Radclyffe: Honor Reclaimed

Cam shook her head. "If the assistant director calls you to come in, you come in. No problem."

Stark glanced at the closed door. "Do you know what—"

The intercom on the desk buzzed, and the blond picked up a phone. A minute later, she replaced it and smiled at Stark and Cam. "Director Carlisle will see you now."

"Thank you," Cam said.

Stark followed silently, having no idea what to prepare for. Once inside the functional, unadorned office, she relaxed to a small degree. The silver-haired man behind the desk was in his mid-50s, sharp-eyed and intense looking, but not particularly threatening. When he nodded to her and Cam and said, "Sit down, please," Stark felt almost normal. Except for the pounding in her chest and the queasiness in her stomach. That had been there since their flight from New York City, and she was starting to realize it was her new normal condition.

Stewart Carlisle picked up two file folders and set them next to each other on the blotter. Then he opened one and flipped through several pages. When he finished, he looked at Stark. "Six years on the job, correct, Agent?"

"Yes, sir." Stark was very pleased that her voice did not waver.

"And"— Carlisle glanced down again—"two years as one of the lead agents on Ms. Powell's security team."

"Yes, sir."

Carlisle straightened, his hands resting palm down, one on each folder. "I'd like your assessment of the events of Tuesday morning, Agent Stark."

Stark struggled not to look at Cam. Something was going on, and whatever it was, the path she was about to walk was narrow, twisting, and fraught with danger. "In what respect, sir?"

"What would be your opinion on that?" he countered.

"There are several factors to be considered, sir. The origin, identity, and intent of the assailants. The extent of the security"—she struggled for a word and in the end, could find only one—"breach. The response of the security team. The potential compromise of the evacuation—"

"All right, Agent," Carlisle interrupted, "All valid points. Let's focus on our particular area of responsibility. Do you want to tell me how an armed assailant managed to be standing outside Egret's door at nine a.m. on Tuesday morning?"

For the first time, Stark glanced at Cam, who sat beside her, one leg crossed over the other, her forearms resting on the arms of her chair, her hands relaxed. In profile, her face was smooth as granite, her expression remote. Stark wanted to be anywhere in the world but sitting in this room. She turned her attention back to the assistant director. "With what limited information I have at this moment, sir, I would speculate that the details of the building's security system, the placement of our agents, and the daily shift schedule had been provided to the assailants by Agent Foster." Her throat was dry, and voicing the incomprehensible was like swallowing chips of glass. She had spent hours every day with the man, worked out with him in the gym, stood guard with him, played cards with him during those interminable nights when Blair slept in a hotel room nearby. She couldn't believe that she had suspected nothing, Blamed herself for noticing nothing amiss.

"How is that possible?"

She held his eyes. "I don't know, sir."

"Well, we'd better damn well find out." He leaned back in his chair and expelled a long breath. In a conversational tone, he continued, "It's customary during the transfer of command for the outgoing commander to brief the incoming commander on sensitive matters not included in the Eyes Only report."

He picked up the second folder, stood, and extended it across the desk to Stark. "Once you've reviewed this material, Agent Stark, Agent Roberts will brief you on any additional information pertinent to your new command. As of 0800, you are Egret's acting security chief. That will be all."

Chapter Four

S tark and Cam left Carlisle's office in silence. In the reception area, Stark hesitated, glancing at the file in her hand and wishing with all her heart she could throw it into the nearest trash receptacle. It symbolized something she fervently did not want.

"Commander—''

"Let's take a walk, Agent." Cam gestured with her chin toward the folder. "You're going to need to get a briefcase." She handed hers over. "Here, use mine for now. There's nothing classified in it."

Stark stared at the offered item as if it were a ticking bomb. "No, I—"

"You can't walk around the streets of DC with that in your hand. Go ahead." As Stark reluctantly accepted the briefcase and deposited the folder, Cam added, "It's not personal, Stark."

"I'm sorry, Commander. It feels that way to me."

Cam moved toward the door to the hall, pushed it open, and waited for Stark to pass. As they started down the wide, marble-floored hallway, she said, "I recommended you for the position because I trust you to do it."

"Thank you." Stark blushed and kept her eyes forward. "But with all due respect, ma'am, I don't want the job."

"I said the same thing almost a year ago."

"It should be Mac."

Cam shook her head. "I spoke to Felicia earlier. Mac is stable, but he's in for a long recovery. And I wanted you."

They exited on Fifteenth Street and walked south toward Pershing Park. Cam led the way to a bench in a deserted corner and sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her and pushing both hands into her pants pockets. Stark sat ramrod straight beside her, the briefcase balanced on her knees, held firmly with both hands. Her knuckles were white where her fingers curled around the edges. "There's no reason to replace you at all."

"What happened Tuesday at the Aerie was not only unacceptable-— it was inexcusable," Cam said quietly. She looked out over the small, neat park, automatically registering the presence of the few tourists strolling through, but in her mind she saw, in stark black and white as it had played on the security monitors in Command Central, the lobby door of Blair's apartment building burst open and four heavily armed commandos rush inside. She saw Secret Service Agent Cynthia Parker take down the first assailant before a burst of automatic fire, silent on the monitor and evident only from the muzzle flare flashing on the screen, blew Parker off her feet. Cam had lost an agent in a surprise attack that had been orchestrated by one of her own people. Cynthia Parker's blood was on her hands. "There's no way I could be allowed to maintain my command."

"You saved Egret's life." Stark too stared into the past, experiencing a different take on the endless loop of nightmare images playing from the same silent reel. Cynthia going down; the smell of sweat and adrenaline and, beneath it all, fear; the hail of bullets and smoke; Mac bleeding on the ground; the gut-wrenching pain of the gunshot ripping her flesh. "You probably saved some of the rest of us too."

"Consider this our transition briefing," Cam said, knowing that they'd all been lucky to survive. Whenever she thought of how close Blair had come to dying, a surge of pain so sharp she lost her breath struck at the heart of her. No rationalization would ever erase the knowledge that she'd nearly lost her, and that Blair's death would have been her fault. "The entire team has been placed on administrative leave until the investigation into the assault on Egret is completed."

Stark swiveled her head sharply to stare at Cam. "Everyone?"

"Everyone except you. We need some degree of continuity or the new team can't function effectively."

"I..." Stark took a long breath. The decision had been made, and there was nothing for her to do but step up. "Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your confidence in me."

"I think we can dispense with the Commander, now," Cam said with a small laugh.

"No, ma'am, I don't think so. There's no way anyone's going to be calling me that."