The Minotaur by Stephen Coonts Page A

decide.
    Jake drained his coffee and threw the cup in the trash can by the
door. He pulled the bag up over the box and rolled the excess
tightly, then pushed the door open and stepped out into the eve-
ning.
    “Hi, darling,” Callie said brightly when she came home and found
Jake assembling the model on the kitchen table.
    “Hey, beautiful.” Jake looked up and grinned at her, then re-
sumed his chore of gluing the landing gear into the wheel wells.
    “So how was the first day back at the office?”
    Jake laid the plastic model on the diagram and leaned back. in
his chair. He stretched. “Okay, I guess. They didn’t tie me to the
wooden post where they shoot traitors, and nobody said anything
about a court-martial, so I guess I’m still in the navy.” He winked
at her. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t sweat it.”
    She poured a cup of coffee and blew across it gently, then took
an experimental sip. She stood looking at him over the rim of the
cup. “Where will you be working?”
    “It’s a little shop, some cubbyhole that belongs to NAVAIR. I’ll
be working on the new Advanced Tactical Aircraft.”
    “Oh, Jake.” She took the seat beside him. “That’s terrific.” For
the first time in months, her voice carried genuine enthusiasm.
    “That’s about all I can tell you. The project is classified up the
wazoo. But it’s a real job and it needs doing, which is a lot more
than you can say for a lot of the jobs they have over there.”
    He shouldn’t have added that last phrase. The muscles around
her eyes tightened as she caught the edge in his voice. “After all
you’ve done for the navy, they owed you a good job.”
    “Hey, Callie, it doesn’t work like that. You get paid twice a
mouth and that’s all they owe you. But this is a navy job and Lord
knows how it’ll all turn out.” Perhaps he could repair the damage.
“I’d rather have a navy job than be president of a bank. You know
me, Callie.”
    Her lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “Yes, I guess I do.” She
put her cup on the coffee table and stood.
    Uh-oh! Here we go again! Jake took out his shirttail and used it
to clean bis glasses as she walked into the kitchen. You’d better be
cool now, he decided. Help her along. He called out, “What say we
go get some dinner? I’m hungry. How about you?”
    4
    The ringing of the telephone
woke Jake Grafton. As he groped for the receiver on the stand by
the bed he blinked mightily to make out the luminous hands of the
alarm dock: 5 A.M. “Grafton.”
    “Good morning. Captain. Admiral Henry. I wanted to catch
you before you got started this morning.”
    “You did, sir.”
    “How about meeting roe on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
about oh-seven-hundred in civilian clothes.”
    “Aye aye, sir.”
    “Thanks.” The connection broke.
    “Who was that?” Callie asked as Jake cradled the phone and
closed his eyes. The alarm wouldn’t ring for half an hour.
    “0ne of my many bosses.”
    “Oh,” she mattered. In less than a minute he heard her breath-
ing deepen with sleep. He wondered what Tyler Henry wanted to
talk about that couldn’t be said at the office. After five minutes he
gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. He tiptoed for the
bathroom.
    By the time the alarm went off he had showered and shaved and
dressed. He had picked out dark gray slacks and a long-sleeved
3W shirt. Over this he had added a tie, an old sweater and a
blazer.
    38
    “Good morning,” he said as he pushed the lever in on the back
of the clock to silence it.
    “Come hug me.” She smelled of warm woman and sleep. “It’s so
nice having you here to give me my morning hug.” She pushed him
back so she could see his face.
    “I love you, woman.” He cradled her head in his hands. “You’re
going to have to quit trying to analyze it and just accept it. It’s
true.”
    “Hmmm.” She flashed a smile and became all business as she
moved away from him and got up. “Why the civilian