Sigma Division

Chapter 15

Sleeping and doing nothing this weekend had not made Spicer relax. When he came out of the elevator at the CIA headquarters, awash in Monday morning office drones, he felt just as tired as on Friday. He headed toward his office when Ned appeared slightly behind him.

“Hey, boss.”

Startled, Spicer stopped in his tracks and turned around to face him. “Jesus, you scared the hell outta me.”

“Too much coffee, uh?”

“Caffeine level: zero.”

“Listen, Dr. Michaels wants to see you ASAP.”

Spicer groaned. “What for?”

“Do I look like his diary? How the hell would I know? I’m not a mind-reader.”

“Great.”

The term mind-reader gave him pause. Was this a coincidence? He changed course and headed back toward the elevators, his partner following.

“Yeah, and there’s something else,” Ned added.

“Am I gonna have to guess?”

“I saw a couple of security officers roaming around your office.”

Spicer came to a halt again. Blood drained from his face.

Shit.

Battles were won one skirmish at a time so Spicer went to his superior’s office, and after a bland greeting he sat down while Michaels did the same across the desk.

“I’ll go right to the point, Spicer. Our current arrangements with you aren’t working.”

“So I’m fired.”

“Come on, nobody uses that term anymore. You’ve been downsized.”

“May I ask why?”

“That newspaper article did you in. You spent too much time, too much money, and you have nothing to show for it.”

“Yeah but…”

Dr. Michaels shrugged smugly. “What? Did you find the author?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“That’s just my point.

“So, what now?” Spicer asked. “Am I being transferred?”

“No, this time it’s over.”

It was like a sucker punch. Spicer lowered his eyes, not sure if he computed all of this.

“Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming. You’re old school, Spicer. You’re a dying breed.”

Spicer looked back sharply at his boss. “I know a Hungarian family who knows I’m very contemporary.”

“You’re from the Cold War, I’m from the New World Order.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re from a time when two countries ruled the world. I’m from a time where there’s only one.”

The worst part, Spicer realized, was that Michaels actually believed what he was saying.

“So that’s it?”

“I’ll fill out some forms, you’ll get your full pension.”

“Goody,” Spicer said as he stood.

They stared at each other. Michaels couldn’t hide the fact that he was savoring a victory.

The golf course was practically deserted at this time of year. Trees were losing their leaves and the sun couldn’t be bothered to show up. Spicer couldn’t see what the big deal was, especially bundled up in two sweaters and a windbreaker which failed miserably to break the wind.

Kilmer had told him that they should feel privileged that they were letting them play as a twosome when they usually would have been paired with strangers. Having rented shoes and using his friend’s spare clubs, Spicer did his best Tiger Woods impersonation and got ready to take a whack at the ball.

He focused as best as he could, swung back, and drove. The ball sputtered and only managed to travel about 30 yards, disappearing into the deep rough.

“Curling’s more my sport,” Spicer said dismissively.

Kilmer couldn’t suppress a smile as he put his own ball down on a tee. “Golf’s the sport of retirement. Get used to it.”

“Who said I was retiring?”

“You’ve been fired, they’re giving you your pension. Where I’m from, we call that retirement.”

He took his stance, preparing to hit the ball. He was about to swing when Spicer spoke.

“I don’t get it, I was so close. Have you ever heard of a government firing an employee because he didn’t do something fast enough? That’s gotta be the biggest contradiction in modern-day America.”

“You used to obey orders and not ask why.”

Spicer rolled his eyes. “I used to be young.”

“You used to be smart.”

There was silence for a moment and Kilmer again extended his arms, preparing to swing.

“They had to know I was on to something,” Spicer said, interrupting his friend once more. “They must’ve had me under surveillance.”

The older man looked up, somewhat irritated at his inability to play and Spicer not letting things go.

“Would you mind shutting up for five seconds? Five whole seconds, it’s all I’m asking.”

Spicer offered a tightlipped smile and took a step back as he presented him the palm of his hands in concession. Kilmer waited two seconds to make sure this was really happening and then he swung, driving his ball 300 yards down the fairway.

“Look at that baby.”

“Wish it could’ve been Houseman’s head,” Spicer mumbled.

The smile on Kilmer’s face faded as he twirled his club.

“Gene, listen. They obviously don’t want you digging up any more than you have so far. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

“You know me, I’ve never been curious before. If I am right now, don’t you think I have my reasons?”

“Whatever their project is, you fuck with it and you spend the rest of your life in jail. That’s all that matters right now. You see something classified and they’ll call you a spy.”

“That’s a step up from what I used to do. I don’t want to have lived my life in vain.”

Both men headed for the golf cart although Spicer could have reached his ball just by stretching far enough.

“What are you talking about?” Kilmer asked.

“I’ve done bad things all my career. I’d like to do something good for a change.”

“Maybe the Anchises Project, Sigma… maybe they’re good.”

“When something’s good, people brag about it. They fired me.”

Spicer shoved his club in the bag as an alternative to breaking it in half.