One of the Boys (3 page)

The divorce had left her too serious, too quiet. Although Jake tried to involve her in local activities when she came to visit, she tended to withdraw into a reserved, self-sufficient shell. Her favorite activities seemed to be reading and the interest in archaeology she'd developed after talking to Maggie Wescott.

Jake hadn't missed the excited sparkle in Lisa's eyes when she ran to show him the pottery shards. He'd felt a surge of love for his child so strong it almost overwhelmed him. If digging around in the mud with Maura Phillips gave Lisa that kind of pleasure, he wasn't about to deny it. He'd just make sure he kept out of their way.

 

“What do you think?”

Spreading the pottery shards out on her desk Monday morning, Maura summoned several of her co-workers to show them her treasures.

Pete poked a finger at the brown and red shapes. “They look like rocks to me.”

“No, look at the designs,” Maura insisted. Somehow, in the space of a single evening, she'd become a devotee of prehistoric pottery. She'd even called her mom, who'd added to her enthusiasm about the little pieces.

“Okay, they're rocks with designs.” Pete grinned at the others peering over Maura's shoulder.

“Well, what tribe do you think made them? What do you know about the prehistoric Indians in this area?”

Laughing, Pete edged away from her desk. “Look, I'm an electrical engineer. What I know about Indian artifacts you can fit sideways in a transistor.”

“You might try the base civil engineers,” a short, gray-haired woman volunteered. “I think they're responsible for that sort of stuff. Why don't you start with them?”

“Thanks, I will.”

A call to the Environmental Protection Branch got Dr. Maggie Wescott on the line. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Maura described the find and asked about the rules governing their find.

“Our regulations are pretty straightforward if artifacts are found on base,” Wescott advised. “Off base is a different story. We have an archaeologist on call from the University of Florida who comes in and catalogs the major finds. I can give you his number. Or the State Environmental Protection Agency in Pensacola. Also, there's a historical society in downtown Fort Walton Beach that might help.”

Maura took down the numbers and tried the last first. There was no answer at the historical society, and the other two were long distance, so she decided to call them from home. She scooped the pottery shards into the little box she'd found for them last night, put them in her desk drawer and turned to her work.

Within minutes she was glued to her computer screen, running a series of simulations for the AGM-88 HARM—High Speed Anti-Radar Missile.
Charts and computer runs were scattered across her desk and littered the large worktable in the center of the room. The good part about working in a secure area was being able to leave all this stuff lying out.

The bad part was working in a windowless vault, of course. Shrugging off the closed-in feeling, Maura typed in the simulation parameters. She was soon so absorbed in her work that the shrill ring of her intercom caused her fingers to jump on the keyboard. With a muttered curse, she backspaced carefully and picked up the phone.

“Dr. Phillips, this is Janet Simpson. The boss needs to see you. Can you come down now?”

“Sure, Janet. Anything in particular I need to bring?”

“Not that he mentioned.”

“Okay, I'm on my way.”

Carefully saving her work on both hard disk and a floppy file, Maura gathered up her scattered charts. Vault or no vault, years of working on highly classified advanced projects had ingrained a security awareness that made her especially cautious. She gave Pete a cheerful wave as she left the common work area and went down a short flight of stairs to the director's office.

Her boss was waiting for her. She liked Ed Harrington. He was one of the original good ole boys—a local who had gone to the University of Alabama for his engineering degree, then come right back to start work at Eglin. He'd climbed his way up the bu
reaucratic ladder until he was promoted to this, the highest-ranking civilian position on base. He exuded a crusty, tough aura that didn't fool Maura for a minute.

“What's up?” she asked as she strolled into his office. She was halfway to the big, overstuffed chair in front of his desk before she noticed the other figure standing off to one side.

“Have you met Colonel McAllister?” Ed asked.

“Yes,” Maura managed to say.

She was beginning to feel haunted.

Oblivious to the sudden electricity in the air, Ed chomped on the unlit cigar that never left his mouth and waved them both to a chair.

“Jake just got called in to see the general concerning a special project we're working on. The old man wants us to pull out all the stops. I'll let him explain.”

McAllister took the seat opposite Maura's. He was in uniform—dark blue slacks, light blue short-sleeved shirt with the silver eagles glistening on his shoulder tabs—and didn't look particularly happy about this special project. Maura soon understood why.

“We've been tapped to test a new mount for the Maverick missile on the F-117.”

“The Nighthawk?”

Maura's pulse kicked up. She'd cut her teeth on the swept-wing Stealth fighter.

