Sigma Division

Chapter 4

Coming out of Housman’s office, he saw a ramrod-straight African-American man standing next to the assistant’s desk. He was about 30. The dark suit wasn’t necessarily of the best quality and finest cut but it was neatly pressed, as was the starched shirt. From this and the posture, Spicer knew he was some sort of military guy even though the haircut was slightly longer than regulation.

The guy brightened up when Spicer spotted him and he came forward. “Gene Spicer?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi, I’m Lieutenant Ned Wallace.” He extended his hand to introduce himself and Spicer didn’t have a choice but to shake it. “We haven’t had the chance to meet yet. I’ll be your assistant.”

“Lieutenant of what?” Spicer asked as he began walking away. The kid quickly fell in next to him.

“Navy, I was an aviator.”

“Was?”

“There was an incident over Libyan territory. They transferred me to Naval Intelligence, making covert transports, that sort of thing. This led to here.”

Sure, Spicer snorted silently. The universe had a way of funneling the world’s fuck-ups to the CIA.

“What about the guy before me, you liked working with him?”

“Oh sure, but we didn’t see a whole lot of action. He was a former cop so for him the idea of a good time was sitting in his office while listening to a ball game.”

“What did he die of?”

“Heart attack.”

“Did you see it happen?” Spicer asked, still convinced that the Agency handled firings with tidy little convenient murders. He had cynicism down to an art form.

They reached the bank of elevators.

“Yeah, the bastard was eating a chili dog when it hit him. I thought he was choking, did the Heimlich and everything. Turns he was dead before I’d even started. Truckloads of cholesterol, the doctor said.”

It actually made him chuckle which somewhat endeared him to Spicer. Still, the story didn’t convince him.

“Promise me that if you get the order for me you’ll use a gun, all right?”

Ned frowned with puzzlement as Spicer stepped into the elevator. “What are you talking about?”

Andrews Field, the airfield portion of the formerly known Andrews Air Force Base which was now known as Joint Base Andrews, was busy as ever. It took more than ten minutes for the sedan Ned was driving to finally reach the gate and even then it took just as long for their credentials to get checked out. After all, this was where Air Force One was based so every visitor was treated as if they were going to meet the President.

They were finally directed to a hangar and they parked in the designated area behind. A Gulfstream aircraft was being prepped for takeoff and Spicer and Ned climbed aboard after the younger man spoke to an Airman First Class, giving the proper paperwork.

Spicer had been all over the world, he’d done things that few people could ever be able to wrap their head around, but he had never been in a luxury executive jet like this one. Although small with enough space for 16 passengers, the entire cabin looked like the first-class section of a commercial flight. A gorgeous female Air Force Staff Sergeant showed them to their seats in the back.

She said, “It shouldn’t be very long, the general should be arriving any minute now.”

As she left, both men craned their necks to admire what should have been on a recruitment poster.

Ned turned to his boss. “When we can hitch rides with military transports, we do it. The 89th Airlift Wing is always nice enough to accommodate Sigma. When they can’t and other branches don’t have handy flights, we go commercial. And if that’s impossible too, we can literally commandeer Air Force planes. They send us the bill afterwards.”

“Nice.”

Spicer looked at his watch impatiently and the aviator picked up on it.

“So how does it feel to be at the right side of God?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s how me and my old partner referred to Houseman. This guy knows everything that nobody’s supposed to know.”

“How’s that?”

Ned leaned in closer and looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, which was easy since they were the only other passengers.

“Sigma, man. That’s what we do. The JFK assassination, ring a bell? The truth about the whole thing is locked in his office. Same thing about the aliens at Roswell. Hell, he even knows about Amelia Earhart.”

“Jesus.”

Right then, a stern three-star general came on board followed by a junior officer and a man in a suit. They were seated toward the front and Ned continued.

“I know what you mean. It’s our job to keep that secret. People would kill to get our jobs, man, I’m telling you.”

Spicer waited for him to expand on the subject but he didn’t. Instead, the young man bent down and started going through the pouch in front of him. When he didn’t find what he was been looking for, he waved at the flight attendant.

“Hey, Sarge! You have any peanuts?”

The New York Express-Ledger was in an odd position. It didn’t have the journalistic reputation of the Times and yet it wasn’t so concerned with the tabloid sensationalism of the Post. It was right there in the middle. Business was going surprisingly well in spite of the recent media revolution and the newspaper had moved in swanky new offices on Manhattan’s Second Avenue.

The editor-in-chief had his office on the 10th floor and an early lunch was spread out on his crowded desk, although it was still untouched. He looked at Spicer and his assistant as if they were mob shakedown artists intruding on his territory.

“So what can I do for the FBI?”

Spicer had to give it to Sigma, the job came with a nice variety of official badges and credentials. It would definitely come in handy. Still, it didn’t faze the newspaperman who went to stand behind his desk but didn’t sit down.

“You ran a full page ad in your paper this morning, page 36.”

“Yes, so?”

“We’d appreciate you telling us who paid for it.”

The editor snorted and didn’t mention that he hated having the black guy strolling around the office as if he owned it. “I can’t give you this information.”

“Sure, you can,” Spicer said with a forced smile. “We’re the FBI.”

“Does the First Amendment mean anything to you? I’m pretty sure you’ve covered the topic at Quantico.”

The man glanced over his shoulder to see what Ned was up to. It turned out he was looking down the window.

Spicer spoke to get his attention back. “This was advertisement, not a journalist’s column, not a source.”

“This person paid for this ad because he or she wanted their message screamed out and loud. And that is what freedom of expression is all about.”

“We’ll get a warrant,” Ned said.

Spicer turned to his new assistant, knowing too well they couldn’t do that without involving seven other layers of bureaucracy.

“You can get all the warrants you want but there’s no way you’ll get it outta me. My lawyers’ll be on you so fast you won’t even have time to haul our computers out.”

Ned walked back to the center of the room and touched Spicer’s arm. In a flash, he smiled brightly at the editor-in-chief.

“All right. Thank you for your assistance, sir.”

He nodded goodbye and started walking away. Spicer wasn’t used to investigative work so he reluctantly followed.

As soon as they work out of the office, Spicer said, “I really didn’t like that guy.”

A few minutes later they were down on the street, walking away from a hotdog vendor with food and sodas. Spicer was used to exercising patience because killing someone in a way that didn’t arouse suspicion was all about biding your time. However, it was frustrating that his new career made it seem like the old one.

“We came to New York for nothing,” he barked. “I hate New York.”

Ned chuckled. “I hear you. But what I wouldn’t give to fly my Hornet through Manhattan. Man, that’d be sharp!”

He made his hotdog fly through the air like a five-year-old. All that was missing was the pew-pew-pew noises.

“We have to get inside those computers, Ned. Any ideas?”

“We got a guy at Sigma, a keyboard genius.”

“Okay, put him on it,” Spicer said before taking a huge bite.

They found a bench and for a few minutes they just ate.

Ned turned to his partner. “What did you do before?”

“What do you mean?”

“What was your affectation, at the company?”

“Office of Security, in the Directorate for Support.”

Ned nodded as he processed this. “So if I was to go there and ask around about you, nobody would know anything, right?”

Spicer paused to stare at him a second. The kid was smarter than he looked.

“Eat your fucking hotdog.”

Ned grinned while Spicer walked away.