As of now, the situation had become one patrol a day with reluctant pilots, Congress sending a committee to the base, a taxpayers' injunction against the Air Force rocketplane operation, and United Nuclear men experimenting hourly with robot-piloted atomjets at all altitudes below four hundred miles.
Plus the syk research, naturally.
Bridget's ash tray spilled over with right-angled cigarette butts, half-burned. Grant studied her as she read through the files intently although her eyes rolled his way briefly on occasion. She faced him with an unexpected snap of the head.
"Well?"
"Just looking," Grant explained.
"Then just look for a pilot's manual. It's been mentioned and I haven't seen one around. Would you mind?"
Grant opened his mouth to inform her a pilot's manual for the atomjet was classified secret, but caught himself before he could verbalize the protest. He shrugged and planned more strategy for invading the general's files.
The only things he could be grateful for so far were Bridget's beauty and the fact the staff had not realized he was her adjutant.
The Mayo psychiatrist and the Yale psychologist had been in conference with Bridget for almost an hour. She had been giving them preliminary findings and the results of tests and interviews with the base pilots.