“With all that's going on in the Middle East,”
McAllister continued, “the air staff wants to move up the test milestones. The general's put me in charge of the project.”

“So how does this involve me?”

“I've told Ed I need his best test manager for this project. He tells me that's you.”

The compliment should have tickled her. Coming from anyone else, it would have.

“I haven't done much work on the Maverick,” she hedged. “Surely one of the other engineers who've handled the missile would be better for this project.”

“We don't need missile expertise as much as we need someone who knows the F-117,” Ed explained. “You worked the Nighthawk at Lockheed, Phillips. You know the plane's material structure. I want you on this one.”

Maura sat back in her chair. Excitement rippled through her at the prospect of working a modification to the weapons load of the Stealth.

“Pete Hansen has been working on the project part-time,” Ed advised. “I want you to take the lead from here on, full-time. Pete can help, if necessary.”

In his earnestness, Ed puffed energetically on his cigar. After a few seconds of wasted effort, he remembered it wasn't lit, pulled the thing out of his mouth and stared at it in disgust.

Maura bit back a grin at her boss's disgruntled look and flashed a quick look at Jake. His gray eyes held banked laughter, but he managed to keep a
straight face. The tension between them eased a bit, only to come back in full force with his next words.

“I think we can work together as professionals on something as important as this,” he said quietly.

His meaning was clear to Maura even if it went right over Ed's head. Nobody, but nobody, had ever questioned her professional integrity before.

“Yes, Colonel, I'm sure I can find a way to work with you on this.”

Her voice dripped ice. Even Ed now noticed the tension crackling between them. His shaggy brows rose in a question. But before he could speak, Jake got to his feet.

“I'll need a complete rundown of where the project stands by tomorrow, including a synopsis of the simulations done to date. Call my secretary and schedule a time to brief me,” he ordered crisply, then left with a nod to them both.

“G
eez,” Maura muttered as the door closed behind the man who was fast becoming her nemesis. “Who does he think he is?”

“One of the best deputy commanders for operations we've ever had at Eglin,” her boss replied with an understanding smile. “Jake can come on strong at times, but since he took over as D.O., we've doubled our test-flight sorties. Even more important, the sorties have produced results. Those bunker-busters that blasted al-Quaeda out of their caves in Afghanistan were developed and tested right here.”

“I know, I know. The man just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Well, get over it,” Ed advised. “I want you to give
this your best shot. Stop by Security on your way back and get cleared into the project.”

“Aye, aye, Admiral.”

Snorting, Ed shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “I don't know why I let you get away with your lip, Phillips.”

“Because I only give it to you in private,” she tossed back, getting to her feet. “And you need someone to prick your bubble once in a while. You may have everyone else around here buffaloed with your ‘senior statesman' routine, but I know you're just a frustrated engineer at heart. You'd give this fancy office up in a flash to get your hands on a slide rule again.”

She opened the door to let herself out. “Too bad we don't use slide rules anymore,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Ed chuckled as the door closed behind her. He'd never admit it, of course, but he thoroughly enjoyed sparring with Maura. The woman possessed a lively sense of humor that had brought a healthy dose of laughter, among other things, into his staid engineering department.

When he'd read the résumé she sent in response to their ad for an engineer, he'd almost bitten through his cigar. Ph.D. from Stanford. Elected into the prestigious International Society of Engineers within a year of graduation. Eight years in the research and development division at Lockheed, with hands-on experience in composites.

Although she couldn't detail all her experience in her résumé due to security considerations, Ed had been around long enough to read between the lines. He'd made a couple of phone calls to friends to verify her credentials and hired her, sight unseen.

He had expected a female version of the stereotypical engineer, complete with plastic pocket holder full of pens and laptop computer. He was as amazed as everyone else in the directorate when a woman in silky red walking shorts and an animal-print blouse breezed in and announced she was his new test engineer.

After the first five minutes of her incoming interview, Ed knew he had a winner. Her knowledge of the latest in materials engineering almost made him drool, but he'd restrained his enthusiasm enough to start her on a series of what he labeled category B projects until he could assess her work personally.

Within two weeks he'd moved her to category A projects. And now she would be working this mount problem. If anyone could get the test back on track, Ed was certain she could.

 

Maura had her doubts as she climbed the stairs after a quick detour to the security office. Although her heart thumped at the thought of working with the Nighthawk again, she worried that her knowledge was too dated, her expertise too stale. She'd have to get up to speed on this modification, and fast.

