Harding looked at Lance. “She’s yours, Lance; defend her.”
“Happy to,” Lance replied, resting his elbows on the table.
“She’s an army brat; her father has a distinguished record of service in war and peace; she enlisted on graduation from high school and got her degree while in the service. She was promoted quickly, for a woman in the army, holding increasingly responsible posts.”
“She accused her superior of attempted rape,” Willis said. “It’s all in the record.”
“Not quite all of it,” Lance said. “The record doesn’t mention that the charges were true. I investigated them thoroughly, and it’s a disgrace that the man’s buddies acquitted him in the court-martial. He resigned from the service less than six months later.”
“She ruined a good man’s career,” Willis said.
“He was a lousy man, and she did her country a service by exposing a long pattern of behavior unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman.”
“That tape is an example of her insubordination,” Willis said.
“On the contrary,” Lance said. “The tape shows that she acted correctly in every respect and kept her temper. Well, perhaps pulling rank on Whitey wasn’t a good idea, but we all heard him invite her to hit him. No, order her to hit him.”
Hugh English spoke up for the first time. “She broke Whitey Thompson’s nose; that can’t be a bad thing.”
Everybody laughed but Willis.
“How do you expect him to continue instructing trainees?” Willis asked. “Word of the incident has already spread throughout the Farm. Whitey is now a laughingstock.”
“I don’t expect Whitey to continue,” Harding said. “I fired him twenty minutes ago.”
“Without consulting me?” Willis asked.
“Indeed, yes,” Harding said. “I was a witness to the incident, as we now all are. I don’t believe you would have had anything to add.”
“You fired one of my people without consulting me,” Willis said. “I should resign.”
Harding said nothing, just looked at the man. The room had grown very quiet. “Well, Jim?” Harding said at last.
“It’ll be on your desk in half an hour,” Willis said. He stood up and stalked out of the room.
Nobody said anything for a long moment, then Hugh English spoke up. “I thought that went rather well,” he said. He turned to Lance. “As far as I can see, you’re lucky to have the woman.”
“Thank you, Hugh,” Lance replied.
“See that you hang on to her,” English said.
“I’ll do that,” Lance replied.
THIRTEEN
TEDDY LEFT NW YORK CITY in a rented car after midnight and drove south. At six a.m. he arrived at a diner not far from McLean, Virginia, where he waited for half an hour in the parking lot until she drove in and parked her SUV near the front door. He gave her a minute to be seated before following her in.
Irene Forster was sitting alone in the same two-seater booth she had occupied for breakfast for at least fifteen years, perhaps longer, certainly during all the time she and Teddy had been sleeping together, sometimes in the motel next door. Teddy slid into the booth opposite her. She looked up at him, preparing to tell him to get lost. “Good morning, Irene,” he said.
She stared at the man in the tweed cap with the gray hair and beard, and slowly comprehension came into her face. “Teddy?” she said under her breath.
“Ah, you didn’t think you were rid of me, did you?”
“My God,” she said, “I thought the planet was rid of you.”
“Not quite yet. You’re looking very beautiful.” He wasn’t just flattering her. In her late forties, she had ripened perfectly. Her ex-husband was a fool.
“Why aren’t you dead?”