staff had heard the row coming from his office and everyone was walking on eggshells. Good people were known to have been summarily fired when the director got into these moods.
“Somervell, old boy,” Adams began, “what’s the name of that analyst, the one who served on Atlas and knows Lavager personally? Odd sort of name. You know her?”
“Yes, sir. Anya Smiler. She’s been with us a long time and is a very good—”
“Yaass, I’m sure. Have her taken off the Atlas desk, would you? Assign her somewhere else. When the next agent report comes in from Atlas, I want it sent directly to me. I don’t want anyone else messing with it. Particularly not her. Is that clear?”
“Very clear, sir,” Amesbury nodded. “Will there be anything else, Jay?” He did not need to ask how the meeting with the President had gone.
“No, no. Take care of that little matter at once and then join us back here for lunch, will you? You really should sample this Paté Munchausen. Delightful.”
“Palmer,” Adams began after Somervell departed, “I am not going to let this go. Lavager is a threat to the Confederation, pure and simple. This government’s policy must rigorously follow the rule of balkanizing certain member worlds into nation-states so they can pose no threats to the Confederation’s vital interests. I do not understand why this woman cannot see that.”
“Well, Gustafferson’s report will swing things our way, I’m sure.”
“Yaass,” Adams drawled. He finished his wine and refilled his glass. “But if it doesn’t?” He held his hands out toward Lowell.
This was no rhetorical question and Lowell knew what the answer was his chief wanted, but he paused before answering. “If it doesn’t, then, um, ah, we do it on our own?”
Adams smiled broadly and leaned back comfortably. “You said it!”
Analysis Directorate, CIO Headquarters Anya Smiler sat at her console, reviewing incoming intelligence reports. They were voluminous and full of detail, mostly analyses submitted by agents on the scene reporting the latest political gossip, changes in government personnel and policy, economic statistics, evaluations of military force structures and so on. But over the years she had learned how to winnow out the important material in these reports and to condense it into a few succinct paragraphs that would give busy intelligence bureaucrats what they needed to know. She and her colleagues were always available to give full briefings if asked for more details.
Anya was involved in a report from the station chief on Wyndham’s World about the sexual escapades of various members of a prominent Wyndhamian religious sect when her console bleeped that a very important, highly classified message was being relayed from the communications center. Her screen went dead and then the incoming message flashed across it. It was from the station chief at the embassy in New Granum on Atlas. It was a verbatim transcript from a report filed by Gus Gustafferson and it concerned the Cabbage Patch, the alleged weapons facility. Anya caught her breath as she read it. She had just gotten to the last paragraph, a standard element in these messages where the local station chief added his own interpretation of his agent’s report, when she sat bolt upright at what was written there. Impossible! They hadn’t lost an agent since—The screen went dead again and then the following message flashed across it, COMMUNICATION WITHDRAWN. ACCESS DENIED. SPA
“SPA” were the initials of the CIO Chief of Staff, Somervell P. Amesbury. “What the—?” Anya muttered. She knew that the recent meeting with the president over the Atlas situation had not gone the way the director had wished. Some things just weren’t kept secret around CIO headquarters. She also knew how the director would use this report. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Office of the Chairman, Combined Chiefs of Staff, Fargo
“Gentlemen, I give you the
“Somervell, old boy,” Adams began, “what’s the name of that analyst, the one who served on Atlas and knows Lavager personally? Odd sort of name. You know her?”
“Yes, sir. Anya Smiler. She’s been with us a long time and is a very good—”
“Yaass, I’m sure. Have her taken off the Atlas desk, would you? Assign her somewhere else. When the next agent report comes in from Atlas, I want it sent directly to me. I don’t want anyone else messing with it. Particularly not her. Is that clear?”
“Very clear, sir,” Amesbury nodded. “Will there be anything else, Jay?” He did not need to ask how the meeting with the President had gone.
“No, no. Take care of that little matter at once and then join us back here for lunch, will you? You really should sample this Paté Munchausen. Delightful.”
“Palmer,” Adams began after Somervell departed, “I am not going to let this go. Lavager is a threat to the Confederation, pure and simple. This government’s policy must rigorously follow the rule of balkanizing certain member worlds into nation-states so they can pose no threats to the Confederation’s vital interests. I do not understand why this woman cannot see that.”
“Well, Gustafferson’s report will swing things our way, I’m sure.”
“Yaass,” Adams drawled. He finished his wine and refilled his glass. “But if it doesn’t?” He held his hands out toward Lowell.
This was no rhetorical question and Lowell knew what the answer was his chief wanted, but he paused before answering. “If it doesn’t, then, um, ah, we do it on our own?”
Adams smiled broadly and leaned back comfortably. “You said it!”
Analysis Directorate, CIO Headquarters Anya Smiler sat at her console, reviewing incoming intelligence reports. They were voluminous and full of detail, mostly analyses submitted by agents on the scene reporting the latest political gossip, changes in government personnel and policy, economic statistics, evaluations of military force structures and so on. But over the years she had learned how to winnow out the important material in these reports and to condense it into a few succinct paragraphs that would give busy intelligence bureaucrats what they needed to know. She and her colleagues were always available to give full briefings if asked for more details.
Anya was involved in a report from the station chief on Wyndham’s World about the sexual escapades of various members of a prominent Wyndhamian religious sect when her console bleeped that a very important, highly classified message was being relayed from the communications center. Her screen went dead and then the incoming message flashed across it. It was from the station chief at the embassy in New Granum on Atlas. It was a verbatim transcript from a report filed by Gus Gustafferson and it concerned the Cabbage Patch, the alleged weapons facility. Anya caught her breath as she read it. She had just gotten to the last paragraph, a standard element in these messages where the local station chief added his own interpretation of his agent’s report, when she sat bolt upright at what was written there. Impossible! They hadn’t lost an agent since—The screen went dead again and then the following message flashed across it, COMMUNICATION WITHDRAWN. ACCESS DENIED. SPA
“SPA” were the initials of the CIO Chief of Staff, Somervell P. Amesbury. “What the—?” Anya muttered. She knew that the recent meeting with the president over the Atlas situation had not gone the way the director had wished. Some things just weren’t kept secret around CIO headquarters. She also knew how the director would use this report. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Office of the Chairman, Combined Chiefs of Staff, Fargo
“Gentlemen, I give you the
Similar Books
