by Lynette Mae
Mac studied the brunette now seated at the table and raised an eyebrow at Devon.
"Sorry, I'm forgetting my manners, Ann and Mac, this is Susan."
"Hello," Susan said. Mac studied the woman for a few moments with a puzzled expression on her face as Susan she and Ann began discussing something about fashion. Clearly, something about the other woman disturbed Mac.
"Have we met?" Mac interrupted the conversation going on across the table.
Susan laughed a bit nervously, "I'm sure I'd remember if we had."
"That's what I was thinking, still, there's something familiar about you." Mac's eyes narrowed and she frowned.
"Well, maybe I just look like someone else." Susan forced a smile.
"Maybe," Mac's voice trailed off as her mind searched for the answer. She stood and turned to Ann, "It's getting late, I guess we should get you home."
Taking the hint, Devon got up, not understanding but trusting Mac's instincts. Bonding under live fire made non-verbal communication more clear than spoken words. Whatever it was that bothered her friend, Mac didn't need to explain herself. They said goodnight and made their way to the exit.
As they stepped out of the club into the night air, the temperature had fallen considerably, enveloping the three in a chill as they made their way to the Jeep. Mac again pulled Ann close to ward off the cold wind that whipped against their skin. Unnoticed in a darkened doorway across the street, a figure leaned against the brick archway, watching the women walk to the parking lot. The soft click, click of the shudder of the camera lens was drowned out by the muted base coming from the club.
No one spoke until they were pulling onto the on ramp of the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. "Who was that woman?" Ann finally asked from the back seat.
Mac stared out the passenger side window, her mind trying to unearth the memory that eluded her. She couldn't shake the feeling she knew her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Susan did just look like someone she met in her past. So, why did she set my nerves on edge? She reasoned that there was no need to get anyone else alarmed until she figured it out.
"I don't know," Mac answered truthfully. "Maybe I have her confused with someone else, like she said."
Devon looked across at her friend from the driver's seat, recognizing the troubled look on her face. Mac didn't rattle easily. Even when they were being shot at in the desert, she was controlled. Now she was as undone as Devon had ever seen her and that was making Devon very worried.
Chapter 35
Colonel Jefferies, the new commander of the Intelligence Center sent for Devon the first Monday in June at 0800. His secretary led her into the office at precisely eight and the colonel rose behind the desk extending his hand to her. "Good morning, lieutenant," he said formally. His eyes looked her over, openly appraising her appearance. Although Devon prided herself on the meticulous appearance of her uniform, she sensed his displeasure.
Grasping his hand firmly, she made direct eye contact, "Good morning to you, sir."
He indicated that she should sit and he returned to his chair as well. For a moment he glanced down at the folder in front of him before closing it. Devon could see her name on the tab of the folder.
The colonel looked to be in his fifties, his grey hair was cut in a high and tight military crew cut and the brown eyes that regarded her were hard. Devon had heard that he was a hard core, rigid commander who was a lifelong soldier. Those facts were fine with Devon, the problem was that he also had the reputation of adamantly opposing women in the military, and, if her information was correct, he was openly homophobic.
Since graduating from her school over two years before, Devon had not had any problems with either of these issues. Mostly, as long as one did their job, people didn't worry too much about anything else. Particularly in a war zone, survival was the primary worry, not who someone slept with or whether they stood up to pee. She unconsciously sat up straighter in the chair, calmly returning the colonel's stare. Finally, he smiled thinly at her.
"Well, your resume is quite remarkable, lieutenant," he began, tapping the folder. "My predecessor, Colonel Brinkman, was quite taken with you. Your work ethic appears to be higher than average, with signs of innovative thinking that led to your previous assignment." He opened the folder again, as if to confirm something before he continued.
"I must say that it's not often that a unit has the good fortune to have a Silver Star recipient as the officer in charge. Not in the intelligence field, anyway." As she listened, Devon was beginning to feel like a stray cow that was being herded toward the slaughter house pen. All this buildup was leading somewhere, but it didn't feel like it was anywhere good. She realized that she had drifted and he was still speaking.
"…now that you've returned to work full time, I'm sure you'd agree that our offices are a bit more businesslike." Devon scrambled mentally to grasp the thread of what he had just said, but couldn't.
"I'm sorry, sir, what was that?"
"Your attire. I was saying that I'm sure you'd agree that since you are no longer in a field assignment, more appropriate attire would be your class A uniform. You are my officer in charge, and as such, I believe you should set a proper example for others to follow, particularly the women."
Particularly the women? What the hell is that about?
"Actually, sir I believe that any issued uniform is appropriate work attire, as long as it is clean and pressed, regardless of the gender of the wearer." Devon said neutrally. She saw the flicker of anger in the colonel's eyes.
