Free Nothing but Trouble by Michael McGarrity

cheeks.
    Additionally, Sara had taken to asking Thatcher’s secretary to buzz her when the general was ready to meet, so she could work at her desk rather than waste time cooling her heals outside his office. Although it raised Thatcher’s ire, he couldn’t fault her working instead of waiting.
    How Thatcher had earned his one-star rank had always confounded Sara, until she’d learned he was a third-generation West Pointer with a senior U.S. senator in his extended family.
    Sara shared an office with three other officers. She sat at her cubicle desk and listened as her colleagues got ready to leave for the day. Twelve-to sixteen-hour workdays were not uncommon at the Pentagon. But when Friday came, everybody who wasn’t scheduled for weekend duty bailed out as soon as possible.
    On her desk stood a photograph of Kerney and Patrick astride a horse at the Santa Fe ranch. From the grins on their faces both of them looked like they were in heaven. Sara marveled at how much Patrick and Kerney were alike in personality, temperament, and looks. They had the same square shoulders, gentle strong hands, and narrow waists. They shared a dogged determination to do things well and a capacity to be bullheaded.
    Two sides of the same coin, she thought with a smile.
    She said good-night as her office mates filtered out, wondering how long Thatcher would keep her waiting. An hour later, after she had cleared out some routine paperwork, Sara’s phone rang and she was summoned to Thatcher’s office, where she found him sitting ramrod straight in his chair, hands clasped on the obsessively tidy desk.
    Sara snapped to and said, “Sir.”
    Thatcher raised his egg-shaped head that was punctuated by a pointy nose, thin lips, and a seriously receding hairline. “You are to be held over at the Pentagon pending reassignment.”
    “Sir, I am aware of that,” Sara said, wondering if Thatcher had called her in to repeat old news simply as a way to jack her around.
    Thatcher forced a smile and waved her into a chair. “Of course you are. But I’ve been asked to determine if you’ll accept a TDY assignment in the training branch.”
    Sara sat. TDY meant temporary duty. “What would the job entail, General?”
    “You’d serve as a member of a special project team tasked with preparing an advanced military-police-officer curriculum for reserve and National Guard units. It must be accomplished in six months.”
    Sara nodded, wondering why the training branch would be given a project that rightly fell under Thatcher’s purview.
    “However, if you choose, you could remain in your present position until your permanent orders come through. That would allow you to take your scheduled thirty-day leave next month.”
    “Sir,” Sara said, “would it be possible for me to start on the TDY project after my return from leave?”
    Thatcher almost sneered with delight. “I rather doubt it. The assignment has the highest priority. What shall it be, Colonel?”
    Stone faced, Sara parried Thatcher’s squeeze play. “If possible, General, I would appreciate it if you would query the training branch on my behalf to determine if I could begin the assignment after I return from leave.”
    Thatcher shook his head. “I’m afraid I need a yes or a no from you, Colonel.”
    Sara stood and snapped to attention. “With all due respect, you have my answer, General.”
    “I doubt your answer will be well received,” Thatcher said. He looked decidedly pleased with the prospect of keeping Sara under his thumb for a while longer. “But I will pass your request along. You’re dismissed, Colonel.”
    Sara saluted, did an abrupt about-face, and left Thatcher’s office. He waited a few minutes before dialing the number of the aide-de-camp to the vice chief of staff, who was organizing the special team.
    “General Thatcher here,” he said when the aide answered.
    “Yes, General.”
    “I’m calling about Lieutenant Colonel Brannon.”
    “Sir, will you hold