latched behind him, Gray dialed a memorized number on the STU-3 phone. The secure phone system was old, but reliable. And presumably it didn’t give off a whole lot of electronic emissions.
“This is Brighton. Go ahead.”
“Hi, sir. It’s Grayson Pierce.”
“Gray. How are things going in the Black Hole?”
“Interesting.” He filled his boss in quickly on Sammie Jo’s arrival and their discovery of Luke Zimmer’s body. He omitted any reference to Sam’s bizarre eyesight. He doubted his boss would believe him if he mentioned it anyway.
“And Winston? What’s he up to?” Brighton asked.
There it was. The question of the day. Uncomfortable with the whole subject, Gray answered carefully, “He’s worried about Wendall Proctor. I get the impression he thinks there’s more to the Proctor group than a bunch of crazies who want to live off the grid.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“No idea. Jeff’s playing his cards close to the chest.”
Brighton asked sharply, “Does he suspect you’re investigating him for us?”
“I highly doubt it. We’re old friends. Why would he think I’m spying on him?” The words tasted bitter on Gray’s tongue. Why, indeed? Jeff had never been anything but upfront and loyal with him. Why should he expect any less from one of his oldest friends in return?
“Can’t you weasel what Winston’s worried about out of him, Gray?”
“Not without making him suspicious.”
“What about his employee, this Jessup woman?”
“I don’t think she knows any more than I do.”
“Turn the charm on her. Get her to push Winston for more information.”
Gray winced. He hated the idea of using her that way. It was bad enough having to spy on one of his best friends. Unfortunately, spies didn’t always get to choose who they betrayed. But he’d be damned if he betrayed her, too.
He thought fast. He had to get Brighton to back off the idea of squeezing Sam. He spoke evenly. “It’s not that simple, sir. I think I can develop her as a usable asset beyond just this junket in the NRQZ.”
“A mole inside Winston Enterprises long-term? Well, now. That would be a coup.”
Ahh, the joys of working for the only American intelligence agency with a mandate to spy on its own citizens. For years, he’d been the perfect spy. He had no family beyond his mother with whom he had infrequent contact, no friends to speak of, no close contact with any other human beings. He had no weak spots to exploit.
But in a few days, Sammie Jo Jessup had somehow managed to ignite his long-dormant protective instincts. Here he was, lying to his boss to cover for her, and he barely knew her. Brighton would ask if she was good enough in the sack to be worth ruining his career over. Funny thing was, he hadn’t even slept with her. And she’d still gotten under his skin.
Brighton distracted him by saying, “I’m glad you called in. We’ve been having more signal interruptions.”
“Same as before?” he asked. One of the reasons the NSA had been willing to send him on this particular off-the-record assignment was because for some months, periodic short bursts of...something...had been disrupting the supersensitive antennas they relied on for collection of wireless data. The experts in radio interference had been banging their heads against walls trying to find the source, but to no avail. The hope was that a fresh set of eyes on the ground could solve the problem.
“Yup, same as before,” Brighton said. “Under a minute in duration, originating from a different location each time. And each time the coordinates of the interference are investigated, nothing’s there. Some spot in the woods with absolutely no electronic source to cause the interference.”
“Have you guys considered using satellites to look down passively and spot the interference that way?”
“The request is sitting on the desk of the director of the William Byrd Observatory,” Brighton answered.
“Keep me
“This is Brighton. Go ahead.”
“Hi, sir. It’s Grayson Pierce.”
“Gray. How are things going in the Black Hole?”
“Interesting.” He filled his boss in quickly on Sammie Jo’s arrival and their discovery of Luke Zimmer’s body. He omitted any reference to Sam’s bizarre eyesight. He doubted his boss would believe him if he mentioned it anyway.
“And Winston? What’s he up to?” Brighton asked.
There it was. The question of the day. Uncomfortable with the whole subject, Gray answered carefully, “He’s worried about Wendall Proctor. I get the impression he thinks there’s more to the Proctor group than a bunch of crazies who want to live off the grid.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“No idea. Jeff’s playing his cards close to the chest.”
Brighton asked sharply, “Does he suspect you’re investigating him for us?”
“I highly doubt it. We’re old friends. Why would he think I’m spying on him?” The words tasted bitter on Gray’s tongue. Why, indeed? Jeff had never been anything but upfront and loyal with him. Why should he expect any less from one of his oldest friends in return?
“Can’t you weasel what Winston’s worried about out of him, Gray?”
“Not without making him suspicious.”
“What about his employee, this Jessup woman?”
“I don’t think she knows any more than I do.”
“Turn the charm on her. Get her to push Winston for more information.”
Gray winced. He hated the idea of using her that way. It was bad enough having to spy on one of his best friends. Unfortunately, spies didn’t always get to choose who they betrayed. But he’d be damned if he betrayed her, too.
He thought fast. He had to get Brighton to back off the idea of squeezing Sam. He spoke evenly. “It’s not that simple, sir. I think I can develop her as a usable asset beyond just this junket in the NRQZ.”
“A mole inside Winston Enterprises long-term? Well, now. That would be a coup.”
Ahh, the joys of working for the only American intelligence agency with a mandate to spy on its own citizens. For years, he’d been the perfect spy. He had no family beyond his mother with whom he had infrequent contact, no friends to speak of, no close contact with any other human beings. He had no weak spots to exploit.
But in a few days, Sammie Jo Jessup had somehow managed to ignite his long-dormant protective instincts. Here he was, lying to his boss to cover for her, and he barely knew her. Brighton would ask if she was good enough in the sack to be worth ruining his career over. Funny thing was, he hadn’t even slept with her. And she’d still gotten under his skin.
Brighton distracted him by saying, “I’m glad you called in. We’ve been having more signal interruptions.”
“Same as before?” he asked. One of the reasons the NSA had been willing to send him on this particular off-the-record assignment was because for some months, periodic short bursts of...something...had been disrupting the supersensitive antennas they relied on for collection of wireless data. The experts in radio interference had been banging their heads against walls trying to find the source, but to no avail. The hope was that a fresh set of eyes on the ground could solve the problem.
“Yup, same as before,” Brighton said. “Under a minute in duration, originating from a different location each time. And each time the coordinates of the interference are investigated, nothing’s there. Some spot in the woods with absolutely no electronic source to cause the interference.”
“Have you guys considered using satellites to look down passively and spot the interference that way?”
“The request is sitting on the desk of the director of the William Byrd Observatory,” Brighton answered.
“Keep me
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