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lock of her dark red hair back into place, and scanned the message: “See Captain Mccarty when you come in.”
    Great. No subject, no hint of what he wanted. She looked up as Captain Pennington stuck his head in.
    “Good morning, Karen. I hear the EA wants to see you.”
    Word travels fast, she thought. “Yes, sir. Good morning.
    Any idea on what it’s about?”
    “Nope. It was on the office voice mail, six-thirty last night. I told them you hit the athletic club first thing in the so you’re not late or anything.” He looked at his watch. “As long as you’re up there in about the next five minutes.”
    “Appreciate that, Captain,” ‘she said. She hesitated. “I hope this isn’t another, shipping-over lecture.”
    “I don’t think so, Karen,” he said. “Although the offer is absolutely still open.” They looked at each other for a moment, and then he raised his hands in mock surrender.
    “Okay, okay, I know. We’ve been down this road. Better go see the EA.”
    She smiled briefly at him to show that she wasn’t angry.
    Pennington had been a peach of a boss for the past two years, and she knew he was sincere in wanting her to pull those retirement papers. But she had made up her mind. She would reach the magic twenty-year point in six more months. She had taken the emotional plunge a month after Frank died, then waited a little while longer to put her papers in’ Nothing had happened in the interim to change her conviction that it was time to go. Her professional career drive had just evaporated after Frank’s heart attack, especially considering the circumstances surrounding that event.
    She was determined not to be a hanger-on, just for the sake of keeping busy or for the chance to put another gold ring on her sleeve. In the Judge Advocate General Corps, reaching commander signified a successful career; making captain meant an unusually gogd career. She was ready to settle for success.
    Notebook in hand, Karen headed for Admiral Carpenter’s office up on the fifth floor. When she arrived, she found that she was not the only visitor to the front office. There was a civilian who looked like a cop sitting on the couch. Another civilian, a very large man, was standing by one of the windows, his back to the room. A youngish-looking one-star rear admiral was sitting in the single armchair. He gave her a fleeting glance of appraisal when she came in but then went back to a folder he had been studying.
    The presence of the two civilians puzzled her, unless they were Naval Investigative Service types. But they looked like real civilians, and they were too well dressed to be NIS. The big man was huge, tree-trunk huge. She wondered if he was Warren Beasely’s relief from the Naval Investigative Service. She had heard some scuttlebutt that they were sending over a real character. The other guy looked like a cop. She walked across the front office and knocked on the EA’s open door.
    “Come in, Karen,” Mccarty said, indicating with his hand that she should close the door behind her.
    “Good morning, sir.,” she replied.
    “Right, it probably is. You see that one-star out there?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “That’s Rear Adm. W. T. Sherman. OP-32: director of the Surface Warfare Requirements Division down in OP-03.
    Last year’s flag-selection list. The civilian on the couch is a Fairfax County detective. Homicide cop, ‘no less.” He watched for her reaction.
    Homicide cop?” she said, pleased with herself for picking him out as a policeman. “Somebody shoot somebody?”
    “Not quite,” Mccarty said. “At least we don’t think so.
    But that guy came in to see the JAG yesterday. He asked for a sitdown with this Admiral Sherman. The JAG wants you in there as the duty fly on the wall. I won’t say any more, so as not to influence what you see and hear. You’ll be introduced as a headquarters staff attorney, okay?”
    This was vintage . Carpenter, she thought, nodding. Whenever something out of the