Those thoughts faded away when his eyes read a different report from the one he originally read. The “new” third entry indicated that the three policemen and four unidentified men had been found at the warehouse along with the Athena scientists.
What the hell?
George blinked twice in surprise and read the entry once more. Shit! Someone had changed it and my algorithm picked up the change and replaced the old one. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
His heart rate increased as a rush of adrenaline flooded his system. This just looked too much like a novel, yet it was actually happening.
With the palms of his hands already sweaty, he placed the cursor on the print command and clicked the left button on the mouse. A few seconds later the laser printer started humming away. He pulled out a sheet from the paper tray and read it once more.
“Pretty fucking incredible.”
“Talking to yourself again, George?” said the voice from the other side of the cubicle wall.
George ignored it. He simply locked the system and headed for the Records department.
He thought about taking the elevators but decided against it. He had been sitting in that chair for most of the morning and needed the exercise. George turned right and hurried toward the stairs at the end of the long hall. Who could have done that? If the new report was accurate and they were indeed policemen, then what do the French have to say? What do we have to say? And who changed it? The French? He didn’t think so. The information had to go through strict CIA screening before it was allowed inside the Agency’s databanks. That meant someone in the Agency had entered it. Could it have been a simple clerical error? Two operators entering data at separate locations? One writing over the other’s information?
He shook his head, finally understanding the reason for his uncle’s digestive problems. Too many questions and never enough answers.
He pushed the heavy door open and headed downstairs, reaching the second floor in seconds. He opened the door, exiting from the stairwell. Records was on the right.
“Hi, George.”
George stopped mid-stride, turned, and stared at Roland Higgins. “Wh — oh, hello, sir,” he responded. Where did he come from?
“So tell me, your algorithm coming up with anything new? I saw the report you sent to the European desk.”
George hesitated for a moment or two. All of his information had to be filed before leaving the Office of Computer Services. “Well… in a way, sir, but…”
“Hmm… tell me. I’m interested.”
“I’d like to, sir. But you know, the rules say I should go to Records before…”
Higgins laughed out loud. “I know the rules, George. I make most of them. You won’t get in trouble. I’ll go talk to Records afterward. Now, tell me. What’s new?”
George reddened. He felt silly, trying to quote CIA regulation to someone as high up as Higgins. “This, sir.” He pulled out the folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his pants. “The algorithm just picked it up.”
Higgins took the piece of paper from his hands and read it for about a minute.
“Good information. It is indeed too bad that you have to be exposed to this, but that’s the reality of things. These kinds of problems don’t always just happen in the movies. They occur in the real world.”
“I know, sir. It’s a terrible thing. Does it really mean that…”
“Yes. That standing orders are for termination with extreme prejudice. It sounds cold, but trust me, the evidence against him is overwhelming. We have to stop him.”
“I understand, sir. There’s one observation I’d like to point out to you.”
“Yes? What’s that?”
“Well, it regards the third entry, sir. It’s changed from the last time I printed it.” He noted that Higgins remained quiet for a few moments and stared at the sheet of paper.
George felt uncomfortable. Chief Europe finally raised his gaze. “When did you find out about this?”
“About ten minutes ago, sir. I was on my way to Records to file it and—”
“Don’t. I mean, I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to Records. You don’t need to get involved anymore. Is that understood?”
George noticed the warmness in Higgins’s eyes was gone, replaced by a fierce intensity.
“Yes — yes, sir. No problem. No one knows about this.”
“George, you have done the Agency a great favor. I can’t tell you anything else beyond that. Rest assured that this information along with your observation will go to the appropriate persons. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Higgins turned around and disappeared around the corner. George headed back to his office with a truckload of questions and concerns. Why had Higgins reacted like that when George told him about filing the report with Records? Was he up to something? George wasn’t sure about that, but he felt certain that someone somewhere had changed his story and got caught doing it, and Higgins’s reaction only added to George’s suspicion. Calm down, George! Think objectively. Objectivity. That’s the answer. He’d read or heard that somewhere, perhaps in one of his novels; perhaps he remembered his father telling him that once. Step aside and look at the problem as a bystander, George. You dug up conflicting information and presented it to one of you superiors, who didn’t react too positively when you told him about filing the conflicting information with Records. On top of that Higgins had pretty much ordered George to keep a lid on it.
All right, George, what can you do if you don’t trust the person that has the information? Easy. Pass that same info to someone you do trust. Who?
George headed for his uncle’s office.
The moment Roland Higgins reached his office, he walked directly to a metal trash can next to his desk. He took the glass lighter from his desk and set George Pruett’s sheet of paper on fire. He let it drop inside the trash can, where he’d burned the two stapled sheets from George’s previous finding the day before.
He reached for the phone. It has to happen today, he reflected, staring at the burning paper. Today he would settle his problems.
CHAPTER NINE
COVER-UP
Neal Hunter walked outside Mission Control to have a short meeting with the press. He had been thoroughly briefed by the NASA administrator at the Cape on what to say and definitely what not to say. Lightning was the benchmark of the new NASA, the latest orbiter packed with the latest technology. The last thing the space agency needed at that point in time was bad publicity.
He pushed open the double doors and faced a mob of reporters and their camera crews. Selected members of the press had been present inside the guest room behind Mission Control, separated by a soundproof glass panel. They had been able to see the lift-off and hear the voice of the NASA public affair’s commentator at the Cape, but luckily for NASA, communications between the orbiter and Mission Control had not been live after the first few critical minutes. The members of the press may have noticed the commotion inside Mission Control, but had not been able to hear a thing besides the NASA commentator’s recap of the successful launch.
Hunter pulled out a white sheet of paper. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Lightning has successfully achieved a low orbit. Two OMS burns are pending to get it to its target orbit. Mission Commander Michael Kessler and Mission Pilot Clayton Jones report that all systems are nominal. They will commence their test schedule in five hours after achieving a stable orbit and after a three-hour rest period. That is all for now. We will issue press releases in one hour and hold a formal press conference in two hours. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” Hunter turned around and headed back to the control room.