when he brushed against Patrick’s bulge. “It’d do him some good. But he wouldn’t be away this long. Not with Rocky at home.”
Patrick let his eyes enjoy every square inch of his overnight guest. “Wish I had a camera.” He squeezed Don’s meat as Don finished adjusting the necktie. “Me, in my alphas, getting ready to check into my new squadron. You, helping me, standing there naked as when you were born, but hot as hell. And they say homosexuality isn’t compatible with military service.”
Don finished the tie and squeezed his young lover gently on his upper arm, carefully avoiding the lieutenant bars pinned to the shoulder epaulets of his uniform. “I’d say we’re compatible.” Giving Patrick a tender peck on the cheek, he said, “I won’t touch you because this uniform is flawless. And you’re right, you should—and will—make a great impression this morning.” Don searched the room for his boxers and jeans. “Make half as good of an impression on them as you’ve made on me and they’ll meritoriously promote you to captain.”
“If officers could be meritoriously promoted, the ass kissing would be even worse than it already is.” Patrick picked up his garrison cap to walk with Don out to his car.
“Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?” Don asked, putting on his socks and shoes. “Besides, you’re a damn good ass kisser yourself, from what I remember.” He winked and pulled his shirt over his head. Picking up his coat, he added somberly, “I know it’s the ‘officer and a gentleman’ thing for you to walk me to my car, but we can’t risk it. No one can see us together. Especially not here at the BOQ.”
Reality crashed into Patrick’s room like an uninvited guest. What he and Don did last night was illegal according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. But it felt right and in Patrick’s heart he knew there was nothing wrong with it. Unfortunately, their government and their Corps held a different opinion. “What the fuck? What business is it of theirs?”
“None. That’s why we don’t tell them and we don’t let them figure it out.” Putting his hand on the doorknob, he said, “I haven’t felt this good in years. What you and I did last night—what we have here, right now—is ours alone. No one can take it from us and it’s none of their goddamn business. But we gotta be smart.”
Patrick nodded that he understood even though the situation infuriated him. “I feel the same. And I hope—I hope that—”
Don gave Patrick a “can’t wait to see you again very soon” kiss. “Hope is good. Give me a call tonight. Tell me how your first day goes.” He smiled and opened the door. Seeing the hallway was vacant, he stepped outside.
Patrick remained in the room. He couldn’t have gone outside anyway because he had to wait for his erection to go down. “Damn. Feels like I’m a teenager again,” he said, grinning. “Only nothing like this ever happened to me in high school, that’s for sure.”
11
“Ollie will be in by eight thirty, but he has a conference call with Washington as soon as he arrives. Anything requiring his immediate attention?”
Jay had been at the low end of hierarchies. He’d learned which people in organizations had the most influence—and posed the greatest threat. The younger agents straight out of college gravely underestimated Esther Wilson’s power in the NIS, but not Jay. Esther knew as much as Ollie about the office’s investigations but now was too soon to involve her in his plan regarding Ed. “I need to talk to Ollie—but I’ll be out of the office for a few hours.”
“After his conference call he has a ten o’ clock and a late lunch appointment but I’ll make sure he’s free, say at eleven thirty? Will that work?”
“Yep. Thanks, Esther.”
“Sure thing, Agent Gared. Give me a call if you need to change it.”
Jay hurried to his cubicle. He didn’t bother to remove his sports coat because he planned to be out the door in less than five minutes, assuming the computer systems worked. The machine booted up, asking him for his log-in information, which he hadn’t yet memorized. He’d written his ID and password on a slip of paper he kept in his wallet. As he thumbed through his cash and receipts, he saw another handwritten number. “Where did this—?” He vaguely remembered copying a license plate number in the park on Saturday. That seemed like a lifetime ago but staring at the paper jogged his memory. The number belonged to Ed’s friend—the one driving the jeep.
After getting on to the NIS’s link to the military’s database, Jay entered Ed’s DoD decal number. While the system slowly searched for the information, he grabbed a folder and located the proper forms to open the file. A few minutes and several keystrokes later, he had all the information he needed on “Chief Petty Officer Edward ‘Eddie’ Lamont Johnson.” As badly as he wanted to search for information about the jeep, he didn’t have time but would follow up later. “Have a good morning, Esther.” Jay ripped the paper out of the dot matrix printer. “Back at eleven thirty,” he shouted as he ran out the door.
“Be right with you, sir. Please have a seat beside the first desk—that’s mine. I have to brew the coffee before the squadron commander gets in.”
The clock above the doorway showed seven-twenty A.M. Patrick had been told that enlisted Marines arrived at work no later than seven thirty, but Marine officers should be in no later than seven. Obviously his new squadron commander didn’t follow that rule. “Take your time, Corporal. Don’t think I’m on the flight schedule today.” Patrick sat in a dull gray metal chair. In a photograph on her desk, Corporal Delarosa’s long black hair hung beautifully over her shoulders. She, a man and a crinkly-faced infant smiled from the picture frame. “Beautiful family you have here.”
“Thank you, sir.” Corporal Delarosa smiled as she scooped the military-issued coffee grounds into the percolator. “You pilots. All you think about is flying.” She pushed the button to begin the coffeemaking process, wiping a few loose grounds from the table. “I wish I could fly. The executive officer, Major Burr, promised to take me up in a Huey someday but I don’t know when.” The squadrons at Camp Pendleton flew Hueys—the light Vietnam-era cargo and passenger helicopters, as well as Cobras, the small, highly maneuverable and lethal combat attack helicopters. Patrick was interested only in the Cobra. “You’re very efficient,” she said as she sat at her desk and glanced at his forms, “and looks like you have all your receipts and records in order and the proper forms completed.”
Two male Marines entered the office. “It’s about time you showed up,” she shouted. “I don’t care if you had a formation run. So did I. You two take longer to get in uniform than women Marines. Get those messages downloaded by seven thirty. Lieutenant Colonel Hammer will want them on his desk as soon as he gets in!” To Patrick she said, “I say the same thing to those two every morning.” Studying his papers, she filled out a travel claim form. “Wow, I’m impressed. You found an apartment already. What a great location.”
“McAbe! You dirt bag. About time you showed up.”
Recognizing the voice, Patrick turned to see Tim Roberts, his close friend and Pensacola roommate who’d graduated three months earlier. Patrick jumped to his feet and the two men shook hands. “Tim! How’ve you been?” He took a step back, giving his former roommate a good look. “Why the hell are you in cammies and not a flight suit?” Tim wore the woodland camouflage-patterned trousers and jacket that Marines in the ground community usually wore. “Ah,” said Patrick. “Never mind. It’s amazing what a guy forgets on leave. Ouch! You got stuck being the duty officer on a Sunday?”
“Yeah, man. Like a fuckin’ dumb-ass I volunteered, thinking it’d be a slow day, you know, to force myself to study for a test coming up.” Tim set the duty officer’s logbook on a clean edge of the corporal’s desk. “Talk about getting fucked royally. Yesterday morning, right after I showed up, I got the call that some congressman will be here Tuesday. I spent the rest of the day and last night running around like a bat outta hell working on that.”
The