All That Mattered, Ch. 13

Douglas heard the giveaway pattern of someone on crutches — thump, pause, thump — and knew who it was before Lee Stetson arrived in the bull pen. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for Stetson to stop at his desk. He’d assumed they would sync up sometime later today, up in the Q-Bureau.

Stetson was breathing heavily, which explained why he came straight to the point. “Got something you might want to see.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He rummaged in the basket he wore whenever he was on the crutches, extracting a single sheet of paper. “But I need you to make a copy of it and bring me back the original.”

It appeared to be the last page of a personal letter, signed simply as Jonathan. “Where did this come from?”

“Confidential source.”

“Is that so?”

Stetson met his gaze, level-eyed, and said nothing.

“You understand, of course, that news of the scuffle at Dulles has already come through on this morning’s wires.”

Stetson didn’t move.

He looked down at the paper again. “The code.”

“Yeah. You know Morse?”

“No, but I’m sure the chaps in Signals can transcribe it.” When he folded the paper, Douglas was careful to use the creases that were already present. “Unless that would compromise your source.”

“I’d appreciate it if you only showed them the code.”

“I see.” He wondered if the American agent realized how much he’d already said. “And if this isn’t a source I think we should trust?”

The level-eyed stare came back. “It’s as solid as they come.”

He thought about that for a long moment. While he hadn’t worked with the Stetsons as extensively as others in the Agency, their reputations spoke for them: they were unconventional, constantly crossing boundaries, and created problems almost as often as they solved them. Their close rate, however, spoke for itself.

“All right.” He partially unfolded the page and then refolded it so that only the code showed. “I’ll run the copy. Then I’ll return the original and take the copy to Signals. Will you be in the Q-Bureau?”

“I should be.” His expression relaxed slightly. “And I appreciate it.”

“May I also assume this is not going to be a habit?”

The lines on Stetson’s face hardened again. “You may.”

Douglas nodded. That was exactly as he’d thought.

---

“…and I never would have thought something like that would have happened! I mean, I know plainclothes police officers carry handcuffs, but they don’t usually patrol on crutches. Or in wheelchairs. Do they?”

“No, not usually,” answered Nancy, trying to sound bored. Or at least disinterested. She kept her eyes focused on the supply room counter. It had just been bad luck that she’d run into Scotty when she had come down for surveillance equipment. Hadn’t it? Maybe he had been stalking her, the same way the man at the airport had been stalking Francine.

She shook her head hard. You’re getting paranoid, Zeta.

Scotty didn’t seem to notice. “I mean, I guess plainclothes officers might use something like that as a cover since it’d make them look like less of a threat. But wouldn’t it also draw attention to them, which is something I think they don’t want? Plus, it might even slow things down, having to keep up with all that extra stuff alongside the other things you’re already carrying.” He stopped suddenly, peering at her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, trying to keep it from sounding curt. Where was Leatherneck, anyway? She didn’t have all day.

There was a long pause as Scotty considered her. “I guess it is kind of annoying to have to wait while Mr. Nelson gets me those extra dollies. You know, the ones with the heavy-duty weight ratings. I don’t know why Mr. Karalis wants to use all those old cameras all of a sudden, especially since a Super 8 would get it done just as easily — but that’s not something you find all that interesting, is it?”

Nancy blinked. “It’s fine.”

“Just like you’re ‘fine’?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. It was a late night.”

“Okay.” Then he cocked his head. “You weren’t at the airport, were you? They said there was only one man, the one who was on crutches. The other people doing the detention were women.”

She was not going to let her discomfort show. Absolutely not. “How do you know things happened at the airport?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was in the news today, and wow, did Mrs. Marston sound upset while she was on the phone about it. Apparently Mr. Melrose or Dr. Smyth or someone told her to get all the newspapers she could, different ones I mean, about the story. She kept going on about how it wasn’t her job, that was for the junior agents, but when I offered to help she turned me down.”

“I see,” she said, hoping it came across as non-committal.

“Oh, well, sorry. Maybe I’m mixing things up. Say, Mr. Nelson must have had to go into the warehouse pretty far if he’s taking this long. But it’s interesting that your late night happened at the same time as the fake FBI or CIA agents being at the airport and —”

“If it was about intelligence operations,” she pointed out, “we really shouldn’t be speculating.”

He blinked, seeming to have run out of words. “Right. Cameras.”

“And you’re going to be worn out by the end of the day, having to haul all this stuff around,” said Leatherneck. He was pushing a flat cart piled high with equipment. “Honestly, some of it’s more than one person ought to be handling. You might want to call back up to the film unit to have them send someone else down.”

“There’s no one else to send,” said Scotty. “But I’ll be all right if I can borrow that cart. I should be, anyway. Or, at least, I hope to be.” He paused. “I’ll bring it back just as soon as I’ve gotten everything upstairs.”

Leatherneck pointed at him. “One hour.”

Scotty looked even more uncertain. “It might take me a little longer than that. Can I have two?”

“No more than that.” Leatherneck gave him a sharp look. “One hundred twenty minutes. I’ll have to come lookin’ for you at one-twenty-one. You got that?”

“Then I’ll just…” Scotty trailed off. “If that’s what you can allow, then that’s what I can use. Two hours. Not a minute more.”

“Good.” Leatherneck turned toward Nancy. “And what can I do for you, Miss Zeta?”

