Before Susan could think of what to do, they each came to a halt, then turned to look up from the deck and faced Miranda.
She made some notes in a notebook, then waved toward the stern. Mike walked one side of the line, Holly on the other, and Andi stayed close to Miranda down the middle. The white was hustling after Miranda’s unexpected change of direction.
“What is this, synchronized swimming?” Brightman snarled at her.
“I have no idea. I was told to pick them up in Alaska ten hours ago from a KC-46 Pegasus crash site and deliver them here with all due speed. All I know is that they have the kind of access swabbies like you and I only dream about.”
“Dazzle me.”
“Miranda, that’s the brunette in the middle, called the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs to get copies of all of the technical manuals for F-35s and theTheodore Roosevelt.”
“General Drake Nason?”
“Direct line. No operator. And the kicker?”
Brightman waited.
“She said that she’d called him because she didn’t want to bother Roy.”
“Roy, as in…” Brightman started in disbelief but appeared to choke when she tried to finish the sentence.
“As in President Roy Cole. First name basis?” Susan had only seen the President in person once, from the twenty-seventh row during a speech attended by three thousand other sailors.
They shared a look and Susan knew that, for once, they were both out of their depths here. One thing was clear, it was probably best not to mess with Miranda.