Pike just stared at them. They reminded him of sheep. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but not quite. They were assholes. He didn’t mean them any bad luck, but he knew they’d just laugh at him even more if he went on about it. He decided he’d not tell them he was quitting. They’d figure it out on their own, or they wouldn’t.
He rolled his eyes and played along and laughed, though it never reached his eyes. He sat down at his desk and pushed the Russian flag aside. He’d keep it there on his desk to remind him just how motivated he needed to be. And, for the first time in his life, he was very motivated. Motivated to leave, motivated to make money, motivated to survive.
Hamish McCloud stood at attention. He was one of many attending the historic meeting of the President and Orlov. Hamish was positioned well back from the two men, but watched their faces intently. By his location in the room, he was deemed unimportant. Many of the occupants of the room jockeyed for closer seating. The closer you were, the more important you were. Status.
It was his job to stay in the background, to blend in and be invisible. He was an innocuous stranger, a man no one ever looked at twice. Those around him simply guessed at who he was, if they noticed him at all. He had that kind of forgettable face: bland, neither handsome nor ugly, neither symmetrical nor irregular. He wasn’t overly tall or overly short. He likened himself to a grain of sand on a beach. You couldn’t point him out, and you certainly couldn’t remember him.
There was nothing remarkable about Hamish McCloud’s appearance or demeanor; he was simply a fly on the wall. He wore brown-rimmed glasses, neither too dark nor too light. His hair was an indeterminate dirty blond. Sometimes it appeared as though there was lots of gray, other times, almost sun-bleached.
The glasses were unnecessary, since his eyes were 20/20. They were, however, an affectation, a way to distort his face when he was in public around high-profile individuals. He’d been instructed to observe the meeting. He was merely a cog, albeit an important cog, in the ongoing and perpetual machine called intelligence.
Intel about a new AI weapon had surfaced two years ago. How the information had come to light was suspect. It had been erroneously leaked, but Hamish knew better. Russia never leaked anything by accident. The new weapon, POSEIDON, was pushed up on the need to know list, and since then, Hamish had deployed assets at various levels. Intel had been spotty at best. It was frustrating, but he could do nothing but keep pushing. Hamish had been tasked with the investigation and intel gathering. It was Black Ops, so unofficial.
He answered to Caroline Jenson, though not directly. In his line of work, there were never any direct lines to anyone or anywhere. His people in the field had been working very hard over the last five years on getting close to Alexei Borin, a person of interest for U.S. intelligence groups. For years intel had been passed and received. But with the advent of POSEIDON, focus had been aimed at the contractor heading the development of POSEIDON.
Hamish had had key personnel in place for the past five years, but upon receiving the information about POSEIDON, he’d shifted his players around on the chessboard. They were in place and making progress. Tom Clancy had nothing on me, he smiled to himself. He was poised to set another play in motion.
Hamish watched the presidents chatting quietly. Both men had benign façades, but their smiles never quite included their eyes. Hamish watched Orlov especially; he wished he could see into the man’s soul. People like Orlov fascinated Hamish. If only he understood what made them tick.
Everyone was abuzz on the Hill following Rhy’s article about POSEIDON. Hamish felt like no one ever listened to the man. He was a brilliant tactician and ran a tight ship. He made many of the Ivy Leaguers look like bumbling idiots, which really wasn’t so difficult these days.
Quality sure had gone downhill in recent years, and it was a disturbing trend. He listened to conversations around him and was always horrified that the politicians seemed more interested in their own agendas than in the people whom they served.
Rhy’s article about POSEIDON had made some of those same politicians nervous because of the impending meeting between Orlov and the President. Rhy’s right-hand woman, Caroline Jenson, had been keeping everyone apprised of all threats against the U.S. for years now.
Some of her colleagues, the real sleazy ones, called her Chicken Little behind her back. Hamish laughed internally. Not one of those characters had the balls to say it to her face. They were afraid of her. Probably because they knew she was right. Not to mention, she’d served for over twenty years in the Army. She knew her stuff, and was not to be provoked.
If she looked at you with those deadly green eyes, you knew your goose was cooked. She wielded a lot of power, yet she was very personable. Until you opened the lion’s cage. Then all bets were off. And when she had you in her sights, she never forgot you. That was never ever a good thing. Some said she was a spider like that, waiting patiently for you to become mired in her web.
He’d read the article himself, and agreed with Dr. Rhy. The American people needed to wake up and become aware of what was going on around them. It had got his own mind working. The threat level to the U.S. was always high. Nothing new there, but this weapon changed a lot of things. The AI part was what concerned him.
He surreptitiously flexed his legs; he hated standing for so long, but there was no help for it. That Orlov sure was a charismatic son of a bitch, he’d give him that. But anyone who was fooled was an idiot. The man was a tyrant, and Washington would do well to remember that. These meetings were mind-numbing. It was all staged and rehearsed, following a certain protocol. His mind began to wander.
One of the assets he was going to set in motion in Russia was a woman, codename Mermaid. She had been assigned to the research and development division at Alexei Borin’s shipbuilding headquarters. She’d been sent there two years ago, taking a low-level job, but had since worked her way up. She was a sleeper, and was not to go active until given orders.
Hamish stifled a yawn and blinked his eyes furiously. This really was a waste of his time. He needed to look over intel and get a few things done before heading home today. He groaned internally, he needed a vacation.
Sayer picked up his cup of coffee and took a gulp. He and Joy were enjoying breakfast before he headed out to work. Joy was off duty today. He wasn’t very busy at work today, so he’d be home later to spend some quality time with her.
Joy took a sip of her morning coffee. “Do you think it is a real possibility?” she asked, her busy brows working overtime as she processed the information about POSEIDON
He leaned over and kissed them. “Well, the presidents had their meeting yesterday in Washington, so I don’t think it’ll happen any time soon.” He grinned. “But sooner or later, and I’m hoping later, it will happen. Our country is so big, so dependent on other countries, technology and so on. What would happen to the hospital if you lost power forever?”
She stared at him hard for a long moment. “You know, I’ve never really thought about it. I mean it. I know you do all your prepping. I love that about you. But I honestly never thought about what would happen, especially at the hospital, if we lost power for good.” Her dark brows furrowed in thought.
“Maybe it’s something to think about, honey,” he suggested softly. He reached over, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles gently.
“I think I will, Sayer. I know you think I’m this flighty woman…” she held up her free hand to stop him interrupting. “Well, if not flighty, maybe just a little different. But I’ve taken note of what you’ve been doing, and I’ve had enough of relying on you doing it all.” She looked at her hands.