PART 1 — THE FUNERAL SALUTE
The first words my father spoke to me at my grandfather’s funeral were not condolences.
“Still pretending the Army needs another doctor?”
Arthur Vance said it loudly enough for the retired generals, lobbyists, and defence contractors gathered inside the Army Navy Country Club to hear.
My grandfather, General Marcus Vance, had been buried less than an hour earlier.
I stood before my father in full dress uniform, rain still drying on my shoulders.
“Hello, Dad.”
Arthur examined my ribbons and medical insignia with the same mocking expression I remembered from childhood.
“The family doctor finally came home,” he said. “Should we form a line for aspirin?”
My younger brother, Julian, laughed into his drink.
I had attended the funeral to honour my grandfather, not to participate in another Vance family performance. I was already considering leaving when the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed.
Conversations became quieter. Several powerful men straightened their jackets.
Harrison Reed, Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense, had entered with three security agents.
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