The Omicron Legion by Jon Land Page B

with us, or he and I will end up walking out of here together and alone. Capisce, Lieutenant?”
    The soldiers stood there like mirror images of each other, thoughts straying to the guns they would still have to raise or draw to make use of. McCracken looked at Wareagle and watched him tighten just a little.
    The lieutenant relented with the slightest of smiles, his own way of saving face. “I can take the two of you as far as the limousine, Captain. From there on, you’ll have to deal with whoever’s inside.”
    “For sure.”
    One of the limo’s rear windows slid down as they approached.
    “I should have known better than to expect a private conference,” came a woman’s voice from within.
    “Maxie,” said Blaine, “what a pleasant surprise.”
    “Save it, Blaine, dear, and just get in here with your Indian friend.” And then, to the soldiers, “They’re in my charge now. You’ve done well to all still be in one piece.”
    Virginia Maxwell opened the door herself so Blaine and Johnny could step inside the limo. Maxwell was an elegantly dressed and coifed woman in her mid-forties, her glamour evidently better suited for a different post. Barely six years before she had taken over the directorship of the most secret of the country’s secret organizations. Several years prior to that, when the CIA had come under increasing scrutiny and the methods of the NSA under fire, a gap resulted in what the intelligence community needed to accomplish and what it could effectively get away with. The new organization created to handle the stickiest matters worked between traditional three-letter organizations in order to fill the gap. Hence its name: the Gap.
    Virginia Maxwell was only its second director, and she had proved to be an effective one. Her most important contribution had been to pull the Gap even further out of the mainstream, away from jurisdictional squabbles and congressional scrutiny. She held no meetings with presidents or their advisors unless she was the only person in attendance. If the Gap was to deal with what slipped into the crevices, then it had to be treated as a crevice itself.
    Of course, this did not mean Virginia Maxwell had any desire to reside in a crevice herself. Her hair was perfectly styled, perfectly blond. Not a wrinkle showed anywhere on her face, including the soft skin around her eyes. Her teeth were actress bright, the same shade, it seemed, as the pearl necklace around her neck. She wore a mink coat and the biggest diamond McCracken had ever seen. One wrist showed a sapphire bracelet, the other a diamond-studded Rolex watch.
    Wareagle followed McCracken inside and had trouble positioning his head comfortably under the big car’s roof.
    “I only wanted him to wait in the jet for his own comfort,” said Virginia Maxwell.
    “Whatever you say, Maxie,” Blaine followed.
    “But as long as he’s here…”
    “Just why are we here?”
    “Patience, my dear. Look at you, Blaine. All that time in gorgeous Brazil and not a bit of tan to show for it.”
    “The jungle makes for a great sunscreen.”
    “There’s less of it to make for anything now, I’m told,”
    “The Indian and I got careless roasting marshmallows.”
    “Not the only thing that got roasted I’ve heard.”
    “Just what have you heard, Maxie?”
    “Let’s take a drive, shall we?”
    “Whatever you say.”
    The limo left Dulles and headed for Washington. Traffic was just beginning to thicken, and they made decent time.
    “Awful the things we get that no one else wants to touch, my dear,” Virginia Maxwell told him.
    “I know the feeling.”
    “Ben Norseman—I think you know him?”
    “Not anymore.”
    “Of course. In any case, he sent out a distress signal that reached several of our South American strongholds. Had the big brass scrambling, let me tell you, dear. But that doesn’t mean they knew how to handle it, or that they wanted to. They woke me out of a sound sleep, and I wasn’t too happy about