Kitchens’ smile nearly took in his entire face. “Well Greg, at first glance, I'd say your assignment here is a serious misallocation of an extremely valuable military asset.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg replied, trying hard not to smile. I think I'm starting to like this guy.
“So, my question to you is, why do you think that they have you stationed here?”
Uh oh! What's he looking for, here? Greg found an expectant look on Kitchens’ face. I take it back. I hate this guy. Biding his time, he feigned a distraction and took a deep breath, deciding to go with his original answer. “I have no idea, sir.”
After an uncomfortably long pause, Kitchens said, “Well, we'll just have to find out won't we, Greg?” He continued studying the documents. “Relax. I just like to know who I'm dealing with. I'm new to all of this too, remember?”
Greg’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “Senator, I really don't know how much help I'm gonna be to you, sir.”
“I'm here to evaluate the operational validity of Project Pine Tree. Not you, Greg,” Kitchens assured him. “What that means is, I'm gonna decide if it's worth it or not to invest the”—he paused, flipping to the desired page—“one hundred twenty six point eight million dollars a year into it.”
Stiffening immediately, Greg stifled a gasp. Wow. I need a raise!
“Now, that might sound like a drop in the bucket, and it's only about three F-35s, but these things do add up.” Kitchens looked up to notice that Greg had driven past the guard shack, exiting the base. “Um, Greg, if I'm not mistaken, we just left the Air Force base that I'm visitin' today.”
“Yes, Senator. We've left the base. The facility is offsite.”
“Offsite?” Kitchens repeated incredulously. “Offsite where?”
“There's a facade off of highway ninety-six near the Ocmulgee River. A duck blind.”
Kitchens' eyebrows arched in wonder. “A duck blind?”
“Yes, sir. It's less than ten minutes away,” Greg assured him.
“Really,” Kitchens said in growing amusement.
Studying the senator, Greg added, “It's a pretty good duck blind, sir.”
Doubt overshadowed Kitchens' smile. “Better than an Air Force base, Greg?” A moment later, he began to chuckle. Then, noticing Greg's quizzical glances, he began laughing out loud.
They rounded a cloverleaf and continued down the highway. Looking across the road to his left, Kitchens admired the vintage American and foreign aircraft displayed around the campus of the Air Force museum. At its center, a B-1 bomber was parked next to the entrance to the main building. “Pretty birds.”
“If you'd like to, Senator, we can tour the museum before you leave. They have a very nice World War II exhibit, I hear,” Greg suggested hopefully.
Kitchens returned his attention to the papers in his lap. “No thanks. Seen it.”
The look on Greg’s face rested somewhere between shock and anger. “You have? Have you visited Robins before, Senator?”
“Kevin,” Kitchens corrected him again. “Low profile, right?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The sounds of the road droned on. Greg had already resolved himself to the fact that some questions would remain unanswered. But not this one. “Have you, sir?”
Kitchens, engrossed in the documents, responded to Greg vaguely. “Sorry?”
Greg shifted his position again. “Visited the base before?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay,” Greg nodded, with a hint of frustration in his tone. “I hadn't been informed that you were familiar with the area.”
“Well, I ought to be. I was mayor of Warner Robins for six-and-a-half years before I ran for the senate,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Shaking his head, it was Greg's turn to laugh.
“Relax, Greg. Have you seen Kitchens Office Supply on Watson Boulevard near the Walmart?”
Having spent very little time in town, he lied. “Yes, sir. I think so, sir.”
Kitchens gave Greg his attention. “It’s family owned. Mama still runs it. Well, ever since I became mayor she's run it. I ran it for a while after college. I know pretty much everybody in town. The locals, anyway. It's hard to keep up with all the Air Force personnel comin' and goin'.”
Greg couldn't contain a smile. This guy! A U.S. senator, vice chairman of the Appropriations Committee, mayor of Warner Robins and a local business man to boot? What was up with all the “low profile” crap Tiong advised me about? “So … low profile?” The question hung in the air between them.
Eyes smiling, Kitchens said, “Could be … challenging.”
“Outstanding.” Greg said it out loud, though it was meant mostly for himself. At least his comfort level was increasing. He no longer felt it necessary to try to impress the man.
Turning his attention back to the road, he saw their destination appear in the distance. “We'll be arriving at the facility shortly, sir. Oh, I almost forgot. General Stillman asked me to invite you to a late lunch. She said that it was your choice. Whatever you'd like.”
Kitchens’ surprise was visible, but Greg chose to ignore it.
The relationship that had existed between Kitchens, the civilian community's political leader and her, the military authority in an Air Force town, had been stressful when he was mayor. Kitchens had no illusions that his recent appointment to the SASC would give him any leverage with the woman, at least when it came to personal matters. Well, she did get me the clubs. I guess I owe her a lunch. Smiling again, he took a moment to mull over his choices. “Tell Paulette I’d love to. I'll meet her at White Diamond. There ain't no barbecue like that in D.C.”
4 Monkey Business
“SHE LOVES ME,” JUNE said with just a hint of an accent in her almost melodic voice, something akin to South African, but not quite. As she stared intently at the central computer screen among the trio of monitors occupying her desk, the corners of her mouth were curled into the slightest of smiles.
