The Istanbul Decision

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Dr. Harry Beachamp made his way down the empty corridor toward the end door where two Marine sentries stood, their rifles in hand.

"Morning, boys."

"Morning, sir," returned one of the sentries.

"How's the patient?"

"The same," said the young man, motioning for Beachamp to raise his arms. The doctor complied with a sigh.

"You'd think some of us might be exempt from this constant frisking."

"You know the orders, sir. No one gets through this door without a thorough search. No one." He ran his hands over the doctor's clothes, finishing at the cuffs of his trousers. Then, taking out a small portable metal detector, he repeated the process all the way up.

"It's just that it's all getting a little bit tedious. How's Bernice holding up?"

"Lieutenant Green seems to be all right, sir," the young man said, folding the detector and slipping it back into his pocket. "Although it hasn't been easy with a spitfire like this one." He reached over and opened the door.

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