Dark Zone

39

Rubens took his eyes off the screen at the front of the Art Room long enough to glance at his watch. The meeting with the judge about the General was due to start in forty minutes; he had to leave in ten minutes or risk being late.

So be it. It was just an informal session, after all. And his lawyer would be there.

When Rubens glanced back at the screen, it was blank.

“What’s happening?” he demanded.

“I’m losing some of the communication bandwidth,” said the man flying the Crow from a piloting bunker on the other side of the underground complex. “One of the satellites has a power glitch and we may blow some of the circuits. I had to shut down the feed as a precaution.”

“No!” thundered Rubens. “Visual now, whatever the consequences! Show us what’s going on with Tommy! Now, damn it.”

Rubens never, ever raised his voice in the Art Room, and if he’d said half a dozen cusswords during his entire NSA career, it was news to the staff. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

“Yes, sir,” said the pilot, and the image snapped back on the screen.