The telephone sat plainly behind the glass.
“Did she ask for verification?”
Miller’s jaw worked.
“Sir, she was refusing to comply.”
That was not an answer.
My father knew it.
So did everyone else.
“Did she ask you to call my office?”
Miller’s eyes flicked toward me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you call?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
The pause lasted too long.
Miller tried another path. “Because I had no reason to believe her claim.”
“Then verification would have answered the question.”
Nothing in my father’s voice rose above conversational volume.
Miller’s face reddened anyway.
“Sir, I believed she was testing the checkpoint.”
“So you struck her?”
“She stepped toward me.”
I almost laughed, not because anything was funny, but because the lie was so immediate. The soldiers who had watched it happen looked at the pavement.
My father turned slightly.
“Who witnessed the contact?”
For a second, nobody moved.
Then a private near the barrier lifted his hand.
It shook.
“I did, sir.”
Miller stared at him.
The private straightened.
