her to accompany him. “Then I’m not leaving.”
“Are you refusing to follow a direct order?” He rose from his seat; his hand fell to his side. Fortunately, he hadn’t worn his side arm.
Not that a gun would have changed her mind. With the crisis over, her connection to the Surgeon General was more powerful than his gun and, if he pissed her off, more detrimental to his career. “You are not my superior officer, Colonel. So unless you can provide those orders, I am not under any obligation to do as you say.”
His face flushed an unflattering shade of red. “Sergeant Major!”
The soldier rounded the corner, before the great room stopped ringing with the colonel’s bellow. “Sir!”
“Pack a bag for Mrs. Spanner. She will be returning to base with us.”
The soldier looked from his CO to her then back again. His lips compressed and color glowed on his cheeks.
So he was on her side. Good to know, but it would be career suicide for him to disobey a direct order. Mavis nodded once. He should obey his CO, at least until other orders came from a higher authority. Keeping the colonel in her sight, she sidled toward the cordless phone.
“Did I stutter, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Lynch’s face contorted—slitted eyes, white-rimmed mouth, and florid complexion.
“No, Sir.” The soldier’s expression drained of all emotion. “Where might I find such a bag?”
“Use a garbage bag for all I care.” The CO stamped his foot.
Mavis picked up the phone. Her fingers were steady as she speed-dialed Miles Arnez, the Surgeon General. The computer generated voice asked how it could direct her call. She punched in the extension of her former boss, then her access code to his private line. The phone rang once, then twice.
Colonel Lynch scooped up the computer case and clutched it to his chest. “Calling 9-1-1 won’t help you, doctor. I’m the authority in Phoenix.”
But not absolute authority. The military reported to a civilian leader, and, thanks to an executive order, that person was the Surgeon General. Behind her, cabinet drawers opened and closed as the sergeant major looked for the required bag. Mavis focused on the ringing. Three. Come on, Miles. Pick up the phone. A click sounded after the fourth ring. She better not get voicemail.
“Mavis?” Miles Arnez sighed into the phone. Amusement and exasperation added dimension to his gravelly voice. “Why are you calling? Isn’t the laptop working?”
Gotcha! Mavis grinned at the lying puke. Your ass is so toasted. Miles hated petty tyrants almost as much as she did. He’d shot the last one point-blank and had to leave the WMD program. Nice to know he’d landed on his feet. And that he hadn’t forgotten her. “Colonel Lynch refuses to give me the computer, Miles. He says he’ll shoot me, unless I accompany him to Gamma Base.”
“I did not.” The officer clutched the laptop tighter. Hatred blazed in his eyes.
She matched his wrath. He would have drawn on her, if he’d been wearing a side arm like regulations required. And, she had no doubt that he would have shot her by now. But she lived her life in facts and probabilities, not what if fairytales. Still, she’d made an enemy, but it would have happened sooner or later. She had morals to guide her and he used his greed and penis as a compass.
Miles chuckled then cleared his throat. “Put me on speaker.”
“Certainly.” Mavis set the phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button on the headset. “Ready when you are, Sir.”
Nothing wrong with buttering up the boss. She clasped her hands behind her back. Besides the Surgeon General had earned her respect.
“Colonel Lynch,” Miles’s bark sounded tinny, “just what were your instructions regarding Dr. Spanner?”
“We were to secure the target and escort her to Gamma Base.” The officer lurched forward, toward the phone.
She moved it out of his reach, so he couldn’t pick it up and receive his dressing down privately. The
“Are you refusing to follow a direct order?” He rose from his seat; his hand fell to his side. Fortunately, he hadn’t worn his side arm.
Not that a gun would have changed her mind. With the crisis over, her connection to the Surgeon General was more powerful than his gun and, if he pissed her off, more detrimental to his career. “You are not my superior officer, Colonel. So unless you can provide those orders, I am not under any obligation to do as you say.”
His face flushed an unflattering shade of red. “Sergeant Major!”
The soldier rounded the corner, before the great room stopped ringing with the colonel’s bellow. “Sir!”
“Pack a bag for Mrs. Spanner. She will be returning to base with us.”
The soldier looked from his CO to her then back again. His lips compressed and color glowed on his cheeks.
So he was on her side. Good to know, but it would be career suicide for him to disobey a direct order. Mavis nodded once. He should obey his CO, at least until other orders came from a higher authority. Keeping the colonel in her sight, she sidled toward the cordless phone.
“Did I stutter, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Lynch’s face contorted—slitted eyes, white-rimmed mouth, and florid complexion.
“No, Sir.” The soldier’s expression drained of all emotion. “Where might I find such a bag?”
“Use a garbage bag for all I care.” The CO stamped his foot.
Mavis picked up the phone. Her fingers were steady as she speed-dialed Miles Arnez, the Surgeon General. The computer generated voice asked how it could direct her call. She punched in the extension of her former boss, then her access code to his private line. The phone rang once, then twice.
Colonel Lynch scooped up the computer case and clutched it to his chest. “Calling 9-1-1 won’t help you, doctor. I’m the authority in Phoenix.”
But not absolute authority. The military reported to a civilian leader, and, thanks to an executive order, that person was the Surgeon General. Behind her, cabinet drawers opened and closed as the sergeant major looked for the required bag. Mavis focused on the ringing. Three. Come on, Miles. Pick up the phone. A click sounded after the fourth ring. She better not get voicemail.
“Mavis?” Miles Arnez sighed into the phone. Amusement and exasperation added dimension to his gravelly voice. “Why are you calling? Isn’t the laptop working?”
Gotcha! Mavis grinned at the lying puke. Your ass is so toasted. Miles hated petty tyrants almost as much as she did. He’d shot the last one point-blank and had to leave the WMD program. Nice to know he’d landed on his feet. And that he hadn’t forgotten her. “Colonel Lynch refuses to give me the computer, Miles. He says he’ll shoot me, unless I accompany him to Gamma Base.”
“I did not.” The officer clutched the laptop tighter. Hatred blazed in his eyes.
She matched his wrath. He would have drawn on her, if he’d been wearing a side arm like regulations required. And, she had no doubt that he would have shot her by now. But she lived her life in facts and probabilities, not what if fairytales. Still, she’d made an enemy, but it would have happened sooner or later. She had morals to guide her and he used his greed and penis as a compass.
Miles chuckled then cleared his throat. “Put me on speaker.”
“Certainly.” Mavis set the phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button on the headset. “Ready when you are, Sir.”
Nothing wrong with buttering up the boss. She clasped her hands behind her back. Besides the Surgeon General had earned her respect.
“Colonel Lynch,” Miles’s bark sounded tinny, “just what were your instructions regarding Dr. Spanner?”
“We were to secure the target and escort her to Gamma Base.” The officer lurched forward, toward the phone.
She moved it out of his reach, so he couldn’t pick it up and receive his dressing down privately. The
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