Catch Her If You Can by Merline Lovelace Page A

attention on several occasions, along with repeated requests for more office space. Like Dr. J, Colonel Roberts also takes a loooong time to return my calls.
    Despite my complaints, though, ten days out at Chuville always makes our Depression-era building seem like the height of luxury. This morning was no exception. I gazed fondly at the two-story wooden edifice as I angled the Sebring into the parking lot across the street.
    My assigned parking space is close to a side entrance but I walked Charlie around to the front of the building to sign him in and get a visitor’s pass. Security on post has tightened in response to world conditions. All of us on FST-3 heartily concur with the more stringent controls. Especially since they also help deter attacks by disgruntled inventors whose babies we’ve rejected. No small consideration when you consider some of the nuts we’ve dealt with.
    My plan to keep Charlie busy and out of my hair appeared to work when I introduced him to Sergeant Cassidy at our regular morning confab. My whole team crams into my cubbyhole of an office at the start of each workday to review the status of ongoing projects and evaluate new submissions for possible field tests. Some of those submissions are so out there we groan and/or howl with laughter. Or in Pen’s case, whinny like a bee-stung mare.
    This morning was no different. We had the preliminary reports from our on-site tests to review and a stack of new submissions. I eyed the pile, sighed, and put off the inevitable long enough to introduce Charlie. He gave Pen a wary nod. Blinked at the neon image of Bobby Fischer on Dennis O’Reilly’s perpetual black T-shirt. Offered a hesitant hand to Rocky, who’d attired himself for our return to civilization in a white short-sleeved shirt, black tie, and pale blue pinstriped seersucker slacks.
    As I’d hoped, Charlie and Noel recognized kindred spirits in each other. So much so that when Noel requested two hours for mandatory physical fitness training, he suggested he take Charlie to the gym with him. I gave him four hours. Two would barely break Noel out in a sweat. He racks up his PT points by doing, oh, a thousand or so sit-ups before taking every machine at the gym to the max. And four hours would keep Charlie out of the way while I waded through the piles on my desk.
    “How about you check on whether you can accept the reward while we’re at the gym?” my ex asked hopefully. When Noel added his endorsement, I promised to call the Fort Bliss legal office. Better to start at this level and get a military lawyer’s input before approaching the scientific properties and patent attorneys at headquarters.
    I made the call and set up an appointment for three that afternoon. When Charlie and Noel returned from the gym they were disappointed I didn’t have an answer. Dennis O’Reilly assuaged their disappointment by taking them to lunch at Papa Leone’s, his favorite Italian place. Then, much to the amazement of the rest of the team, my big, brawny ex clicked with our nervous little test engineer.
    I can’t imagine two more dissimilar personalities. Or what in the heck they would have in common. Yet when I poked my head into Rocky’s cubicle to see what they were up to, there was Dr. Brian Balboa attempting to explain in layman’s terms a small square object the inventor had labeled an Amorphic Cube. According to the teenage tinkerer who put it together, his cube could assume any shape with the flick of a switch.
    Clearly intrigued with the concept, Charlie glanced up at me. “Have you seen this thingamajig, Sam?”
    “I read the specs.” Mostly. “Haven’t seen it in operation yet.”
    “Rocky here says it can go flat as a dime or sprout wings or maybe even shape itself into a spare part for a tank or Humvee.”
    The speculative look in his eyes told me exactly what he was thinking. I have to admit I was thinking the same thing. But I resisted the temptation to beg Rocky to morph the cube