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English nodded at Lance, and Lance nodded back. He and English had never been particularly fond of each other.
“Good afternoon,” said the director of training, Tom Harding, who was tall, slim and in his late fifties. “We had an incident this morning, and Jim Willis has called into question whether one of our trainees should remain at the Farm.” Willis was the director of curriculum, a short, thick man with a bald head and a perpetual scowl.
Since Lance had no overall duties at the Farm, he realized that Harding must be talking about one of his trainees. He sat up and became alert.
“Jim,” Harding said, “why don’t you tell us about it?”
“It’s the trainee Harry One,” Willis said. “I believe her to be unsuited to be in this program.”
Lance leaned forward. “Willis, I would be very interested to know specifically why you consider her unsuitable.”
Willis shrugged. “Background, experience, temperament.” He paused for effect. “And she attacked one of my instructors this morning.”
That caused a stir in the room, though no one said anything.
“I won’t put up with that from any trainee,” Willis said.
“Circumstances?” Lance asked.
“The circumstances don’t matter,” Willis said. “It’s a rule, and a hard and fast one.”
“All right, then, Jim,” Lance said, “You mentioned her background, experience, and temperament. Tell us what you find deficient in those areas.”
“She was an army MP, for Christ’s sake,” Willis said, his voice full of scorn. “The lowest kind of cop, in my opinion.”
“She commanded a company of MPs and finished as a deputy regimental commander,” Lance said. “She excelled at everything she did in the army, and she went through two very tough FBI courses at Quantico. Excelled in those, too.”
“Then she was a small-town cop,” Willis said, as if Lance had not spoken. “Traffic stops, that sort of thing.”
“She was chief of a force of three dozen officers and, on two occasions, broke cases the FBI said were of national importance.”
“That’s open to question,” Willis said.
“And temperament?” Lance asked. “What flaws have you detected in her temperament?”
“She doesn’t know how to follow orders,” Willis said. “Then there’s that fucking dog; she won’t go anywhere without it. It’s disruptive.”
Lance sat back. “She got through twenty years as a regular army officer with outstanding fitness reports and with no apparent problem following orders. And I wasn’t aware the dog was fucking anybody,” he drawled.
Laughs were stifled around the table.
“Then there was the incident of this morning.”
“Tell us about that, Jim,” Lance said.
Harding spoke up. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.
“Why not?” Willis demanded.
“Because I was there,” Harding said. “And because we
have the incident on videotape.”
“We do?” Willis asked, nonplussed.
“We do.” Harding picked up a remote control. “I’ve had some adjustments made in the lighting, and the audio has been enhanced.” He started the tape.
Lance watched the incident, which ran little more than a minute. Every word was crisply reproduced. When Holly made contact with her instructor’s nose, there was a collective groan of sympathy around the table.
