17
They dropped the First Family at the US Air Force Academy, unloading their passengers in the shadowed corner of a heavily guarded hangar.
They hadn’t returned to discussing the mission for the remaining two hours of the flight.
When the First Lady discovered that they hadn’t had breakfast, she’d gone to the galley herself to serve them: toaster waffles with blueberry syrup and steaming mugs of coffee. That was fine with Claudia.
“When does the public get to see your daughter?” She’d hit the perfect note. It was straight from the Lieutenant Commander Boyd Ramis playbook of how to deal with impossibly awkward moments. She’d have to remember to thank him. No, because she’d then have to explain how she’d met the President, and Boyd was on the wrong side of a black-in-black operation. Sh