She held up the battery pack she had brought with her. “The wire’s working, but this thing keeps malfunctioning and fritzing out. We’ve tried moving it around and rewiring a couple times, but nothing works.”

“Again? You guys go through those things like they’re on sale or something.” He waved his hand. “No, I know, I know. And they are persnickety. Let me just go see what else I got for you.”

“Thanks.” She waited until the door closed behind him before turning to Scotty. “Look, if you can wait long enough on my floor to let me drop that off —”

He paled. “You heard Miss Desmond that day!”

She could have smacked herself. “I’m sorry. If you can just go up to the film unit, I can come up there in a few minutes to help you unload. That might make things faster for you.”

The color rushed back into Scotty’s face. “Really? You have time for that? I mean, I can probably do it all in two hours, but it might not be right, so if you can help that would mean a lot.”

“I can help,” she told him. “And if you see any copies of those papers, we can find out where they’re going.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “I thought — well, never mind.”

Nancy almost smiled. “Whatever you thought’s likely all right. Besides, it helps to have some eyes and ears around, you know? I’m sure you already have your own sources.”

“If I did —” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Then he went back to his normal tone. “Not really. I just…”

“I get it.”

“Watching you’s never been hard for me anyway.” Now the color in his face grew darker than normal. “Professionally, I mean. And I — let’s just say I’m used to not being noticed, and that’s kind of a good thing sometimes.”

It could be, she realized. It definitely could be, and likely in more ways than he realized.

---

Billy used his handkerchief to wipe his face. “There’s more here than I realize. I know that much. The bad part is, I don’t know what I don’t know.”

“I could offer you some reading material, if you’d like,” said Douglas Trent from his spot in an office chair.

“No.” He folded the handkerchief, stared at it for a long moment — when had it gotten so dingy? — and then shoved it back into his pocket. “I’m not sure I would understand it anyway. I mean, I can use the computers here, but they seem to speak a different language when I get too far into the weeds.”

“If you try to understand everything at once, their operations can seem opaque.” But when he would have protested, Trent held up a hand. “I know. Your time is limited. I’ll come to the point: the Agency has some cracks in its infrastructure.”

Billy sighed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I meant in your computer networks.” The MI6 agent indicated a sheaf of papers. “The details are here, but the bottom line is that there are ways the systems can be infiltrated. Even worse, it might not even be obvious when it happens. An operator could be inside the database for weeks without being detected, if they were careful what they did and how they did it.”

“I thought,” said Billy, “that was the problem with the military databases.”

“Ours replicates their structure.” He extracted some papers from near the bottom of the stack. “I’ve brought you some recommendations. The most important is that we need an expert on site. It doesn’t have to be you. It probably even shouldn’t be. But we need someone.”

Billy wondered if Trent even realized that he’d shifted to referring to the Agency as “we.” He made a mental note to reach out to his counterpart to see what their assessment of him had been. But, given that he’d been recommended for this exchange assignment, it couldn’t be all bad. It might even be quite good.

It also didn’t solve the immediate problem. “Do we have anyone already on staff who can train?”

“Interestingly enough, yes.” Trent handed over the last sheet of paper.

Billy felt his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. “I thought you didn’t think all that much of Desmond or Zusterakos.”

Trent sighed. “They’re…problematic. I’m not sure if they would do well on my side of the pond. But Miss Zusterakos has the right basic skill set, especially given that she did some computer programming work in graduate school. And Miss Desmond…” he trailed off. “I’m told that what I’ve seen isn’t the norm. By several people.”

“It isn’t.”

“And I…” Now Trent sounded almost hesitant. “I can’t imagine you’d have someone…incapable…as your second-in-command.”

“I wouldn’t. But I don’t know that she’d be ready to handle this level of detail. Francine’s a whiz on the terminals, but I’ve never seen her get into the…” he trailed off. “What do you call the guts, anyway? Programming? Code? Something else?”

“You’re close enough. I could support a recommendation to hire a contractor to come in and shore up the defenses. One who would train either Miss Desmond, Miss Zeta, or both while they did it.” He paused. “I’m sure your military database experts likely could recommend some vetted parties.”

“You just said their databases are compromised too.”

“There’s evidence that they have some defenses in place. And as I considered the historical patterns, I could see more and more coming online. They’re moving in the same direction this Agency should.” Trent took a sudden sharp breath. “Or, the same direction I would recommend for this Agency.”

“Relax, Trent. I don’t stand on ceremony in this section.” Billy laid the paper down on his desk. “Does anyone else have the right qualifications?”

“Some might, but I doubt they’d be as strong as these two. Especially since they already function as partners, and from what I can tell, fairly well.”

“That they do.” Billy looked off into space for a long moment, thinking. “You’re here for, what, eight more weeks? I’m going to put you on recruitment. Come up with some parameters for the contractor we’re looking for, something I can take up to the budget committee. And if you can put together some examples of the cracks — in a way that numbers crunchers can understand without also needing to be computer geeks — that’s even better. That’ll help me make my case.”

“I’ll do my best. Dr. Smyth doesn’t seem terribly easy to convince.”

“He isn’t,” said Billy, “and he’s a pain the behind more often than he ought to be. But here’s the thing: once he is convinced, he’ll back you all the way. I’ve seen him go to bat for my people a dozen times, Scarecrow and Sunlight included. Desmond, too.” He leaned forward. “So that’s your job. Get me what I need to convince him. Can you get it done in a week?”

“I can.” Sensing the dismissal, Trent stood up. “I’ll get started right away.”