King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

He knocked before entering the office that was situated on the last corridor he had turned onto.

“Enter,” said the voice.

He opened the door and looked around.

This was the outer office of the Army’s assistant secretary for acquisition, logistics, and technology. The assistant secretary was a civilian now, a retired two-star who ran a program that decided how billions in defense money would be spent in the Middle East. There had been scandals and fraud and waste in this sector during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Investigations and commissions had ensued and folks had lost their jobs and their careers; some had gone to prison. The current assistant secretary, Dan Marshall, was in his sixties and had a sterling reputation as a scrupulously honest administrator. He had come in and cleaned house, and things were running a lot more smoothly by most accounts.

The woman behind the desk looked up at the man, smiled, and greeted him. He asked for Marshall. She picked up her phone and buzzed the interior office.

A few moments later Marshall came out of his office. He smiled and came forward, not with an extended hand to shake but with both arms out for a hug.

“Alan, my favorite son-in-law, welcome back. How was your trip?” he

said.

Alan Grant smiled, hugged his father-in-law back, and said, “Interesting, Dan. Interesting but productive.”

“Come in and tell me all about it,” said Marshall.

Grant followed him into his office and shut the door.

He would tell his father-in-law some, but of course not all.

He looked over at the shelf that housed an array of photos. His gaze locked on one—it always did.

Marshall followed his look and smiled sadly.

“I still miss your father greatly even though it’s been so many years now. I was friends with your father long before you and my little girl were even born. He was the sharpest cadet in our West Point class.”

Grant walked over to the photo and picked it up. His father was in his dress greens, his fresh oak clusters on his broad shoulders. He looked happy. That didn’t last. Not after he became a civilian and had gone to work in D.C.

Grant put the photo back and turned to Marshall.

“Yeah, I still miss him too. Maybe more than ever.”

“At some point, Alan, you have to let it go. Leslie’s been telling me you’ve been on edge lately. Everything okay?”

“Your daughter is a great wife, Dan. But she worries too much about me. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, you came back from Iraq alive. No one is questioning your toughness.”

“Lots of very tough soldiers died over there. I was just one of the lucky ones.”

“I thank the almighty you were. Don’t know what I’d do without you. And Leslie would be lost.”

“She’s a strong woman. She’d be okay.”

“Let’s get off this morbid talk, Alan. But you really do need to move on from what happened to your parents. It’s been over twenty years.”

“Twenty-five,” said Grant quickly. In a calmer tone he added, “And I am getting over it, Dan. In fact, before long I think I’ll be completely over it.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Yes it is, thought Grant.

CHAPTER

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