Devlin spoke with authority. He’d been on more military bases than he could count and dealt with high-ranking personnel more times than he could remember. It was important to immediately set an authoritative tone. No military commander liked a “suit” coming in and telling him what needed to be done. Devlin was indeed wearing a suit, a navy shadow-strip, straight cut Giorgio Sanetti, a blue silk tie and a white shirt. The fact he was one hundred and seventy feet underground made no difference to him. The suit was his uniform. From the soles of his black St. Paul Oxford shoes to the three-button suit-coat, Devlin was wearing over a thousand dollars on his body. Betty and Quinn were more casual. Quinn, ever the Californian, wore Nike sneakers, blue jeans, and a tan polo shirt. Betty was a woman with simple tastes wearing a black ankle-long cotton duster covering a simple gray pantsuit. “Yes, sir. The general was advised of your arrival.” Devlin glanced around the empty room as if to ask, “Well, where is he?”
