talk to you.” “You can talk. And you can also buy me a drink. That’s the price.”

He pulled out his CID shield and held it up. “Let’s talk. And you can buy your

own drink, though I think you’ve had enough, so make it a Coke.” She froze with

her lipstick poised a centimeter from her mouth. “You’re an Army cop?” “Yes I

am. Building Q?” “W-what about it?” Gripping her arm, he said, “Over here,

please.” He led her around a corner and down a hall that led to the kitchen.

 

It was probably the quietest part of the place right now. Most people were

drinking, not eating.

 

Puller said, “You work at Building Q?” “What if I do?” “Highly classified work.

And yet here you are, getting drunk and letting young punks paw you? Where the

hell is your brain?” Her face flushed. “Where do you get off—” Puller held up

his badge again. “This is where I get off. You’re under the jurisdiction of the

Department of Defense. Your work is directly related to the United States Army.

And my job is to protect the United States Army.” Puller didn’t know if the Army

was paying her salary, but the Army was by far the largest component of the

military and it had its fingers in pretty much all pies. “And the national

security interests of this country,” he added. “I-I know that. I’m not doing

anything wrong.” “Your contract has a morals clause, correct? And listed

behavior that you can and cannot do. One of those prohibited activities is

putting yourself in situations where you could be blackmailed.” He looked down

at her. “Do you think if someone took pictures of you dressed like this with a

guy’s tongue down your throat and his hands on your ass, that you could be

compromised?” “Who the hell would do that?” “Let me see some ID.” He barked,