Staring out the window of her little office, she imagined Richard Blevins’s chiseled features, his steely gray-blue eyes, his close-cropped military cut. The way he leaned forward in his chair when he questioned her during her monthly reviews—probing but not intimidating. Very practiced. Strangely attractive. He reminded her of every man she’d encountered in the army, his true self walled off behind layers of defense. But there was something there, just beneath the surface . . . In psyops, she’d learned to hear the things not said. And she knew it—he wanted to get closer to her, but something was holding him back. Most likely it was just the rules, the old chain of command . . .
The secure line on her desk buzzed, and she pressed the red button on top of the console. “McBride here.”
“Captain McBride?”
“Colonel Blevins?”
“Yes,” he said softly. In the pause that followed, she wondered if their connection had been interrupted. But then he resumed, his voice more distinct. “How have things been going?”
“I assume you saw my last report. The data from WHO, the CDC, and the relevant field operations are all summarized in section—”
“Yes, yes. I’ve seen that. Thank you. I was just . . . wondering how you’ve been.”
“How have I been?” Rose smiled—his first attempt at a personal question. But it was a start . . . “I’ve been fine.”
“Good. Good . . .” There was another pause, and she heard a shuffling sound. “I have a special communication for you. I’ll be sending it via your secure hookup. But I thought I should give you a heads-up in advance. I assume no one else is there in the room with you?”
Rose glanced around her cluttered office, at the walls of old shelving, the tattered couch across the room. It seemed as though every bit of unused furniture had found a resting place here. “No. I’m alone.”
“Good. Could you please activate your earpiece?”
Rose could hear her blood pulsing as she fished the earpiece out of her desk drawer and placed it carefully into her right ear. “Okay. Ready, sir.”
He wasted no time getting to the point. “The work you’ve done has been exemplary. But we’ll be handing it off to someone else.”
She stared at her console. Was that all? “My assignment is complete?”
“This part of it, yes. You’ve shown us your attention to detail. And that you’re worthy of our confidence. Now we have a new assignment for you. We intend to recommission the Presidio.”
“Recommission?”
“We need a base in that location.”
“But how can you . . . ? It doesn’t really belong to us, does it?”
Rose’s mind raced, recounting what she knew of the history of the place she now called home. When the U.S. government had officially reserved the Presidio for military use in 1850, it had been nothing more than a windswept, barren expanse of sand dunes abutting a marshland bordering the San Francisco Bay. The army had planted trees—eucalyptus, cypress, and pines in orderly rows, like soldiers in formation—to create a windbreak and subdue the blowing sands. As new saplings had grown up to take their place, two world wars, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War had raged overseas, never to touch these shores. She remembered the inscription in the Presidio’s chapel: They also serve, who only stand and wait. Throughout its history, the Presidio of San Francisco had been a place where armies stood at the ready, waiting for an enemy who never invaded. For this place was blessed. The thick fog that so often blanketed the coast, the forbidding cliffs that limited access from the ocean—these were the very things that had protected the Golden Gate from discovery for so many years. Together with treacherous tides, they had deterred attack throughout decades of war.
The army had finally vacated the place in 1994, and the Presidio had been given over to the National Park Service. In the years that followed, the area was opened to commercial interests and the park was resorbed into the city. The Presidio Institute and its sister organizations within the confines of the former Presidio—all nonprofit—were dedicated to civilian issues only. Rose was one of just a handful of employees with special clearance. Or so she’d been given to believe.
“The Presidio can . . . belong to us,” the colonel replied evenly. “In time of war, the government has the prerogative to repurpose whatever lands and facilities might best serve the country’s security.”
Rose felt her heartbeat quicken, her old instincts from the field reawakening. “We’re at war?”
“When are we not?”
“But why now? What’s happening?”
“I’m only authorized to tell you that we need the Presidio ready. We’ll need you to act as our point person in that operation.”
“All right . . . But why me?”
“You’ve shown your ability to secure highly confidential information. And you know the people. You’ll be able to act as our liaison in difficult situations.”
Difficult situations. Rose was not expert in the administrative game, but she’d come to understand some of the jargon. “You mean, when we have to evict someone?”
“Yes. As you know, although there are currently no private residences in the Presidio, there are numerous museums and nonprofits. Over the past year, many have been replaced by shells.”
Shells. Rose felt something unnamed pressing down on her. She was familiar with black ops in nonwar territories. But she’d thought that was all in her past—and certainly not in the mainland U.S. “You mean covert government organizations? I wasn’t aware—”
“Well, now you are. And we need to make the final push. We’ll need to rout out the last of the civilians, reinstitute checkpoints at the gates . . .”
“Checkpoints? Sir, what’s going on?”
The colonel sighed, a sound that seemed not so much exasperated as sad. “Again, I’m really sorry. I can’t tell you more at this time.”
“Understood.” Rose didn’t understand. In fact, she was terrified.
He cleared his throat. “Captain McBride, I thank you for your service.”
“You’re welcome, of course.” Rose fiddled with her earpiece. She was remembering the colonel’s eyes, the way he’d looked at her the last time they’d met in Washington. The way his gaze had made her feel—as though he was planning something for her. Her heart sank. She’d thought it was something else—certainly not this.
“Well . . .” he said. “You’ll receive further instructions via your secure channel.” There was another pause. “Captain, I . . . uh . . . I need to inform you that . . . as with your previous project, you’ll be reporting in to me exclusively.”