Paul rose as the President walked into the room, along with those department heads who weren’t already standing. The President made a tut-tut face and motioned for them all to sit down.
They did, save for Paul. The President made his way through the office and shook his hand.
“Nice job, Task Force head.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Behind them, Ann sizzled. It wasn’t the Task Force. It was Paul and Op-Center.
The President turned, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent, excellent job. Everyone involved in this project, from Paul to the Striker team to Steve Burkow’s National Security personnel to all of you, have performed beyond all reasonable expectations.”
“We all had help,” Hood said. “Gregory Donald, Kim Hwan at the KCIA, the North Korean officer at the Nodong missile-”
“Naturally, Paul. But it was you who put that support system into place. The credit is yours, along with everything the various departments did to manage the crisis. Though General Schneider did say he plans to request a civilian citation for Mr. Donald. He says he wants to award it himself. There will also be commendations for the Striker men who made sacrifices.”
Made sacrifices, Ann thought. That’s what presidents say when they aren’t sure how many people have died and how many were wounded. But she refused to let President Lawrence spoil this moment for her, and hoped Paul would keep plugging for the people who helped. Everything he did seemed to elevate him in her eyes.
“Dear Sharon” she began composing the letter in her head, “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ve kidnapped your husband. I’ll return him when I’m carrying his child, because I very desperately want a piece of this man to have for my own, forever….”
“But,” the President was saying, “I didn’t come here just to commend and thank you all. When I founded Op-Center six months ago, it was on a trial basis-what I and a few others like Secretary Colon and Steve Burkow felt might be a useful adjunct, a crisis management team interfacing with our existing intelligence and military operations. None of us had any idea if it would work out.” The President smiled broadly. “Certainly, none of us had any idea how well it would work out.”
Lowell Coffey applauded softly.
The President continued, “As far as I and my advisors are concerned, Op-Center has earned its wings. You are no longer a provisional operation, and I’d like to formally and finally christen you tomorrow at a private lunch at the White House. After that, Paul, we can discuss what else you think you need to make your operation more effective. Not that Congress will give it to us, but we’ll give it a damn good effort.”
“Mr. President,” Hood said, rising, “we all appreciate the vote of confidence. As long as the past six months have seemed at times, today seemed a whole lot longer… and we’re happy it all worked out. But as for tomorrow, I’m afraid I can’t make the lunch.”
For the first time since she’d known the President, Ann Farris saw him recoil in surprise.
“Really?” the President remarked. He scratched his forehead “If it’s play-off tickets, I’d like to come.”
“It isn’t, sir,” Hood said. “I’m going to be taking tomorrow off so I can teach my son to play chess and read a few violent comic books with him.”
The President nodded and smiled sincerely.
Ann Farris applauded softly.
End.