Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“It’s important.”

Amanda regarded her steadily and Dana held her breath.

Dana never pulled rank, even though she was one of the senior investigative reporters and could pretty much call her own shots as to what she worked on and when. She was as much a team player as she could be, given that her nature was to be solitary. She’d gotten used to being alone as a child. She had no siblings and didn’t fit in with the other kids in her working-class neighborhood. After a certain age, the boys wouldn’t play with her and she had no idea how to play with the girls, whose games didn’t interest her. She couldn’t fathom the fun in playing house and pretending that she wanted to grow up to be something that felt completely foreign to her. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife or mother. She wanted adventures like those in the books she loved to read. She wanted to explore the world like the characters she pretended to be. And most of all, she wanted to know why —why the world worked the way it did. And the more she learned, the more she questioned. Her love of words and her endless curiosity led her into journalism, and here she was. Traveling the world and asking why.

“You know I can’t do this,” Dana said, hearing the plea in her own voice.

“Five minutes,” Amanda said gently. “Don’t make me come and get you.”

Dana kissed her cheek again. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Amanda chuckled. “Of course you do. Go on now.”

As Dana walked to the door, she heard Amanda pick up the phone and murmur something. She knocked and a deep rumble that she took to mean come in emanated from the other side.

“Hi, Clive,” Dana said as she entered the cluttered office. The evening edition of the Chronicle sat in the center of the huge oak desk. Stacks of papers covered just about every surface in the room that wasn’t already occupied with the computer, fax machine, television, phones, and other equipment that kept Clive connected to the world of information. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Then why are you?” the big man behind the desk asked impatiently.

Despite the hundreds of times she’d seen him, Dana was still taken aback by not just his size, but his presence. Clive filled the room even when he was sitting behind his desk. His close-cropped red hair was sprinkled with gray, but he looked younger than his fifty-odd years by a decade. The ex-college football player’s neck was almost as wide as his head and his shoulders bigger than her refrigerator. She’d known him long enough not to be intimidated by his appearance, but she never liked being on the receiving end of his formidable temper. Fortunately, since she never missed deadlines and always gave him more than he asked for, his ire was rarely directed at her.

“I need a favor,” Dana said, hoping the fact that she never asked for one would make up for her going outside channels. “Some idiot pulled my name out of a hat and assigned me to do a celebrity personal for the next couple of weeks. I need you to get me out of it. Things are really heating up over—”

“I’m the idiot,” Clive growled.

Dana stared. “You? Why? Why would you do this to me? You know I’m not—”

“The White House called, Barnett. You know, the place on Pennsylvania Avenue where the president of the United States lives?”

She gritted her teeth. “I’ve seen it.”

“Then you probably also know that we try to be accommodating when the chief of staff over there asks us for a favor,” Clive said sarcastically.

“I get that part,” Dana said. “I understand politics, even though it’s not my favorite game.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But Jesus Christ, Clive. Me?”

He regarded her impassively.

Dana narrowed her eyes, searching her mind for what she was missing. Then she shook her head in disgust. “Obviously sleeping on the floor of a transport plane jarred something loose between my ears. It’s about me being a lesbian, right?”

“That wasn’t mentioned.”

“It didn’t need to be.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned in a tight circle, wishing there were room to pace. She should be more bothered that she’d been chosen for an assignment for no other reason than the fact she slept with women. Then she thought of the society reporters and couldn’t help but laugh despite her irritation. “Wouldn’t Priscilla Reynolds just love this assignment.”

The corner of Clive’s mouth twitched, as if he were actually about to smile. Priscilla prided herself on being the first to know everything that was newsworthy about everyone on the Hill. Rumor had it a lot of her information came from pillow talk, and she was unabashedly outspoken about her aversion to gays and lesbians. On the rare occasions when Dana and Priscilla ran into each other, Priscilla acted as if Dana had a contagious disease.

“A newspaper doesn’t turn down an offer for exclusive coverage, especially not when it’s something this big.” Clive passed a sheet of paper across the desk. “This is a preliminary guest list.”

Dana scanned it. It was shorter than she might have expected, but despite the public announcements regarding the event, she suspected that the president’s daughter wanted as much privacy as possible. She recognized quite a few of the names. One stood out and she raised an eyebrow. “Emory Constantine? The stem cell researcher?”

Clive nodded. “The elusive Dr. Constantine. The one who doesn’t give interviews and has almost as many security guards as Blair Powell. Since the attack on her in Boston last month, the Johnson Foundation has been locked up tighter than Fort Knox. There’s a story there, and I want you to get it.”

“There’s talk that the foundation is doing more than just basic biological research.” Dana handed the list back to Clive. “As in biological warfare.”

“If they are, no one’s talking about it. Maybe you can change that.” He rolled his massive shoulders. “Dr. Constantine apparently likes the ladies.”

Dana snorted. “Well then, I sure as hell don’t qualify.” She folded her arms. “And I don’t get my stories in the bedroom.”

“I don’t care how you get the story. Just get it.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out. I’m busy trying to figure out how to pay your salary next year.”

“Have you factored in a raise?” When Clive placed both hands flat on the desk as if he were about to get up, Dana backed toward the door. “I’m going.”

“Make sure you get your ass on a plane to Manhattan.”

“Yes, boss,” Dana muttered as she let the door close on her last hope of reprieve. “Crap.”

“Here you are, dear,” Amanda said, holding out an envelope. “Your itinerary and tickets. You’re expected at Ms. Powell’s in the morning.”

“Pretty sure I’d be going, weren’t you?”

Amanda smiled beatifically. “Of course. You were my first choice.”

Crap.

Matheson walked carefully along the narrow rows between the plain white headstones, leaving his son’s grave behind. When he reached the banks of the Potomac, the hallowed ground of Arlington Cemetery stretching out behind him, he stared across the water. The Lincoln Memorial and the White House stood opposite him just beyond the river. Symbols of freedom and national pride, now tarnished by those who had forgotten what had made the country great. The most powerful nation on Earth made impotent by laws enacted to protect the unworthy, financially and morally bankrupted from supporting the weak, the ignorant, and the debauched. It was time to return to power those who rightfully deserved it, to reward the sons of those who had built this great land. When he showed the people the mockery their leaders had made of their heritage, when the pretenders were unveiled as nothing more than puppets for perverts and thieves, the true patriots would rise again. And he would have justice.