Springboard by Tom Clancy Page B

it into the afternoon’s commute.

6

The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
    Abe Kent had long ago come to terms with most of his fears. Not that he had lost them—there were still plenty of things that could worry him, if he let them: Going blind, or senile, or stroking out into paralysis, these were fears he still carried, but he had learned to control them rather than letting his fears control him.
    The way he dealt with them was to pay attention and not deliberately do things that might cause them, at least as much as he could. He ate well, stayed in shape, and had routine physicals. He didn’t drink much alcohol, save for a little wine or beer now and then, and had given up smoking his pipe twenty years back. There were no guarantees, of course, and in the end something was going to kill him, but a quick and sudden end didn’t scare him. He had come close to that often enough that he had been, as far as he was concerned, living on borrowed time for most of his life.
    He had been a good Marine. Would have made general by now if he hadn’t been quite as good—if he’d been prepared to let things slide in ways he hadn’t been willing to do. So, the worst thing that Roger Ellis could do to him was kick him out of his job, and when he looked back over his shoulder, there was not a lot he regretted. As a result, Kent wasn’t afraid of this meeting.
    Still, there was a twinge of . . . unease . . . as he approached the door of the Pentagon office with his guard and guide, who was also a Marine. A kid, maybe twenty-eight, and a sergeant, who knew who he was.
    It had started to drizzle on the way over from Quantico. Maybe that was an omen.
    “Here we are, sir. I’ll be back to collect you when you are done.”
    “Thank you, Sergeant.”
    “Semper fi, sir.”
    Kent grinned at the kid. “You know it, son.”
    Ellis had put on a few pounds, and looked paler than when Kent had last seen him, about five years ago. Ellis had been a colonel then, making general a couple of months later. Kent had sent him a congratulations card.
    Sent him a second card when he got bumped up another star a year ago. No point in being bitter about it.
    “Abe, how are you?” Ellis asked.
    “Fine, General.”
    “Come in, have a seat.”
    Kent did so.
    Ellis liked to beat around the bush a little before he got down to business, and the two men exchanged did-you-hears and guess-who-dieds and such for a couple of minutes. Finally, Ellis arrived at the point:
    “So, tell me about Net Force. The military arm.”
    “We have some good people. Lot of regulars from the service. John Howard put together a sharp team. Good training, good gear, good support, both from the Guard and the Net Force Commander.”
    “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d be in the Guard,” Ellis said.
    “Well. I’d pretty much come to the end of the road in the Corps, hadn’t I? Another few years as a doddering, superannuated colonel, teaching at a college somewhere, running some logistics kiosk, that was how I was going to end my career. When John Howard called me, it seemed like a way to do something worth doing with the last of my active duty time.” He paused. “I never was much good as a desk commander.”
    Ellis nodded. “You angered some very shiny brass, Abe. You know that. What did you expect?”
    Kent shook his head. “I knew what would happen, General. It’s just that I couldn’t let the consequences affect my decision. You know what went down, sir. What would you have done, in my place?”
    Ellis pondered that for a moment. “Well, I’d like to say I’d have done the same thing. The Marines ought not be baby-sitters for the sons of rich elected officials.” He paused. “But I’ve always been more, ah . . . flexible . . . than you. I think I’d have caught the drift and done some fast talking. Hell, even after you knocked the kid’s teeth out, you could have bowed and kissed a ring or two and they would have let it