as you do, due to a family emergency, but I can tell you he’s a
solid aviator.”
A pasty-faced
officer, doughy and lumpy, stuck his hand out without a word and Tracie shook
it. Mitchell’s skin felt hot and sweaty and he seemed preoccupied to Tracie,
who in her work as a CIA field operative was accustomed to sizing up strangers
immediately. Often the success of a mission—not to mention whether or not she
would continue breathing—came down to her ability to effectively gauge who
could be trusted and who could not.
And this man set
off alarm bells. Mitchell’s eyes shifted continually, like they were following
an invisible ping pong ball bouncing back and forth across an invisible table.
He barely met her eyes before sliding his gaze restlessly over her left
shoulder. He shuffled his feet and rocked side to side like he would rather be
anyplace else in the world but here.
“It’s nice to meet
you,” Tracie said, attempting to prolong the handshake for a moment and
failing, as he withdrew his moist grip from hers almost immediately.
Major Mitchell
said nothing. He smiled reluctantly, the gesture making him look more ill than
welcoming, and then turned and walked away. He brushed past Tracie and Major
Wilczynski and disappeared into the cockpit. Wilczynski watched Mitchell go,
his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
He shook his head
and turned his gaze back to Tracie. “And this young man,” he indicated an
officer standing next to the spot Mitchell had just left, “is Captain Nathan
Berenger. Nathan is a long-time member of my crew, having served as our
navigator for almost five years. I can guarantee that with Nathan on the job,
we won’t have to worry about getting lost on our way back to Andrews.”
Captain Berenger
offered his hand, as Mitchell had done before him. In contrast to the copilot,
however, Tracie felt a welcoming vibe emanating from the navigator that was
almost as strong as Wilczynski’s. She took his hand and a smile creased his
tanned face. “Try to ignore Tom,” he said softly. “I don’t know what’s bugging
him, but he’s been pretty preoccupied lately. Family troubles or something, I
guess. But Major Wilczynski and I will take good care of you.” He raised his
voice to a normal level. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and if you need
anything, you let me know.”
Berenger’s grip
felt as strong and competent and Mitchell’s had weak and indecisive. Tracie
returned Berenger’s handshake—and his smile—enthusiastically. Something was off
about Major Mitchell, that was for sure, but these two crew members struck her
as competent to a T. Besides, she was standing in the middle of a U.S. air
base, aboard an Air Force jet, surrounded by a professional military flight
crew. What could possibly go wrong?
“Now, if you’ll
excuse me,” Berenger said, “I’ve got to get busy doing all the real work so
this guy,” he nodded at Major Wilczynski, “can play aviator and soak up all the
glory on today’s flight.” He smiled at Tracie and clambered down a metal
stairway to the navigator’s position below the cockpit.
“Berenger’s the
best,” Wilczynski told her. “On a typical combat mission we would feature at
least two more crew members, a bombardier and an electronic warfare officer.
Since this is a peacetime noncombat mission, it’s been determined that these
positions can remain unfilled for today. The rest of my guys are enjoying a
little R and R.”
“I’m sorry to add
to your workload and take you away from your own R and R,” Tracie said. “I
certainly didn’t need this much transportation.” She opened her arms,
indicating the gigantic interior of the B-52.
Wilczynski
laughed. “No apology is necessary, believe me. In fact, I should be thanking
you. I need to maintain flight proficiency in this big beast, so instead of
commanding a boring training mission next week, I get to fly across the pond
and make a quick trip home. Besides,” he added
solid aviator.”
A pasty-faced
officer, doughy and lumpy, stuck his hand out without a word and Tracie shook
it. Mitchell’s skin felt hot and sweaty and he seemed preoccupied to Tracie,
who in her work as a CIA field operative was accustomed to sizing up strangers
immediately. Often the success of a mission—not to mention whether or not she
would continue breathing—came down to her ability to effectively gauge who
could be trusted and who could not.
And this man set
off alarm bells. Mitchell’s eyes shifted continually, like they were following
an invisible ping pong ball bouncing back and forth across an invisible table.
He barely met her eyes before sliding his gaze restlessly over her left
shoulder. He shuffled his feet and rocked side to side like he would rather be
anyplace else in the world but here.
“It’s nice to meet
you,” Tracie said, attempting to prolong the handshake for a moment and
failing, as he withdrew his moist grip from hers almost immediately.
Major Mitchell
said nothing. He smiled reluctantly, the gesture making him look more ill than
welcoming, and then turned and walked away. He brushed past Tracie and Major
Wilczynski and disappeared into the cockpit. Wilczynski watched Mitchell go,
his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
He shook his head
and turned his gaze back to Tracie. “And this young man,” he indicated an
officer standing next to the spot Mitchell had just left, “is Captain Nathan
Berenger. Nathan is a long-time member of my crew, having served as our
navigator for almost five years. I can guarantee that with Nathan on the job,
we won’t have to worry about getting lost on our way back to Andrews.”
Captain Berenger
offered his hand, as Mitchell had done before him. In contrast to the copilot,
however, Tracie felt a welcoming vibe emanating from the navigator that was
almost as strong as Wilczynski’s. She took his hand and a smile creased his
tanned face. “Try to ignore Tom,” he said softly. “I don’t know what’s bugging
him, but he’s been pretty preoccupied lately. Family troubles or something, I
guess. But Major Wilczynski and I will take good care of you.” He raised his
voice to a normal level. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and if you need
anything, you let me know.”
Berenger’s grip
felt as strong and competent and Mitchell’s had weak and indecisive. Tracie
returned Berenger’s handshake—and his smile—enthusiastically. Something was off
about Major Mitchell, that was for sure, but these two crew members struck her
as competent to a T. Besides, she was standing in the middle of a U.S. air
base, aboard an Air Force jet, surrounded by a professional military flight
crew. What could possibly go wrong?
“Now, if you’ll
excuse me,” Berenger said, “I’ve got to get busy doing all the real work so
this guy,” he nodded at Major Wilczynski, “can play aviator and soak up all the
glory on today’s flight.” He smiled at Tracie and clambered down a metal
stairway to the navigator’s position below the cockpit.
“Berenger’s the
best,” Wilczynski told her. “On a typical combat mission we would feature at
least two more crew members, a bombardier and an electronic warfare officer.
Since this is a peacetime noncombat mission, it’s been determined that these
positions can remain unfilled for today. The rest of my guys are enjoying a
little R and R.”
“I’m sorry to add
to your workload and take you away from your own R and R,” Tracie said. “I
certainly didn’t need this much transportation.” She opened her arms,
indicating the gigantic interior of the B-52.
Wilczynski
laughed. “No apology is necessary, believe me. In fact, I should be thanking
you. I need to maintain flight proficiency in this big beast, so instead of
commanding a boring training mission next week, I get to fly across the pond
and make a quick trip home. Besides,” he added
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