“Hey, Pete,” she called as she hurried down the row of modular workstations. “I need your help.”

“What's up?” he asked, sauntering over with coffee cup in hand.

“The Nighthawk, that's what,” Maura answered. “Ed says all the milestones for the Maverick mounting mod have been moved up, and he's put me on it full-time.”

“But that's my project.”

“Ed mentioned you've been working it part-time, along with several other hot projects. I guess he figured I had more time available to work this one than you did.”

Her attempt at diplomacy failed. A scowl settled over Pete's face. “I've spent almost six months on this one already. Ed should have put me on it full-time.”

Maura kept silent. She could understand his disappointment, but she wasn't about to question Ed's decisions in public. He was her boss and had her loyalty.

“I need everything you've got, Pete. McAllister wants a status brief tomorrow morning.”

Her co-worker made an obvious effort to shrug off his personal feelings. “I've got a couple of drawers full of data in addition to my electronic files. I'll transfer them to you.”

Maura gulped when he laid a stack of fat folders on her desk. Flipping on her computer, she started taking electronic notes as she scanned the files.

Although still obviously upset, Pete's professionalism surfaced. He stayed late to help her sort
through the data. It wasn't until early evening, after a break for a stale sandwich from the vending machines, that Maura found a note with a scribbled telephone number under the last file folder.

“Oh, no! I forgot to call Lisa.”

“Lisa who?”

“Lisa McAllister. At least, I think that's her name.”

“Jake's daughter?”

“I met her on the beach yesterday. In fact, she was the one who got me digging in the sand for those bits of pottery.”

“I forgot she was down here again. I think she spends every summer with Jake.”

“How long have her parents been divorced?” Maura inquired casually. Not that she was really interested, she told herself. She just didn't want to hurt Lisa by inadvertently saying the wrong thing.

“Three or four years, I think. I know Jake was divorced, or at least separated when he came here. He's been fighting off the local beauties ever since he arrived.”

She looked up, startled at the touch of bitterness in his voice. She had a feeling he included his wife among those local beauties. Maura felt a little sorry for him but made herself shrug it off. Everyone had to work out their problems, as she knew all too well.

 

Maura and Ed Harrington arrived at the test wing's secure briefing room in the basement of the
headquarters a few minutes before ten the following morning. She'd run through her briefing a couple of times, making last-minute changes with Pete's help right up until she'd left her office a few minutes ago.

“All set?” her boss asked.

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath and smiled as they entered the plush conference room, where she gave her slides to a young captain. Ed introduced her to the group in the room, half of whom were military and the other half civilian. She was just getting herself a cup of coffee when everyone scrambled to their feet as Jake walked in.

“As you were. Dr. Phillips, if you're ready?”

Nodding, Maura set down her coffee and assembled her notes.

Jake hid a wry smile as she took to the podium. As many times as he'd been in this room, he'd never been briefed by a staffer wearing a blouse in a shade of yellow so vivid it could have stopped traffic on Eglin Boulevard. The chunky bracelet on her left wrist clinked as she picked up the control device and pressed it to bring up the first slide.

“Good morning, gentlemen. The purpose of this briefing is to update you on the status of the engineering efforts to modify the Maverick missile mounts on the F-1l7 Stealth fighter. Our goal is to design a rack-mounting assembly that will increase the loads in the Stealth's internal weapons bay.

“The fundamental issue is, of course, whether the
internal support structures will hold a bigger payload and release it cleanly without destroying the lightweight composite materials that give the Stealth its radar-evading capability.”

Jake leaned forward, totally fascinated with this cool, crisp woman. She was so different from the one he'd spent that interminable evening with. And from the bay-walker with the floppy hat and breath-stealing bathing suit cut high on her thighs.

This one delivered slide after slide in precise fashion. The briefing was perfectly pitched to her audience of pilots and test engineers. She explained every detail in operational terms, illustrated every potential issue with drawings or charts. The briefing lasted nearly an hour, after which she fielded questions from the floor.

Jake sat quietly, letting his staff quiz her. She handled the questions without once resorting to her notes.

“An excellent briefing,” he commented when the questions wound down. “Your estimates for completing the structural simulations are more optimistic than those my staff gave me. Do you really think we have the capability to do them in-house?”

“Yes, I do. Particularly with the new supercomputer that just came online. I'll run the simulations and have the results for you by next week, Colonel.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Fine. I'll expect daily progress reports. Dr. Harrington, anything you'd like to add?”

