Duty. Why was he still dedicated to that concept?
Ned remained at the kitchen table for almost an hour. He stared at the clock on the wall — he’d gotten it at a flea market because it had Cessna’s logo on it. He was perfectly aware that Spicer was laying on bullshit about him getting back in the air. He didn’t have that kind of clout, especially now that he was a wanted man.
However, he did recognize that the man needed help. His cause was a just one, that much was clear. They were each other’s wingmen and you had to stay together if you wanted to come out alive. Thinking about the situation in these terms made the decision easier.
He went to his bedroom and got some jeans and sweater from a drawer. Even though he tried his best not to make any noise, his wife stirred. She blinked and stared at him.
“What is it?”
“Shhh, go back to sleep. I’m going out for an hour or two.”
The drive to Reston took forever although it was most likely because he was nervous about what he was going to do. Talking about this on the phone was out of the question. It took just as long to drive around the winding suburban streets and find the house but finally he had it.
He parked, climbed onto the porch, and rang the doorbell. The light came on after almost two minutes. The man who answered was blacker than he was and he was wearing a light blue bowling shirt with boxer shorts. He wasn’t happy to see who the visitor was.
“Ned, is that you?”
He’d met Morty at an office party and they had bonded over the fact that they were both African-American men with white boy names. Once in a while Ned went bowling with him but he wasn’t as dedicated to the sport as he was.
“Jesus, you have any idea what time it is?”
“I could ballpark it,” Ned said, somewhat offended that he wasn’t being offered to go in. “Listen, I need a favor.”
“How much?”
“I need you to pull out a file for me, my boss, Gerald Houseman.”
“You gotta be outta fucking whack, man. I don’t know what your nine to five gig is but one thing I do know is that your whole outfit’s black. Everybody in your clan’s classified TS, probably Yankee White too.” Yankee White referred to the clearance required to work with the President. “I do this and I’m staring into a bucketful of problems, dawg.”
“Here’s the deal, being in Personnel you got easy access, I don’t. You copy me a file, nobody knows about it. Somebody ever finds out, Gene Spicer made you do it.”
Morty frowned. “Gene Spicer? Who the hell is that?”
“Never mind who it is. Just say he held you at gunpoint. It’ll take you a minute.”
“I don’t know.”
“Hey, how many times did I bowl the victory strike, uh? If it weren’t for me, you’d never have bought that Trans Am.” The Trans Am in question was a miniature model, collectors’ edition. “Come on Morty, I’m asking you for a favor.”
Morty stared out in the distance. Ned knew that look, he always took that stance before bowling a strike.
Chapter 25
Ned was standing in line in the cafeteria. He’d already had breakfast at home — a bagel with light cream cheese which tasted like mayo — but now that it was midmorning he was craving something more substantial. Plus this Tuesday they were having an all-day Russian theme and he was looking forward to sampling their version of breakfast.
He pushed his tray along the stainless steel counter and grabbed himself a butterbrot. It was a single piece of bread layered with butter, some chopped up boiled egg, and tvorog which kind of looked like cottage cheese. The longer he stared at it and the faster his appetite faded away. He promptly forgot about the food when Morty fell in beside him.
He did his best not to acknowledge him and both men continued moving along the counter. Ned got himself a doughnut as a backup plan and his friend had the same idea, reaching for a jelly roll. That’s when the deal went down.
As Morty extended his arm, he gently dropped a thumb drive on Ned’s tray with his other hand. Keeping his breathing in check, Ned set his own doughnut on top of the drive.
The line moved and so did they, continuing to browse the food selection.
Doing his best to appear casual, Ned sat down by himself and tasted the butterbrot. It wasn’t bad but he preferred the doughnut which he wolfed down in record time. He pocketed the thumb drive, returned the tray, and walked away with his coffee.
He waved at people he knew but he was in a hurry to get to his cubicle. He couldn’t even finish his coffee because his stomach was already rumbling. He coarsely wiped his hands on his pants and sat at his desk.
Here goes nothing…
He produced the flash drive and inserted it in his computer. At once a window popped up and it only contained a massive PDF file. He didn’t bother reading it. Instead he focused on what mattered most: sending the file out.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the CIA discovered that the personnel dossier had been accessed, sent out, and who the people responsible were. What he had to do was buy some time.
He went to an online service which not only compressed but anonymized files for transmission over the dark net. He glanced around furtively to make sure no one was snooping in and uploaded the document.
A progress bar appeared. 0 %. 5%. 10 %. He entered the e-mail address but it was a long process because of the compression and encryption involved.
“Come on, bitch. Hurry up for papa…”
35 %. 40 %. 45 %.
He began nervously tapping his foot.
55 %. 60 %. 65 %.
Out of the blue, Clara showed up in the doorway.
“Ned, can you come up to Houseman’s office?”
He sat upright, his heart lurching. He turned around to face her but mostly it was to block the computer screen.
“Oh, hey. What uh, what for?”
75 %. 80 %. 85 %. He needed more time.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it,” Clara said. “Come on.”
He peeked at the screen from the corner of his eye. 90 %. 95 %. 100 %.
“Okay, I’m coming.”
He was hoping this was her cue to leave except she didn’t go away. The file conversion was done but he needed to hit the Confirm button. As he stood up, he used his desk for balance and accidently knocked a folder to the floor.
“Damn, too much coffee today.”
He used that confusion to click his mouse, and as he kneeled down to pick up the file he took the opportunity to remove the flash drive, concealing it in the palm of his hand.
Clara became impatient. “Let’s go, I don’t like having the boss wait for me.”
He beamed at her, his heart lighter. He put the file back on the desk and followed her out.
In spite of the air-conditioning, the apartment was stifling and Spicer opened a window. He remained next to it, the curtains pulled up to keep off the sun. Meanwhile, Esther and David Weller were sitting side-by-side on the couch, huddled over the laptop computer. Spicer figured they were more qualified to go over Houseman’s file than he was.
“Okay, let’s see,” the scientist began. “Houseman joined the CIA in the early 50s. He was in Korea until ‘55.”
Esther spotted something and became excited.
“Hey, listen to this. He was in charge of propaganda and disinformation for Project Bluebook until 1963. Why does that ring a bell?”