The Oval Office, Washington, D.C.
November 13, 6:50 P.M.
“Does anyone remember this line from my first inaugural address?” Midkiff asked the three men sitting with him at the conference table. “‘The mailed fist of power must always yield to the whisper of compassion’?”
Governor John Wright and Matt Berry nodded. Chase Williams was noncommittal. It was a rhetorical question, anyway.
The president regarded Williams, who sat across from him, beside Berry.
“Commander, your team performed brilliantly. I’m looking forward to meeting Major Breen, Lieutenant Lee, and Lance Corporal Rivette.”
“They are looking forward to meeting you both,” Williams said, looking from Midkiff to the tall, graying, square-jawed president-elect.
The team had flown home and were met by Berry, who took them directly to the Hay-Adams Hotel across Lafayette Park from the White House. Berry also took charge of the core sample, which was placed in a hazmat container by a team from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
“I felt it best to locate this nonmilitary,” Berry said. “Good thing we have an outgoing president who didn’t care about crushed toes.”
The team was surprisingly fresh. All had slept on the plane and did the same thing they had done after Yemen: debriefed one another. Not to corroborate or confirm matching stories but to air what they learned and how they felt. That was not something very many soldiers got to express in a relaxed, non-command environment.
Of them all, Grace was the most unsettled. She was not happy to have left Raeburn behind.
“I wanted to do Commander van Tonder the favor of putting him in a lock that caused unbearable pain—and keeping him that way for a ride across the ocean.”
“Would you have?” Breen asked.
“I’d have shot him in the mouth,” Rivette said.
“I don’t know,” Grace answered. “That commander—he was in just that kind of pain and it’ll never go away.”
“It shouldn’t,” Williams said. “Otherwise, you become a Raeburn instead of a Lieutenant Mabuza.”
That failed to assuage the woman, and Williams suspected that what was truly at the core of her unhappiness was the same thing that had bothered him: it took someone else to do what they were used to achieving themselves.
Hopefully, meeting President Midkiff and Governor Wright would help to mollify those feelings. It would also be the first time the team was together other than being on a mission. That would be validating, too. If they had not ultimately succeeded here, as in Yemen, there were likely to be questions about the Black Wasp program.
“Governor Wright, I am pleased that you will have this remarkable unit at your disposal,” the president went on. “And more like it, if you can persuade the generals that they need to field more tactical and experiential skill and less redundant hardware.”
“We will need more like it,” Wright said—with great certainty.
“Why do you say that, sir?” Williams asked.
The president-elect had been sitting with his legs crossed. He leaned forward now, reminding Williams of the way he had looked directly into cameras with a gaze that commanded respect.
“Because your team just showed the Chinese, the Russians, and everyone else who was watching what you can do,” Wright said. “That can hardly go unnoticed at the highest levels—or unanswered. I hope, Mr. Berry, that when your tenure here is through you will consider serving as intermediary of such a program.”
“I’m honored,” Berry replied.
The president rose. “I’m sure, Commander Williams, your teammates are getting restless in the anteroom. Why don’t you bring them in?”
“With great pleasure, sir,” Williams replied.
And it was.
And the old military lion felt a refreshing spring in his walk as he went to the doors of the Oval Office with two presidents and Matt Berry rising to their feet behind him.