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Lean and mean as ever, I see. That three-year stint back in Washington, D.C. didn’t hurt you a bit.” He raised his gray brows, the rest of his angular face remaining impassive. “I’m impressed with your record. It isn’t often we get a non-Academy man who not only makes captain, but also gets command of a group/air and cutter station.”
    Stuart had the good grace to blush; his cheeks were ruddy, anyway, because of his Irish and English lineage. The inference was there: Ward had used the “system” at the main office of the Coast Guard to get what he wanted. You bet your sweet ass I did . Ring knockers from the Academy didn’t like non-ring knockers getting their favored positions. Yes, he had maneuvered politically, but any officer who wanted command did.
    “I felt very honored to be considered, sir.” Humility was best at this stage. Ring knockers didn’t like upstarts in the ranks, and he was definitely listed in that category.
    Savage scratched his thinning gray hair, making a pretense of studying Stuart’s record. “You’ve got all the earmarks of a fine commanding officer, Ward. You flew fixed-wing up in Alaska for two years, helos at every other base. I’m particularly impressed with your stint in Puerto Rico as base supply officer. You not only created a better accounting system, but one that has now been adopted service-wide by the Coast Guard. Impressive.”
    “Thank you, sir.” And no thanks to his commanding officer in Puerto Rico, who had tried to bury his career by giving him bad marks on his fitness report. No, Ward knew the CO, commanding officer, had hated his guts. It was a mutual and natural animosity. Ward had no respect for a CO who put his own welfare above that of his men and women. The mayhem Ward had created in trying to protect the enlisted from the CO had been considerable and cataclysmic, almost sending his career down the drain. The fact that he had streamlined the accounting system had saved his ass. Bad officers could make even great junior officers look like unsalvageable material, doomed to be drummed out of the service. He never forgot that lesson.
    The yeoman came back with their mugs of coffee and then left. Ward relaxed only slightly. He could see a strange light in Savage’s pale blue eyes. The admiral wanted something; he could sense it. Ward squirmed. Some officers made ridiculous demands upon their people, and he knew that Savage was bucking for promotion to Commandant of the Coast Guard.
    “Just how much do you know about the Seattle District, Ward?”
    “That it’s one of the busiest on the West Coast for drug interception, sir.”
    Savage was pleased. “Correct.” He leaned forward, elbows on the bird’s-eye maple, buttonholing Stuart. “Which leads me to a topic of prime importance to me and the base commanders within my district.” He cleared his throat, his brows moving downward. “As you know, I’m sector commander for the Maritime Defense Zone. In December, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be conducting a major military exercise, which will involve the Coast Guard, Navy and Air Force. The exercise will be held in the 13th District—my turf. I need all my commanders to have their individual bases in top form.” Savage leaned back in his expensive leather chair, a pleased look replacing his intense expression. “Bluntly, Ward, if I look good in this interservice exercise, I’ll improve my chances for commandant. If just one of my commanders screws up, my aspirations for that position are scuttled.”
    “Yes, sir.” Great. The handwriting was on the wall: if the admiral was scuttled, the offending commander’s career would be down the tubes, too.
    “Now, let’s talk about your base. Port Angeles has had a fine skipper, a personal friend of mine, for two years. Unfortunately, Bob Crane is retiring after thirty years of unblemished service. Bob is a fine officer and has left Port Angeles shipshape for you to take over. I’ll expect the same