Frank's Independence Day (The Night Stalkers) by M. L. Buchman Page A

banging door they didn’t jump, did turn to look. Frank could see by their total shift of concentration just how much they appreciated the vision standing there.
    He turned his chair slowly from where he’d been studying the latest information regarding the thirty-five thousand Americans living and working in the Canal Zone.
    Beatrice Ann Belfour looked incredible. The first time he’d seen her in these clothes, it had been in the darkness of a New York City hot-summer night. Now she was lit by the Texas sunlight streaming in through the window. The damn woman shimmered.
    He made a point of inspecting her exactly as he had so long ago in the underground garage at the Secret Service building. Her red sneakers had been replaced by blood-red cowboy boots, but the jeans were still tight, the lemon-yellow blouse brought her glowing skin to life, and the leather vest that he now knew was almost as soft as her skin had just enough bulge to show that she was packing her revolver in its normal shoulder holster. Her hair was about six inches longer, she hadn’t cut it since they’d met, and it now fell in a glorious thick wave well past her shoulder.
    And those dark eyes were boring holes right into him.
    “Hey, Beat.” He made it sound as casual as he could. It took effort ’cause he was so damn glad to see her.
    “Hey, Adams.” She didn’t move, just stood there letting him drink his fill of her.
    He’d never get enough. He knew he’d missed her, but had no idea how much until she stood there in front of him.
    Gone, Adams. You’re twenty-one and you’re completely and totally gone. That wasn’t sup posed to happen until he’d played the field much wider and longer. It was something he’d never expected. Find a woman someday, sure. A main squeeze. But in the six months she’d been gone, he hadn’t even noticed another woman. Oh, he’d had offers, but there was not a one for him other than Beat Belfour.
    Then she glanced over his head at the other three guys, “So, who’s in charge here?”
    Frank let the silence stretch a bit before drawling out an answer.
    “It’s gonna really suck for you…”
    Her eyes came back to his. She glared at him with that splendid mix of arrogance and pride, of a woman who knew she was just that damn good. Then a bit of smile that she did her best to hide with a scowl.
    “You.”
    “Me.”
    # # #
    Frank had sort of forgotten how good she was. By lunchtime he had Beat up to speed with what it had taken his team three months to gather together, by mid-afternoon she was adding ideas to his scenario planning. And he was loving it. It was like there was some kinda hyperactive feedback loop between them and the ideas just circulated back and forth between them. The other guys had gone, but he’d stuck around to show her what they knew and they’d taken off from there.
    “So they’re mobilizing everything?”
    “Rangers, Delta, Air Force, Special Forces choppers, everything. All running as exercises now, but everyone knows they’re gearing up for a big hit. We’re doing a razzle-dazzle down there, moving troops in and out so fast that no Panamanians can count ‘em and make a counter-plan.”
    “Choppers, huh?”
    Frank glanced down at the paperwork. “Some outfit called the 160 th Special Operations Group. What are you thinking?”
    Beat just smiled at him. He could see that something had just clicked in her brain and she wasn’t going to share it yet. So, he looked for a change of topic.
    “It’s July 3rd, you know.”
    “Yeah,” she said it like it was nothing important and that pissed him off some.
    The other agents had left after lunch. They had families in the area. Only he and Beat had stayed. The heat in the office had gone up several degrees since lunch even though the sun had moved around the other side of the building. It forced Frank to loosen his collar. The four white walls covered with maps pressed in around the four desks and table, all crammed into a space