An Unlawful Order (The Chase Anderson Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

between two rows of vehicles. One officer stood with his hands on his hips while the other gestured like a wild man.
    Chase found herself glued to thewindow, her cheek warming the glass. She didn’t know what she was expecting to witness, but the scene of anger—so violent, so laced with something dreadful—was too intriguing to turn away from, and she wondered how many others in this building were looking down upon the same scene. Just then, the calmer officer glanced over his shoulder at the color guard detail as if he thought they might be within earshot. Whether the officer signaled or not, Chase couldn’t say, but the color guard detail suddenly scrambled for the hangar. By then, the two arguing officers had walked on, too far now from her line of sight.
    She considered the view from North’s office down the hall and hurried down the hallway, finding North seated behind his desk, talking on the phone. When he startedto his feet, she motioned for him to stay seated. At the window, she scanned the parking lot. The two officers were gone.
    A little while later, Aretha Franklin was belting for a little respect, a sure sign Staff Sergeant Martinez, who outranked North and was eight years older, had changed the station to the oldies. In a chair on the other side of Chase’s desk, Cruise was hunched over a stack of dummy layouts and front-page photograph possibilities, unconsciously plucking eyelashes from the rims of her dark eyes in that nervous habit of hers. Chase glanced out her office window and below at the busy tarmac. What a difference from Saturday. Marines in flight suits were hustling from one helicopter to another. A Cobragunship was taxiing along the tarmac toward its squadron’s hangar. But at HMH-464, the 81s remained morbidly motionless. She wondered how long it would take for the investigation team to rule on Saturday’s crash. A memorial service for White and the others was scheduled for the following morning at the base chapel. Her entire staff would be on call to escort media to the service and to keep pesky reporters away from the families—and from other Marines. Kitty White, according to the base chaplain, was flying her husband’s body back to Maryland the day after for a family funeral.
    Chase’s private line rang.
    “Public Affairs, Captain—” and a breath later, “Aye-aye, sir—” At the click of a hang-up, Chase pretended for Sergeant Cruise’s sake that someone was still on theline, but she hesitated too long. Cruise looked up, her eyes narrowing into slits. Chase set the phone back into the cradle.
    “It was him, wasn’t it?”
    Chase shrugged and returned her attention to the stack of layouts.
    Cruise, however, flung herself into the back of her chair and the chair smacked against the wall. “He’s one crazy—” She stopped herself when Chase shook her head.
    “Staff meeting’s been pushed up,” Chase said. “And you’re talking about our commanding general.” It wasn’t good that Cruise and the others knew so much about Hickman, who was a Naval Academy graduate and celebrated helicopter pilot. But these days, Hickman looked like a man who was prematurely aged from all he’d seen anddone. She’d heard him shout at another pilot one night at the club that landing on the deck of a carrier was nothing compared to flying into a hot landing zone in the desert, dust kicking up so bad you had to feel your way into the landing. After the first phase of the war, and amid rumors that Hickman was reckless even by Marine pilot standards, headquarters pulled him out of the desert and assigned him to Hawaii.
    Hickman was married, although his wife was rarely seen—a tiny, timid creature outweighed by her Louisiana drawl. He paraded her at formal functions or wives’ club gatherings. Hickman never smiled unless he was doing shots at the O’Club or holding kangaroo court, where the mistakes of his staff were retold for jeering. Only Chase was spared this ridicule. She wasn’t