Sigma Division

Chapter 18

It occurred to Ned that he was about to commit treason. Nowadays, coloring outside the lines of a children's book was considered treason as far as intelligence agencies were concerned. But it was no longer just about helping his friend, it was about doing the right thing. If no one took a stand the very basis of the American society would disintegrate.

He headed to the copy room. This was a perilous move. After all, this was the world’s most dangerous spy agency and it didn’t take lightly to having confidential documents photocopied. As a result, every user had to identify itself with a keycard and the documents were logged in the system for eventual review and tracing. Ned was working hard to find a plausible explanation for when he would be questioned.

He entered the copy room and found three people waiting in line.

Muttering a curse, he turned around and walked among the cubicles. That’s when a light bulb went off in his head. When he had been assigned his desk he had discovered something in the drawer that at the time he’d found ridiculous. Now it was exactly what he needed.

He hurried to his cubicle and set the boxes on the floor. He opened the bottom drawer and the gadget was still there. It was an old flatbed scanner. He pulled it out, untangled the wires, and plugged it into his computer. He hoped it was still installed, held his breath while Windows struggled to recognize the device, and a welcome dialog box appeared.

Yes!

The scanner was left over from the days when the Agency was digitalizing documents. Employees were expected to scan their old files to be integrated with the new system. Only the most sensitive documents were kept on paper.

He grabbed the three sheets that were shoved down his pants and placed the first one on the scanner. He rolled his mouse, double-clicked, clicked again, and the page was scanned. The noise was thunderous and gave him heart palpitations, but fortunately no SWAT team came bursting into his cubicle. When it was done, he clicked another button and his printer came to life, spitting out a copy.

Without losing a second, he did the same with the two other pages. Tapping his foot nervously, he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Five minutes later, Ned was ready to relax. He was bending to set the boxes down for the final time in Clara’s office, his illegal copies carefully hidden away. When he straightened up and turned around, Dr. Michaels was standing in the door frame.

“Took you a long time, didn’t it?” he said while looking at his watch.

“Uh, busy elevators.”

Michaels nodded, apparently buying it. “Where’s Clara?”

He told him, still expecting to be assaulted by an entire platoon of armed men, and finally the mission was over.

Spicer took a bite of his hamburger as Ned slid into the booth in front of him.

“You couldn’t find a place greasier, uh?”

Disgusted, he wiped a spot of congealed ketchup from the table with his napkin.

Spicer ignored the comment. “Look, I can’t thank you enough. You want something to eat?”

“Like what, a bowl of Crisco?”

Ned pulled an envelope from his jacket and launched it across the table. Spicer didn’t waste any time and grabbed it. He swiftly pocketed it.

“Did anybody see you?”

“I don’t know. Michaels maybe. I think he may know something’s up, I’m not sure. You should get out while you still can.”

“It’s not just me anymore,” Spicer said. “Somebody reached out to me and I can’t let that person down.” Ned stood up. “You’re a good man, Ned. I’m sorry for having mixed you up with this.”

The young man snorted. “Save it for the eulogy.”

Spicer wanted to be with Esther but she was spending the night working on the elections. It was the home stretch and she’d said they were pulling out all the stops at the party headquarters. On second thought, that was just as well for him. It gave him an opportunity to do some research.

There was a ball game on TV but he kept the volume low. He sat at the kitchen table in front of his laptop, sipping a can of Coke. Next to him was the file stolen by Ned but upon inspection he was underwhelmed by the information contained. For now, he circled in red schools that were participating in the Anchises Project.

He went on the web and searched for a series of universities: Stanford, University of Chicago, Penn State, Columbia, the University of Arizona. Then he browsed to their individual sections on their research programs.

The Anchises Project was funding research on New Technologies, Sociologic Neuropsychology, Urban Violence, Special Constitutional Research Center, and Renaissance Literature Applications.

For the first three, all he found were vague descriptions of what it was about, stuff like pure scientific research with hopes of finding practical applications. The other two simply displayed This page is under construction.

He shouldn’t have expected anything better, he told himself. He was tired and frustrated. He took a sip of soda, leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, and ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he got up and began pacing through the apartment.

“All right,” he whispered to himself. “What do we know?”

He stretched his arms and exercised his neck, acting as if he was gearing up for a fight. When he was in the living room, he glanced at the game, realized it didn’t interest him, and grabbed a yellow legal pad. He sat in his recliner and turned on his new lamp. He needed to organize his thoughts.

He wrote Anchises Project centered on top and underlined it three times. Lower on the left, he wrote Prof. Harland Fry and drew a box around it. Underneath that he wrote Government is out to get us, and lower, DEAD.

On the opposite side, he scribbled Clara — Real name? He also drew a box around it. Below that he wrote Author of article $$$. He traced a line between the two boxes and put a large question mark on it.

At the bottom of the page he wrote Thought-reading???

It was a big highway to nowhere.

He was more confused than ever. He dropped the pad on the coffee table, letting it fall on his copy of the New York Express-Ledger ad/article.