Campeón de Consumo
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She barely had time to lock her tablet before a yeoman arrived at her desk.
“The admiral wants you now.”
So now she stood inside Admiral Mercer’s private office overlooking Pearl Harbor, the late light turning the glass behind him into a wall of gold. Medals lined the far wall. Framed photographs with senators and flag officers sat arranged with almost aggressive neatness. On his desk lay copies of notes that should have been locked behind her own compartmented security.
Mercer did not invite her to sit.
“You’ve been conducting inquiries outside your lane,” he said.
Elena kept her posture straight. “The discrepancies fall under intelligence oversight, sir.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
His voice remained calm, which made it more dangerous. He stepped around the desk slowly, studying her with the cold irritation of a man unused to being surprised from below.
Then he stopped close enough for her to smell the sharp edge of his aftershave.
“Take off your uniform, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “Before this becomes something you cannot survive.”