Ed gave Maura a broad wink and shook his head. “I think Dr. Phillips has covered everything.”

When the group broke up, Jake moved through the crowd. Her face showed a wary caution as he approached and waited for the others to depart.

“Was there something else, Colonel?”

“Look, about my remark yesterday morning in Ed's office. The one about rising above our personal differences to work together.”

“Oh, yes. When you implied even a ditzy California girl had to occasionally put aside her half-baked prejudices in the interests of national defense.”

Jake winced. “Well, I don't think that was quite the meaning I intended, but in any case, I apologize.”

The apology surprised Maura. The wry grin that accompanied it melted some of her cool reserve.

“Apology accepted, Colonel.”

 

Pete was waiting for her when she got back to her office. “How did it go?”

“Great! Fine! Well, okay. Tell you what, why don't I buy you lunch at the Dock and fill you in. I owe you for all your help last night.”

By the time they settled down on the outside deck of a popular seafood restaurant, Maura's adrenaline had receded to normal levels and she was able to give Pete the gist of what had happened. They couldn't talk specifics in the open, of course, but each knew enough about the project now to communicate in totally unclassified code.

“Jeez, Maura, I'm amazed at how much you've learned so quickly,” Pete said finally as he leaned back. “Not just about the Maverick, but about the test business as a whole.”

“I may be new to Eglin,” she reminded him gently, “but I'm not exactly new to the airplane business.”

“Yeah, but still, working concept designs for big aircraft is a lot different from building bombs and missiles.”

“Not that different. Our initial design work included the weapons that would be carried on the platform. Still, it is exciting here at Eglin to actually see the things fly and the systems work.”

Their conversation turned desultory as the noon sun beat down. Maura felt the tension drain from her and a comfortable lassitude creep in. When they left the little restaurant, she was too tired to go back to work. She'd been at the office until almost 2:00 a.m. the night before.

The lack of sleep was catching up with her. She didn't want to start the computer simulation she had to do in this condition. That would require total concentration and every ounce of her energy for long hours in front of the terminal. Instead, she made a quick call to Ed's office to let him know she was taking a few hours' comp time, and grabbed the little box of pottery shards from her desk drawer.

Driving the few miles from the base to downtown Fort Walton Beach was pure pleasure. A thrill shot
through her as she crossed the bridges over the little inlets that divided the town and saw how the sun sparkled on the blue-green water. When she turned into a parking spot behind the little cinder-block building of the historical society, she'd shrugged off most of the stress of preparing for the briefing.

“Good afternoon, dear. May I help you?”

Maura bit her lip as a slight, elderly woman came into the musty outer room. If she'd ever stopped to wonder who would work in a historical society, she probably would have pictured a woman like this one. But she wouldn't have pictured a museum docent in high-top sneakers and a baggy sweatshirt with Save the Turtles picked out in neon letters.

Maura tipped some of the pieces out of her little box, then held out her palm. “A friend and I found these in the bay a few yards off the shore. We think they may be Indian pieces.”

“Oh, yes, I recognize some of the designs. Come on back to our Early Ancestors Room. You'll see very similar type of work.”

Mrs. Bowman, or so her hand-lettered name tag proclaimed, led the way through a couple of rooms filled with early black-and-white photographs of the town to one that contained a haphazard jumble of Spanish, Indian and what looked like pirate paraphernalia.

“Our collection of Indian pottery isn't as complete as the one in the Indian Temple Mound Museum downtown,” Mrs. Bowman continued, shifting a
stack of pamphlets sitting atop a glass case filled with pottery and arrowheads.

“You really should visit it.”

“I thought about it, but the museum was closed today. I had your address, so I thought I would try here. Oh, look, there's a design exactly like one of my pieces.”

“The Cherokee didn't actually live in this area, but they did trade with our local Creek tribes, as well as with the Seminoles to the south. The pieces in this case are relatively recent. Over here are some of the older finds, from the prehistoric tribes who hunted and fished on the bay.”

Maura lingered for a good half hour, examining the pieces and looking for design matches. Mrs. Bowman found an old, yellowed pamphlet written by an early scholar on southeastern Indian tribes, and offered to make a copy for her. When questioned, she didn't know the exact laws concerning retention of relics found in the bay, but suggested the state offices in Pensacola.

Maura got home late that afternoon and finally tracked down the right person to talk to in the Pensacola office. After a brief debate, she decided to call Lisa. She found Colonel Jake McAllister's number easily enough in the local directory and arranged to meet the excited teenager in fifteen minutes at the cove.