"Your opinion is noted, lieutenant, but under my command, daytime uniforms will be class A."
Devon nodded, "Yes, sir. Is that all?"
"Just one more thing." He tapped his finger on the desk as if considering his next words.
Standing now, Devon waited.
"I hear you play softball on the women's team, is that right?"
"I plan to play this year, yes sir, now that my leg is healed."
"See that it doesn't interfere with your work obligations, lieutenant." His expression was cold.
"Thank you for coming in. Carry on."
Devon saluted and swiveled away, moving in long strides toward the door. She didn't know what that meeting was about, but she had a bad feeling as she closed the office door behind her.
Inside the office, the colonel again opened the folder on his desk. He paged through the awards and commendations until he came to the section he was looking for. He reread the summary of the CID report from 1982 which had concluded that not enough evidence existed to charge the lieutenant with engaging in homosexual conduct.
He then extracted several pictures of three women walking together in civilian clothes. He recognized two of the women, James and Petty Officer Baxter. The accompanying notes identified the photos as having been taken as they stepped out of a known lesbian bar in Baltimore. His CID contact told him that the third woman was a helicopter pilot nearing the end of her enlistment. Jefferies picked up the phone and dialed, waiting for his contact to pick up.
"Did you get the information I sent over?" Honeycutt inquired.
"Yes. I just met with her. She is every bit as cocky as you said she would be."
"Well, this time, I'm running the show," Honeycutt sneered, "she got away from me once, and I don't like losing."
Jefferies nodded, "Agreed, and this time I'm her commander. A few fancy ideas aren't going to cloud my judgment like her last boss. Any man would have done what she did over there in the Middle East. Makes me sick how they're gushing over her every day."
"If she continues to be careless by going to these places, she's going to make my job much easier," Honeycutt said with satisfaction. "I'll let you know when we get something else."
With that the connection was severed. Jefferies replaced the phone in the cradle and looked down at the picture of Devon James attached to the left side of the fo
lder. Below it, he saw the recommendation from Colonel Brinkman for promotion to captain as soon as possible. "That is never going to happen." He said flatly as he closed the folder.
#
Crack. The ball hit sharply between second and third base. Devon lay out, extending fully to her right, snatching the line drive shot out of the air for the third and final out of the game, sealing the win.
Great job, ladies! Outstanding hustle." Mac walked from the dugout across the third base line, clapping loudly, expressing her appreciation at the team's effort. The Army and Navy women's softball teams formed up and shook hands down the line. Mac stepped up at the end of the line to congratulate the Navy women on the game they had just completed. As Ann passed, she grasped her hand and then risked a pat on her rear as she passed.
"Great game," she grinned.
Ann smiled back, "Thanks, coach."
Devon trotted to the dugout to retrieve her gear and Mac came up behind her as she was packing the last of her stuff in the bag. "Great catch there at the end, buddy."
Grinning up at her friend, Devon said, "thanks. I do what I can."
"How about I buy you a beer and a sandwich or something?"
"Sounds good, you know me, always hungry," Devon laughed. "Is Ann coming?"
"No, she's got something going on tonight," Mac looked a bit distracted.
"'Kay, I guess it'll be just like old times then," Devon threw her bag over her right shoulder as they walked.
A short time later, they settled onto stools at a local pub. Mac ordered a pitcher of beer and a dozen wings. Devon ordered a cheese steak sandwich and fries. When Mac raised an eyebrow, she assured her, "We'll share."
After the beer came and they both enjoyed the first taste, Devon looked seriously at Mac. "I got called in to meet the new colonel yesterday."
Mac could read the unease in her friend's posture and tone. She watched a muscle twitch under Devon's left eye, a sure sign that she was troubled. "What's up?"
Devon heaved a long sigh and took another drink from her beer, before shaking her head, "I don't know, maybe nothing, but I just feel uneasy around him."
Mac nodded, "What'd he say?"
Devon laughed bitterly, "He said that we couldn't wear our fatigues during the dayshift anymore, because, you know….it's not ladylike." Devon rolled her eyes.
"He didn't say that." Mac stared wide-eyed.
"No, but that was his meaning," Devon said, "He said I should be a good example, especially for the women."
Mac laughed out loud now, "No! What a jackass."
"Yes, then he asked if I play softball."
"God! Am I ever glad I'm getting out of this bullshit," Mac sighed, "You know that softball is their code word for lesbian, right?"
"Yeah, I got that," Devon smiled sadly. "I just can't believe that this fucking shit never goes away."
"That's why I'm getting out." Mac agreed.
"So, how's that job offer going, did you hear anything yet?"
"Actually, I did, this morning," Mac was smiling broadly now.
"You did! Tell me," Devon's excitement for her friend was evident.
