answered. He studied the president’s son. He was a tall and awkward fourteen-year-old discovering who he was and what he could do. Physically, he was totally different from the small and feminine Sarah. He was itchy to move and discover new places, new adventures. But there was no doubt that he was his mother’s son, and some day, he would be a very handsome man. “People are important.”
“That’s what Grams says,” Sarah said, wanting to be part of the conversation.
“Grams!” Brian snorted.
Bender laughed, understanding the boy. “I was trapped in a house full of women for a long time,” he said. Brian looked at him hopefully. “Strange, but I miss it now.”
Brian shot a sideways glance at his sister. “I won’t.”
Sanford was back with a chair. He sat it on the opposite side of the doorway from Sarah’s and disappeared. Brian stepped into the small office and looked around. His mouth fell open when he saw the picture on the wall. It was a photograph of the Thunderbirds against a magnificent skyscape. Although the six F-16s were very small, the red, white, and blue of the Thunderbird motif was clearly visible against a vast sky. Yet the aircraft and sky were one, in perfect harmony with each other.
“What a great photo,” Brian said. “Can I get one?”
Bender shook his head. “There were only eight prints made before the negative was ruined. That’s me on the extreme left.”
“You really flew with the Thunderbirds? And that was your airplane?”
“Yeah, I did. But that was a long time ago. But it wasn’t my airplane. It belonged to the crew chiefs. They just let me borrow it from time to time to go play.”
“The crew chiefs, are they sergeants?” Brian asked. Bender nodded an answer. “Oh. Just like servants.”
Bender chuckled. “You’ve never met a sergeant. Believe me, they are not servants. They do the work and they keep the aircraft flying. Without them, a pilot never turns a wheel.”
“Turns a wheel?” Brian asked.
“That’s just a way of
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