One more, then send.
“Go, baby.” She looked at her watch. He wasn’t back yet, but she could see the elevator doors and feared they would open at any second. The emails were sent. Close, close. Get out.
She ran from the office, taking the staircase to make sure she didn’t run into Snelling. Just as the stairwell door clicked shut, the elevator bell rang. Snelling and his secretary walked out, joking about something. It had been a close call.
***
After Bobby and his father left his apartment, Slocum drove to a town thirty miles away and placed a call. He dialed the fourteen-digit number and waited. As the phone concluded its third ring, he looked at his watch. He could stay on for ninety seconds, no longer. The line clicked twice, followed by a short buzz. The tracer was active. Two seconds later a voice came on.
“Receiving.”
“One four one requesting emergency contact.” A moment passed with no answer, and it seemed as though the line had gone dead.
Then the voice came back, the tone definitive. “That is not authorized at this time. You are directed to remain at your current location. A team will bring you in.”
“Negative,” said Slocum. “I request an immediate conference with the field supervisor.” He was running out of time.
“Wait one.” The line went dead again.
He knew what they were up to, but he wanted to hear what Pampas had to say, and more importantly, how he said it. They were stalling, trying to set up an intercept. They might track the call, but he knew they didn’t have anyone close enough to reach him in time. Of course, they might try the local police. It depended on how desperate they were. He looked at his watch. Almost time.
“Slocum, this is Pampas. What do you think you’re doing?” The tone was brisk, reprimanding.
“Mr. Pampas, I don’t have much time here, so let’s cut the crap. What’s going on? Why’d you send a team after me?”
“You were tagged as a runner. Now we know that was bad information. The team has been recalled and you’re to be fully reinstated, assuming that you have the palm unit.”
“I have it, but sir, those men were shooting to kill.”
Pampas hesitated. “A miscalculation on their part. One of the agents was a rookie and got a little excited. It happens.”
Slocum knew he was lying. They would never send a rookie to help retrieve a seasoned implementer. He was supposed to be killed, and that meant they thought he had done something very bad. It was time for the conversation to end.
“Mr. Pampas, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but it’s not true. Seek the truth, sir, and you will find it.”
“Slocum, wait…”
It was too late. The phone was already in its cradle. Slocum looked up and down the street, but nothing seemed out of place. Then he heard them. Sirens, still pretty far away. That was a mistake. They should have told the local police to approach silently–they might have had him. He quickly got into his car and drove away. As he checked his rearview mirror he considered the use of the locals. For the agency to risk even this degree of exposure was an indication that they wanted him badly. He would have to be on his toes. The sound of sirens quickly faded as he headed back towards his apartment.
***
The white panel truck with the yellow light on top had been parked in the same spot for three hours. The manhole cover behind it had been removed, the opening in the ground carefully roped off with yellow plastic tape. A man in coveralls stood watch above ground, while deep below street level his partner prepared to make the final adjustments to the piece of equipment now enveloping the fiber cable bundle.
Not his first installation by any means, it had been fraught with problems from the start. To begin with, two of the strands of fiber simply refused to bond to the epoxy gel he was using to form his temporary connectors. He had to cut them and let them dangle while he finished installing the
“Go, baby.” She looked at her watch. He wasn’t back yet, but she could see the elevator doors and feared they would open at any second. The emails were sent. Close, close. Get out.
She ran from the office, taking the staircase to make sure she didn’t run into Snelling. Just as the stairwell door clicked shut, the elevator bell rang. Snelling and his secretary walked out, joking about something. It had been a close call.
***
After Bobby and his father left his apartment, Slocum drove to a town thirty miles away and placed a call. He dialed the fourteen-digit number and waited. As the phone concluded its third ring, he looked at his watch. He could stay on for ninety seconds, no longer. The line clicked twice, followed by a short buzz. The tracer was active. Two seconds later a voice came on.
“Receiving.”
“One four one requesting emergency contact.” A moment passed with no answer, and it seemed as though the line had gone dead.
Then the voice came back, the tone definitive. “That is not authorized at this time. You are directed to remain at your current location. A team will bring you in.”
“Negative,” said Slocum. “I request an immediate conference with the field supervisor.” He was running out of time.
“Wait one.” The line went dead again.
He knew what they were up to, but he wanted to hear what Pampas had to say, and more importantly, how he said it. They were stalling, trying to set up an intercept. They might track the call, but he knew they didn’t have anyone close enough to reach him in time. Of course, they might try the local police. It depended on how desperate they were. He looked at his watch. Almost time.
“Slocum, this is Pampas. What do you think you’re doing?” The tone was brisk, reprimanding.
“Mr. Pampas, I don’t have much time here, so let’s cut the crap. What’s going on? Why’d you send a team after me?”
“You were tagged as a runner. Now we know that was bad information. The team has been recalled and you’re to be fully reinstated, assuming that you have the palm unit.”
“I have it, but sir, those men were shooting to kill.”
Pampas hesitated. “A miscalculation on their part. One of the agents was a rookie and got a little excited. It happens.”
Slocum knew he was lying. They would never send a rookie to help retrieve a seasoned implementer. He was supposed to be killed, and that meant they thought he had done something very bad. It was time for the conversation to end.
“Mr. Pampas, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but it’s not true. Seek the truth, sir, and you will find it.”
“Slocum, wait…”
It was too late. The phone was already in its cradle. Slocum looked up and down the street, but nothing seemed out of place. Then he heard them. Sirens, still pretty far away. That was a mistake. They should have told the local police to approach silently–they might have had him. He quickly got into his car and drove away. As he checked his rearview mirror he considered the use of the locals. For the agency to risk even this degree of exposure was an indication that they wanted him badly. He would have to be on his toes. The sound of sirens quickly faded as he headed back towards his apartment.
***
The white panel truck with the yellow light on top had been parked in the same spot for three hours. The manhole cover behind it had been removed, the opening in the ground carefully roped off with yellow plastic tape. A man in coveralls stood watch above ground, while deep below street level his partner prepared to make the final adjustments to the piece of equipment now enveloping the fiber cable bundle.
Not his first installation by any means, it had been fraught with problems from the start. To begin with, two of the strands of fiber simply refused to bond to the epoxy gel he was using to form his temporary connectors. He had to cut them and let them dangle while he finished installing the
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