must have too. Breanna stared down at the floor.
“Bree.”
His hand felt warm on her face, reassuring like the bath had been.
She forced herself to shake her head no.
Zen actually enjoyed the beer, even though he drank only a quarter of it. Remington and the others seemed genuinely happy about the day’s tests, and at least pretended not to notice that he was in a wheelchair.
He knew they weren’t oblivious, and there were a few awkward silence and glances. Still, the test had gone well, and Remington’s new laptop had some cool video extensions that replayed the flight videos very sharply, and the report was perfect. And what the hell. Between the beer and the day, he actually felt damn good. He even joined in the good-natured kidding of Lou DeFalco, the civilian who’d been acting as lead Flighthawk pilot in Zen’s absence. They call DeFalco ‘Rock’ – not exactly a flattering nickname for a pilot.
“You didn’t think I’m bad in the Flighthawk,” said DeFalco with a laugh, “you should see me in Aurora. There I’m Big Rock.”
“I heard you put one of the Flighthawks through the hangar door,” said Zen.
“No way,” said DeFalco. “It was the side of the hangar.”
“True.” Remington laughed. “We just barely missed. He came, I’m not exaggerating, within an inch. Damn computer protocols don’t always lock out on proximity.”
“Hey, if they did, Rock would never get off the ground,” said Paul Kardon, one of the weapons engineers.
“Hey, Zen,” said Nancy Cheshire, walking in. “Your wife’s looking for you>”
“Uh-oh,” groaned the others in unison.
“The ball and chain beckons,” deadpanned Remington.
Zen laughed along with the others.
“You better go run her down, Major,” said Kardon. “And don’t take any gruff. Remember – you outrank her.”
“Yeah, but she’s connected.” DeFalco laughed.
Zen tried Bree at the Megafortress bunker, and then over at the Taj, before one of the security sergeants said he’d seen her heading toward Yellow Two, the dorm building where she had her apartment.
Their apartment.
She was trying. Shouldn’t he let her make the attempt? There was a chance that she might be able to get over the fact that he was a cripple.
Was that fair? Let her waste her life on him?
Even though the entrance to the dorm building was ramped, Jeff had trouble negotiating the bumps. He had to jiggle his wheels sideways on one, and that killed his momentum. Finally he reached the exterior hall, only to find it nearly impossible to pull the heavy door while rolling backward.
“Hey, Major, let me grab that sucker for you,” said Captain Danny Freah.
“Thanks,” said Zen, rolling backward as the big Air Force security office pulled open the door.
“Ought to have an electronic eye on it,” said Freah as Zen rolled into the foyer.
“That’s not necessary,” said Zen, fighting against his embarrassment.
Freah seemed t sense the awkwardness, and opened the inside door quickly.
“Heard you nailed that tanker sim this afternoon,” said Freah. “Good going.”
“I didn’t realize that’d be big news,” said Zen.
“Hey, Major, relax.” Said Freah. He pulled his hands back as if he’d touch a hot stove. “I happened to be in the control tower when you got it. they were applauding.”
“Yeah,” said Zen. Hadn’t meant to snarl. He pulled his wheelchair around, starting down the hallway for the room. It was automatic – he didn’t think about the stairs at the far end the hall.
The flight down was only six steps deep, the suite door barely ten feet beyond that. But there was no way he could get down the steps without help. He’d have to go back through the lobby and around through the back wing, where there was a ramp. As he started to wheel backward, he saw the door to the suite open.
Mack Smith popped his head out, then turned back to say something before leaving.
Smith skipped up the stairs, disappointed with Breanna and maybe himself. He hadn’t gone there to seduce her.
So why had he gone then?
He hadn’t found an answer before he reached the lobby. Coincidence of coincidence, who was just arriving but Bree’s husband Zen.
That was close.
“Hey,” said Knife, grabbing Zen’s chair as he was rolling down the back hallway. “Hey, Zen, what are you up to?”
“What are you to?” snapped Stockard furiously.
Smith let go of the wheelchair. Captain Freah and a Spec Ops security guard were standing near the front door a few yards away.
“I’m sorry,” said Smith.
Paralyzed and all, Stockard looked like he was going to bolt out of the chair and strangle him. Mack knew better than to say anything about Rap, even though nothing had happened, but he wasn’t sure what to say.
“I was just making my rounds, saying good-bye,” said Mack, taking a step back. He hadn’t had a chance to say anything about Zen’s legs, but this sure as hell wasn’t the time.
And anyway, what the hell could he say? Tough break?
He’d already said something like that in the hospital.
“I’m saying good-bye,” Mack repeated.
“Good-bye for what?”
“Hell, Zen, what’s up your ass?” Smith took a step backward and stuck his hands on his hips. For a second he thought Stockard was going to put his head down and ram forward with his chair.
“Uh, Majors,” said Freah, coming toward them with the air of a kindergarten teacher. “Can I be of some assistance?”
“I’m fine,” said Zen.
“Me too,” said Knife, starting for the door. “Good-bye, Zen. Tell your wife I said hello.”
“Tell her yourself,” said Stockard.
Smith spun around and headed through the lobby door, letting it slam shut behind him.
Chapter 3
A matter of conscience
Two weeks later
Ethiopia
21 October, 0400
“All right Marines, listen the fuck up.” Gunnery Sergeant James Ricardo Melfi gave the small handpickedplatoon one of his best sneers, even though it was difficult for them to see in the dim light from the nearby flare. “That means you too, Goosehead,” he told one of his sergeant. “Jack, you close your fuckin’ mouth or
