“I don’t know, sir.”
“That is closer to the truth.”
The general turned to me.
“Lieutenant Colonel, are you all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you want airport security?”
“No, sir.”
Carter looked relieved.
I was not finished.
“I do want his name, unit, and chain of command.”
The relief disappeared.
“Yes, ma’am,” the general said.
The use of ma’am from a general toward me was simply courtesy in context, but Carter heard it like a verdict.
He gave me the information.
Mason did too, although I had not asked him yet.
“I was there,” he said. “I laughed at first.”
Carter shot him a look.
Mason did not look away.
The third Marine, Private First Class Lewis Grant, quietly gave his details as a witness.
The general sat across from me.
Carter remained standing.
“Sit down,” I told him.
He sat.
The general was Major General Rebecca Shaw. I knew her from a joint readiness exercise two years earlier. More importantly, she knew why I was traveling in uniform because she was heading to the same destination.
She looked at my garment bag.
“Four hours?”
“Assuming the connection holds.”
“Mine too.”
Carter stared between us.
I could almost see him trying to build a new theory fast enough to survive the moment.
