The military man stepped in. “Doctor Vasquez?”
She was surprised to find him even younger than herself. “Yes? May I help you?”
He shut the door behind him and approached her. “Lieutenant McKibben,” he said, shifting his briefcase to his left hand, extending his right. “United States Air Force, Sentry Dog Training Branch.”
She shook his hand; the palm was sweaty. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, and started to get up.
“At ease, by all means,” he insisted, motioning her to remain seated. He seemed anxious.
“What’s this all about, Lieutenant—I’m sorry?”
“McKibben—Allen McKibben.” He sat down on the edge of her desk, and popped the latches of his briefcase. “I must confess to having been unfamiliar with your work,” he said, rummaging through its contents, “until it was brought to my atte