“Of course she does,” Don said with a tiny sliver of condescension in his tone. He drew his rubber band back and fired another Gummy Bear projectile at her from his desk in the corner of the room. “But, just think of the ethics, Doctor! After all, she is your patient.”
Doctor June Phillips sat at her desk, which rested in the middle of the other desks in the corner of their work area. The office area occupied only one quarter of the space in the gymnasium-sized room. The various pieces of office equipment were set neatly in place, most of which were black in stark contrast to the white floor, walls, and ceiling of the lab.
Both of its occupants wore identical green hospital scrubs, the only clothes allowed inside the clean environment. The bland garments only added to the sterile feel of the place. When the team had arrived eight weeks ago, relocated from their lab at McMaster University School of Medicine in Hamilton, Ontario, the equipment had been carefully arranged in the center of the room. In short order, at June's insistence, the workspace was moved into the corner to allow for the installation of a basketball hoop.
June frowned slightly as the candy smacked against the computer screen before her and then fell to the desk below, landing behind the hot pink keyboard that she had insisted upon bringing with her against the wishes of the professor. Picking up the candy, she said, “I don't like the green ones.” But she popped it into her mouth anyway.
By most standards, June was a very attractive woman. At thirty-two, she stood five foot seven with a perfectly proportioned hour-glass figure, as her lab mate spared few occasions to point out. Shimmering light brown hair hung to her shoulder blades and nicely framed a fair complexion. She was restricted from wearing makeup of any kind, which she rarely did anyway. Her most striking feature was her sapphire blue eyes. With those eyes she had been known to stab men outright or simply melt their hearts, depending on the circumstances.
Her looks had been an obstacle when she was younger. As a result, she had learned to develop her relationships cautiously. She had
seen colleagues build walls around themselves as a defense mechanism and as a way to gain the respect of their peers, both male and female, thereby losing themselves in a black hole of sterile personality and any hope of real friendships. Some of them became so wrapped up in their work that they actually lost interest in any kind of human interaction at all, other than professionally.
On the other hand, she had seen those whom she considered talented settle for lives of mediocrity in their pursuits of personal relationships when, in her opinion, it was far too early in their careers for them to do so. Or worse, throw their livelihoods away by making the mistake of starting families before they were ready in foolish attempts to satisfy meaningless urges resulting in life-altering consequences.
June was the purpose-driven daughter of Baptist missionaries serving in Africa. She was born in the city of Arba Minch at the base of the western side of the Great Rift Valley in southwestern Ethiopia, where her parents were assisting the locals in building a school. Her mother Mae, a gynecologist, and father Jonah, a dentist, also provided free services to the indigenous people as the other professionals in their group did. They traveled extensively throughout Africa and the Middle East. June became fluent in English, French, German, Amharic, and Arabic by the age of ten. It was then that her parents, following their meticulous plan for her upbringing, had enrolled her in Moffat's School located in Shropshire, England, where she would receive a formal education as well as have an opportunity to spend time with children her own age.
In the beginning, the change had traumatized young June. She had been accustomed to an environment where she had the opportunity to form relationships with wild animals of all sorts as they were encountered in her various journeys. Her parents had given her the news while visiting the Comoros Islands off Madagascar, where she had befriended a ring-tailed lemur that she named Bobo. She’d insisted that he be allowed to sleep with her. However, Bobo had the annoying habit of sleeping all day and keeping June awake at night, which had dulled the pain of separation a bit.
Eventually, she had adjusted to her new environment at Moffat’s. It soon became obvious that June was quite a gifted child. She had excelled academically far beyond the other students in attendance. While she interacted well socially, she had formed no deep friendships. Her first love was always animals. Her spare time had been spent roaming the nearby forests in search of new friends and trying to teach the other kids how to interact with them. But she found that it was not something that could be taught. This connection to animals was her special gift, and hers alone.
Her potential had eventually become obvious, even to the most skeptical of instructors. Upon their recommendation, she was accepted to Sanford-Brown University in Ohio at the age of thirteen. There she had been allowed to participate in special projects such as private encounters at the Cincinnati zoo, as well as other hands-on activities in places such as the San Diego Zoo and the Woods Hole Science Aquarium. By the age of sixteen, she had experienced animals, both wild and domesticated, in a way few do in a lifetime.
She had quickly earned her bachelor’s degree in animal psychology and later, at Penn State, earned her master’s in philosophy. For the next five years, she had studied primates at many of the zoos in North America. During breaks in her studies, she had sometimes traveled with her parents as they continued their missionary work abroad, all the while never passing up the opportunity to find new animal friends. By the time she had reached her twenties, her interests expanded to include human friends as well. Even the occasional male human, though there had been nothing long-term or serious.
At twenty-seven, she had returned to Sanford-Brown to complete her PhD in ethology. At thirty, she had been approached by a representative of the United States Department of the Interior and offered an opportunity to “get the record straight” concerning the ethical treatment of test animals in the country's various programs. She was promised full authority to supervise the treatment of animals used for experimentation at McMaster. Initially she declined, thinking it too horrific to consider. But shortly thereafter, she was inundated with requests from PETA members who had heard of the offer urging her to accept the position. Succumbing to the pressure of friends, she accepted the government’s invitation and began her work with the others involved with Project Pine Tree eighteen months ago.