"I have been offered a job in Tampa. All I have to do is go through their field training program
and a couple of years on the street. After that, I'll pretty much be given one of the pilot's positions. Apparently, they don't have too many female combat helicopter pilots applying."
Devon raised her glass to Mac, "Well, that is outstanding! Good for you." She stood and moved around the table to give Mac a warm hug. "That's awesome, but I'm sure gonna miss you."
"Hey, I'm not gone yet, and I'm going to be a slave driving coach until I leave," Mac's eyes twinkled. They sat in comfortable silence enjoying their food for a few minutes before Mac spoke again. "You think this dickhead Jefferies is going to be a problem for you?"
Devon shrugged, "I really don't know what his deal is," she took a generous bite of her sandwich and swallowed it down with a gulp of beer. "I just want to do my job and be left alone, but I'm not going to cower to him or anybody."
"Living through the things we have has a way of putting priorities in rigid order, huh?" Mac offered.
"That it does." Devon agreed.
Chapter 36
Mac awoke unsettled after a restless night. Actually, it was more like giving up believing that sleep would come when she got out of bed just before sunup. She pulled on the faded green Notre Dame t-shirt, the gold lettering across the chest cracked and worn, along with a pair of grey cotton shorts that lay on the floor next to the bed. Padding barefoot down the stairs from the loft bedroom, she turned on the tap, letting it run a few seconds to get cold and bent to gulp water until she needed air. Then she splashed cold water onto her face and wiped it roughly dry with a towel that hung on the handle of the stove.
She moved to the coffee pot and began filling the basket with coffee grounds. The digital clock on the front of the machine glowed 0510. "I've got to start getting more than three hours of sleep," She said aloud.
Sighing, she added two extra scoops of coffee, poured the water in to the reservoir and snapped on the power switch. Finding a banana and toasting an English muffin, she removed the carafe from the coffee maker just as it finished enough for her first cup, grateful for the pause feature; she filled a large mug to the top. With her breakfast in hand, she settled onto a stool at the kitchen counter, her thoughts swirling through her mind like a funnel cloud.
Munching on the muffin, she wondered why she had chosen this place as her exit base, with all the other choices she had. She thought that it would finally give her closure. Yeah, right. Did she really think it would be easy to be back here? How could she think that returning to the scene of the crime would make it alright? She squeezed her eyes tightly to force back the memories that sprang to life with ever more frequency and clarity each day that she was back. Images of Megan's face skittered across her closed lids followed immediately by the two of them sharing a passionate kiss, Mac running her fingers through the silky strands of red hair, dragging her mouth down to her soft creamy breasts toward a perky tight nip-she snapped her eyes back open to escape back to the present.
Her body was jittery, her insides humming with nerves. She felt the familiar aching pressure in her chest that always accompanied the memory of the only woman she had ever loved. Mac cupped her palm to her forehead as if to push the images away from her eyes, she drew a deep breath to clear her thoughts. Instead, a crystal clear vision of standing in the doorway and seeing Megan making love with another officer assaulted her. Fuck me.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she yanked open a dresser drawer, removing a sport bra. After putting it on and replacing her t-shirt, she laced up her running shoes and headed out into the humid July morning. The first hints of pink were beginning to seep in to the horizon as Mac began her run. Yes, this is what she needed; she would run the anxiety and pain from her heart and clear her mind. Even as she began, she wondered how she was ever going to drive the memories of that woman and that betrayal from her soul.
#
The following Friday, Devon parked outside Mac's apartment building in Laurel, MD, just outside of Ft. Meade. She couldn't stop thinking about the odd sound to Mac's voice when she called to ask Devon to come by. Something was wrong, Devon just hoped that whatever it was, she would be able to help her friend sort things out.
She climbed out of the jeep in front of the townhouse and knocked on the screen door. Mac pulled the door open seconds later and Devon followed her inside. Mac was wearing an old faded cut off Army t-shirt, equally faded jeans and she was barefoot. She led Devon through the living room to the kitchen, where she pulled a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses down from the cabinet.
"I remember where I know that woman from," she said without preamble as she poured them each a shot.
Devon was
lost, "I'm sorry, what woman?"
"The woman from the bar."
Devon searched her memory, recalling the brunette who watched them at the club. "Oh, yeah. Susan, right?"
"Right. Only that's probably not her name. She works for CID as an informant. She was involved in the investigation of some of my friends before I went overseas. Some of them got arrested because of that bitch." Mac's bitterness was evident. Devon recalled once when they had discussed the past, Mac was upset, but she never explained.
Devon blew out a breath. "Christ, and I let her just sit right down at our table, I'm sorry."
"You couldn't know. I'm sure she recognized me though. That had to be why she was watching us."
