When Heather pushed the comfortable chair back out, Colonel Ba-kerga was sitting behind his desk in a folding metal chair while interviewing a young woman in uniform.
“Sorry, George. Thought you wouldn’t be in so early.”
He flashed her a slight frown as he stood up and received his chair.
“Neither did I, but I stumbled upon a good security candidate. You can help me with something, Heather. Have a seat.”
Heather took the folding chair and seated herself beside the desk, facing the candidate.
“Let’s pretend, Corporal Do-forva, just for a moment,” the colonel began,
“that you come to work in a top-secret-umbra program, and on your very first day there’s a serious, high-level meeting taking place — a general or two, colonels, majors, and perhaps several well-known civilian scientists. You quickly hear that the topic is the possible outcome of some highly-classified weapon system or tactical initiative. A records specialist sits behind a tape recorder. No one is laughing or smiling. Can you picture all that?”
“Yes,
Sir.”
“Then a little girl — how old are you, Heather?”
“Seven and a half.”
“A seven-year-old girl stands up, and begins leading the meeting. She’s not only leading the meeting, she’s the main speaker. And no one is interrupting her. Can you picture that? ”
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 40
“Um . . . barely, Sir.”
Heather could see the suppressed smile on the corporal’s face.
“I know, it’s way out there. Now we jump ahead. At the end of the day, you go home. You occasionally go to a tavern, drink a beer . . .”
“Yes,
Sir.”
“Okay, you go to the tavern, all your buddies are there, and they’re swapping stories about funny things that happened to them that day. What do you do?”
“I . . . um . . . think of something to share that has nothing to do with any classified program I work in, Sir, like perhaps something I did the previous weekend.”
Heather clapped. “You found a good one!”
Not much later, a lieutenant arrived with a box of sandwiches and drinks, and the security sergeant came up the stairs carrying a small television. They both entered the dining room.
Heather found a couch and worked on her remodeling plans for a few minutes, until she heard Lisa call her name.
“Heather! You’d better get a sandwich before they’re all gone!”
“I guess I should,” Heather said, hopping up.
They entered the dining room together.
“There’s the president!” someone said, looking at the television.
Heather froze. Her mind was suddenly filled with recognition of the scene on the television — the banquet table, the podium, the other guests all in suits and elegant dresses — it was all so familiar. She looked up at Lisa.
The major was just standing, casually watching the events a thousand miles away.
Heather heard the master of ceremonies announce the president. The president rose and people started clapping. Heather knew she didn’t have much time.
She urgently tapped Lisa on the shoulder.
Without quite taking her eyes from the television, the major bent down slightly. “Hmm?”
Heather cupped her hands and whispered something in Lisa’s ear.
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 41
Major Ka-markla’s mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged with horror.
Before she could think of anything to do, everyone in the room, and millions more all over the country, heard the rifle shot that ended the president’s life.
In the chaos that followed, Heather managed to get a sandwich and can of juice, then returned to her remodeling plans. She knew they would come looking for her soon. In the meantime, she worked on the furniture list.
When she sensed, about ten minutes later, their eyes upon her, she looked up to see Sam, George, Sarah, and Lisa all looking down at her. Everyone else in the building, including the new security corporal, was there too, a little farther back.
The general cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to put this delicately. If you knew the president was about to be assassinated, why in God’s name didn’t you tell us?”
Heather looked at all the people looming over her. Some almost had smoke coming from their ears. Ben looked ready to give her a spanking.
George appeared to be considering handcuffs.
She took one more slow breath. “I’d be happy to tell you, tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, after everyone’s had a chance to cool off, get a good night’s sleep, and eat a hearty breakfast.”
She turned her attention back to the remodeling plans.
Without asking any more questions, they slowly filtered away, and no one spoke to her for the entire rest of the day.
The eighty-year-old psychologist in her steeled herself for what she had to endure.
The seven-year-old girl wanted to cry.
But after dragging herself through several dance exercises, she was finally, for the first time in two days, able to get some sleep.