War of Eagles

SIXTY-THREE

Liz Gordon sat alone in her office. The door was shut, and air hummed from the vent overhead, from the back of her computer.

The machines were breathing easier than she was.

What the hell is going on? she asked herself.

She knew the answer, of course. General Carrie had grabbed her attention and teased her imagination. Liz would miss Bob Herbert. He was a fascinating man and a valued coworker. But Carrie’s decisive action against his bad judgment had done more than impress her. It had encouraged and emboldened her.

It was schoolgirl stupid, but she had a crush on the woman. The question was what to do about it.

Liz had wanted to meet with the general to discuss counseling for staffers about the fallout of the firing. But Liz had really wanted to meet with the general so she could take another physical and emotional core sample on herself. To see if she could work with Carrie without being distracted by her. To see if perhaps Carrie found her intriguing or maybe more.

Perhaps it was just as well the meeting was delayed. That gave Liz a little more time to collect herself.

Into what? A more composed exterior? Her insides would be the same: roiling and eager, frightened and hopeful.

She thought back to Martha Mackall. It had been different with the late political liaison. Liz had liked the woman, but there was no chemistry. Martha was pushy, not strong. She was out for herself. The good of the organization did not matter to her. It mattered deeply to Morgan Carrie.

She said the name again in her head. It was a strong name. It went with her strong character.

It was not just her style of leadership that had won Liz Gordon, it was her attentiveness. Liz had spent the better part of two decades looking into people’s eyes to see what they were about. The people who had nothing to hide looked directly at you. The people with something to share did so with words and with unflinching commitment. That came through the eyes.

During the limited time they had been together, General Carrie always looked at her flush, square, and bold. Liz did not think it was simply because Carrie had the confidence of a three-star general. Liz believed that all women shared a bond that transcended the practical needs of the moment. The notion of unimpeachable sisterhood was a myth. But the desire and capacity to love was strong. Especially among female soldiers who are forced to break the rules of traditional gender roles and behavior. In times of war they must be as aggressive as men. In times of peace, they work harder to recover their gentler humanity.

Being decisive at the helm of the NCMC was like being at war. General Carrie would also need downtime to reflect on that. A husband, even a caring and devoted one, could not understand that in quite the same way as a woman.

He could not. Another woman would not need the reclamation process explained to her. Especially if that woman were in the trenches as well.

Of course, not every woman understood that she required the attention. Sometimes she had to be educated. Therein lay the delicacy of the situation. Liz did not know what General Carrie knew or understood or sensed.

But she would.

The psychologist tried to concentrate on work as her heart throbbed anxiously in her throat. She made a list of the people who had worked closely with Bob Herbert, who would be hardest hit by his firing. Darrell McCaskey, of course. But the man was a professional and would roll with it. Lowell Coffey — who did not get along with the intelligence chief but respected him — and Ron Plummer, who found Herbert sharp but abrasive. Their main concerns would not be about Herbert but about how to avoid his fate. How to make sure Op-Center ran smoothly and efficiently during the transition. That was surely the result Carrie was after.

Liz had to be careful she did not upset that goal, or she could be dismissed herself.

It was exciting and frightening, uplifting and unnerving. For the first time in a long time there was optimism in the psychologist’s racing heart and a powerful sense of belonging.

Life was good.