She had only minor difficulties in her dealings with the test animal’s needs. The biggest problem was the fact that they were in captivity at all. A situation that, she conceded, she couldn't change. Though she had to admit, compared with the stories she had heard, the subjects involved here were treated extremely well, and the administrators had assured her that upon completion of the testing the animals would be retired to live out long and happy lives on protected reserves.
“Don't change the subject,” Don complained. “And that's a myth, anyway.”
“What's a myth?”
“About the green Gummy Bears.”
“That's M&M's, you goob! Not Gummy Bears.”
“What?” Don exaggerated a frown.
“That green M&M's make you … you know.”
“Make you what?” He grinned.
Rolling her eyes, she wondered how he could draw others into conversations that were, at best, nonsense. “You're right, it's a myth.”
“What's a myth?”
June turned to face him just as a Gummy Bear struck her on the cheek, sticking momentarily and then falling into her lap. “What are you, twelve?” She absently tossed the candy missile into her mouth. “But I do like the yellow ones.”
“Yeah. Twice now. And I'm workin' on a third time.” Don beamed his best Cheshire Cat grin.
“Ugh! You, my friend, are incorrigible,” she moaned, turning back to her computer.
“I know you are, but what am I?” He lined up another shot.
Doctor Donald Cook leaned back in his chair. Despite his prosthetic right leg, he had the build of an athlete. His dark brown eyes, curly shoulder-length black locks, and olive skin hinted at his Mediterranean ancestry. A geneticist already involved with the project when June came on board, the thirty-five year old was born and raised in Alpena, Michigan on the shores of Lake Huron. The son, grandson, and great-grandson of loggers, he graduated from Alpena High School where he was on the Wildcat football team. A talented corner back and average student, his athleticism got him accepted to Michigan State University. It was there that he came alive, academically speaking. But not at first.
During the second semester of his freshman year, Don had suffered the tragedy of a deadly car accident. He was the sole survivor. As the designated driver, he had been chauffeuring three friends back to the dorm after an evening of drinking when a deer crossed the road, causing him to swerve and hit a tree. He had suffered a concussion and multiple broken bones. The most severe injury was to his right femur. Due to complications, his leg had been amputated at mid-thigh.
Investigators had found no evidence that a deer had been involved. The authorities questioned his story for several months. There had even been talk of a trial, but no charges were ever filed. His football career was over, and he was suffering from survivor’s guilt. He retreated from family and friends, and had come dangerously close to being expelled due to declining grades and the questionable circumstances of the crash.
It was then that his biology professor, Martin Sisk, took a special interest in him. The professor had an uncanny ability to sense the best attributes of his students, and he had seen great potential in Don even before the unfortunate incident. He began tutoring Don with all of his studies. In return, Don had promised to be diligent and make something of himself to honor the three who had died in the crash. With Sisk's influence, his interest had turned to the sciences and, ultimately, genetics. He excelled in the field and had quickly earned a reputation as an out-of-the-box problem solver.
After earning his PhD at the age of twenty-seven, he spent some time wandering from project to project in search of a place to call home. Ev
entually, with no small assistance from Sisk, Don was hired as Professor Yeoum Chi’s research assistant. For nearly three years, he had worked under the tutelage of the project manager at McMaster. In that time he had proven himself, time and again, to be a brilliant scientist. It was whispered in the halls that the program would never have been remotely successful if it had not been for Don's participation. In addition, it was Professor Sisk's recommendation that had caused the Department of Defense to become involved, allowing the team access to some much-needed materials not readily available under the Department of the Interior. This brought the project to its current state of viability. June had joined the team two years after Don became involved, so she had missed out on most of the breakthroughs. She had also missed out on the questionable practices that had been necessary to bring them about. A fact that, given her convictions, Don was more than a little thankful for.
“Anyway, it's unethical for you to fall in love with one of your patients.”
“I didn't say that she was in love with me. I only said that she loves me.” A red Gummy Bear sailed over June’s head and onto the floor, where it joined dozens of others that lay strewn about.
“Well then, you’re leading her on.”
“Am not.”
“Are too, and Angelina can be mean.”
“Angelina is not mean.”
“She is so. She bites.”
“Angelina did not bite you.”
“I didn't say she bit me.”
“Then why did you say she bites?”
“She bit Juan.”
“She did not!”
“Yes she did. Ask him.”
She started to turn and continue the argument, but conceded that Don was probably telling the truth. “Well, it's only because he's always poking and prodding her, poor baby.”
“Be careful how you say that and in what company,” Don said, painting on a serious face.
“Walked right into that one,” she sighed. “Did she break the skin?”
“No, but there's a welt.”
“Where?” She immediately regretted the inquiry, fearing a lewd response.
“His left forearm.”
Dodged a bullet there. “What was he doing to her?” She asked with mild concern, but quickly realized she already knew the answer.