Sigma Division

Chapter 3

It was a myth that buildings in Washington DC couldn’t be taller than the Capitol. The truth actually was that buildings couldn’t be higher than the width of the street they were on, plus twenty feet. Spicer wasn’t interested in that but the building supervisor had insisted on sharing this tidbit, plus more random trivia, when he’d visited his new place in Dupont Circle.

Now he was moving in and missing his Miami home even though it was a reminder of his old life. He wouldn't miss his old life though it was hard to be this forgiving with the Washington weather.

“Hold the door, please,” he exclaimed as he rushed through the cramped lobby toward the elevator.

The doors were closing with the ominous sound of the bell but quickly they opened again. Spicer had trouble looking over the boxes piled in his arms and was grateful for the kindness from a woman already inside.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. What floor?”

Once next to her, he peeked at the control panel and saw that the button for the seventh floor was already lit up.

“Seven’s good.”

The elevator car was small but three of the walls were covered with mirrors. As a professional habit, he checked out the woman. She was short, about 35 years old. She had a mane of dark hair as wide as her shoulders. He couldn’t help thinking that she looked feisty though she probably didn’t even know it herself.

“You’re moving in?” she asked.

“What gives you that idea?”

The woman grinned. “You don’t rely on movers?”

“I don’t have much stuff.”

Again, his professional habit kicked in and he couldn’t help sizing her up. Was she a friend or an ally? What would be his best way of defense if she attacked him? After two decades as an assassin, he couldn’t help playing that game with everyone nowadays.

Stop it, he told himself.

It was a new life, there was no more need to be on the lookout for trouble. Nobody was out to get him. Taking a deep breath, he stopped looking at her and instead watched the numbers change above the doors.

But if she wasn’t a threat, why was she glancing at him from the corner of her eyes?

The bell rang and they exited, Spicer giving her a chance to go out first. He never turned his back on someone he didn’t know. Within moments, they were walking down the hallway in the same direction. He stopped in front of apartment 708.

“Looks like we’re gonna be neighbors,” she said.

He flashed her a polite smile and began fumbling with the locks, trying not to drop the cumbersome boxes. Meanwhile, she came to a halt in front of apartment 710. She turned to look at him again.

“Need help with that?”

Spicer shook his head. “I got it.”

“Okay, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask, all right? I’m Esther.”

Spicer rolled his eyes, hastily starting to get annoyed. The last thing he wanted was a nosy neighbor.

“Sure, thank you.”

Being attractive didn’t give her the right to interrupt his life. Besides, he had a quiet career to look forward to.

The next morning, already exhausted from trying to locate in which boxes he had put coffee mugs and butter knives, Spicer was in his office. It was on the second floor and most broom closets were more spacious. There was just enough space for a utilitarian desk, a cheap and uncomfortable swivel chair, and one chair for guests, something he’d never actually had. There was no window.

He wasn’t sure why he even had an office. He supposed it was so that it looked less suspicious on the books but he had no use for it. For the past decade he’d been receiving his mission packages through secure online connections, and before that, with old-fashioned drops.

He figured he would be here more often so he had better get used to it. Two guys from maintenance were wheeling in a file cabinet. It wasn’t especially large but it was still too big for the office. He would definitely rule out having guests now.

“You can set it down right there,” he said before running a finger across the desk surface, drawing a line in a quarter inch of dust. “And when you guys are done with that, can you send someone in to clean up?”

“Sure.”

They finished setting down the metallic case of furniture and the more senior man walked Spicer through the procedure of choosing his own password for the cabinet which acted as a de facto safe. They had him sign a clipboard and left just as the phone on the desk started ringing.

“Thanks, guys.”

He closed the door and picked up the phone.

“Spicer.” He listened to a secretary and then said, “Okay, I’m coming up.”

After riding the elevator to the seventh floor with people who looked like they were important, he was rapidly ushered into Houseman’s office. Michaels was already there, sitting on the couch and reading documents.

“Good morning, Mr. Spicer,” the old man said in greeting. “Come, take a seat.”

He approached them in the sitting area but remained standing. “I’ll stand if it’s all the same with you.”

Dr. Michaels ignored him. “Have you read the New York Express-Ledger this morning?

“No, why?”

Spicer hadn’t followed the news in 20 years. He found it was easier to keep a clear conscience when he didn’t form an opinion about world affairs.

Houseman grabbed an iPad from the coffee table, flipped to the correct screen, and handed it to his new employee.

“Read this.”

Spicer quickly spotted the headline Big Brother a Scary Reality.

While he was reading, Houseman spoke. “This is a paid ad, not an article. It’s anonymous. We need you to track down the writer, see what he knows, where he gets his information from.”

“What’s the problem? It’s freedom of speech.”

This seemed to annoy Dr. Michaels. “Tell me Gene, in your long government career, has the Constitution mattered much to you?”

“That life’s over for me.”

“Is it?”

They both stared at each other and Spicer hated him instantly. As far as he was concerned, people who called themselves doctor without having to deal with blood and diseases were just pretentious dicks.

Houseman caught the tension and took over. “The text speaks of machines that can read thoughts, of the government being involved with types of research that can be used to that effect. This person stipulates, this person makes assumptions, nothing more than theories.”

“Is he telling the truth?” Spicer asked.

“That’s irrelevant. What is, however, is that this person isn’t respecting our secrecy policy.”

“At Sigma,” Dr. Michaels said, “we get the mandate of developing things from either the NSA, CIA, all the branches of the military, and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. They supply us with funding and we delegate to universities. They have the right to take credit for their discoveries, for the most part, but have in no way the right to leak information before we’ve been informed and given consent.”

“That’s always been the deal and this person broke it,” Houseman said. “So find this man and have a discussion.”

Spicer delicately put the iPad on the table and nodded.

“Tell me, am I the Head of Security or the only security guy?”

Houseman smiled. “I like your attitude.”

He should have figured that his new position wouldn’t be as quiet as promised.