The Lucy Ghosts

'Okay with me.' Tucker smiled. Gossip was one thing you could get out of people at Langley. It was part of the 'I'm more important than you' process. There were no secrets in the Company.

''Heinrich Trimmler. One of our top rocket boys. At the Mirimar Air Base, out at La Jolla. All I know about the base is that it's top, top priority.'

'I presume he's American?'

'He is now. Came over after the war. Anyway, he was sitting on this beach in the South of France with some friends and this African, from Senegal, comes up and opens fire on the group. Missed Trimmler but killed a friend of his.'

'What did the African say afterwards?'

'Not a lot. A cop shot him dead.'

'What makes you so sure he was after Trimmler?'

'We ain't. Except that someone's after our assets and the African aimed his shooter at him and pulled the trigger. Only reason he's still around is because the gun jammed. Trimmler's pretty high powered. Been on the Canaveral and Houston teams, was one of Von Braun's main people.We sent a G4 to pick him up at Nice Airport as soon as we heard what happened.' When they got there, Trimmler and his wife were waiting at the airport, but there was no sign of their daughter. She's nineteen years old and, so they say, beautiful with it. So one of our people went back to the hotel to find her. He did that all right. In bed with two guys, both old enough to be her grandfathers. It was in her parents' bedroom, in the bed they'd just vacated. And the best of it was that she was being paid. Our guys got her dressed and dragged her out. And the clients were screaming after them that they wanted their money back.' Carter snorted as he laughed. 'I tell ya, that didn't go in any report. On the way back, she just sat there, demure as a kitten. And when she arrived in San Diego, she gave all the guys her business card. With her name and telephone number printed on. Said to call any time they wanted.'

Tucker watched Carter chuckling to himself, could imagine him at a bar with a beer in his hand, a constant source of smutty jokes. He'd dine on that one for a long time. He wondered if Carter had a daughter, wondered how she'd turn out.

The door opened and the two Deputy Directors walked in.

Tucker and Carter stood up.

'It's okay. Sit down.'

The two men sat again as the newcomers joined them at the table.

'How big are these computer files we're talking about?' the DDI asked Tucker, getting straight to the point..

'Very. Just to give you an idea, in the late 1950's Russia's State Security Committee, which presided over the whole of their Secret Service, employed nearly a million people inside and out of the Soviet Union. Now, we didn't have all those people on our data base, but we were receiving information daily from all over the world on their personnel. That came under the Office of Soviet Analysis, one of your departments, sir. Then there was the rest of Europe, South America, Asia and Africa. On top of that, just dealing with the Russian personnel, we also had covert investigations running on students and other possible activists here in the United States. And let's not forget McCarthy and everything he drummed up. I've got one section that deals with Hollywood and every actor, writer, director, producer, cameraman. Add to that the OSS records, the Nazi Spy rings, the Korean War…I could go on forever. And all that information probably covers no more than twenty five percent of what we're talking about.'

'Always did have too much fucking paperwork in this organisation,' said the DDI, looking accusingly at the DDA.

'And all this is at risk?' asked the DDA, ignoring his colleague's criticism.

'Could be, sir.'

'Explain.'

'We've identified that not all the files are contaminated. Asia seems untouched, as does Australia. Northern Africa too, but South Africa is almost wiped out.'

'South America?'

'Contaminated.'

The two DDs looked at each other, but Tucker went on, ending their sudden speculation.

'Funnily enough, the Cuban files are untouched.'

'Or been changed for when Castro dies,' said the DDI.

'No, sir. We would've identified that. Most of the South American cases are in the southern half of the continent, from Brazil down. But the heaviest contamination is in the European field. The whole of that database, from 1943 onwards, anything to do with counter-intelligence or OSS activities, is under threat.'

'Are you any closer to tracing this virus?'

'No sir.'

'Why not?'

'Because we don't know its code. It'll have its own logic, be designed to be activated at a certain time, or when certain information is called up. And it'll be trained to attack specific data, corrupt select fields. We don't know what that logic is. And it's so advanced that it just reactivates every time we power up the computer to go into those files. It won't allow copies to be made, no data to be transferred. We've run over sixty tests, introduced as many antidotes, and we're no nearer solving it than when we started.'

'From now on, you are to work directly to the two of us. I don't want it discussed with anyone, it's the only way we'll get to the bottom of this. Nobody is to be trusted. Understood?'

'Yes sir.' Tucker decided to cover his back. 'We've already brought a dissemination expert in from California. She knows as much as I do.'

'She cleared,' interrupted the DDA. 'Any progress there?'

'No, not yet.'

'Okay. The following information is for your ears only.' The DDI then proceeded to tell Tucker about the attempt on Trimmler's life, about his importance and how he was to be protected. Tucker nodded, as if hearing it for the first time. Over his shoulder he could feel Carter's eyes piercing into the back of his head. When the DDI had finished, and had not mentioned the episode with Trimmler's daughter, Tucker spoke.

'You think this is all tied up?'

'We don't know. But we sure as hell aren't taking any fucking chances.'

'Our first task is to identify and wipe out the virus,' said the DDA.

'We're pushing ahead with that,' replied Tucker. 'But there's no guarantees.'

'Understood. We also need to consider three other factors. I would like your ideas, on paper, by tomorrow.'

'Bang goes Christmas,' thought Tucker.

''First, we need to protect Trimmler. Just in case he is a target. He's at Mirimar right now. Living in the officers' quarters. He's not too happy about that. We need someone to liaise with him. No high fliers, just someone who can respond quickly. Can California take it?'

'I'm sure she can.' responded Tucker.

'Any field experience?' interjected the DDI.

'No, sir.'

'We need someone with field experience. Gotta have that.'

'Everyone with field experience is on the computer.'

'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.' returned the DDA. He brought them back to his own priorities. 'Second, we need to identify and then protect our asset base. Third, we need to come up with any ideas as to why this is going on. We don't have much to go on, but let's make a start on it.' He stood up, the DDI following. 'Tomorrow evening, seven o' clock sharp. At my house.' At least the DDA wasn't going to miss Christmas.

'If something comes up, who do I report to?' asked Tucker, hoping it wasn't Carter.

'To me,' snapped the DDA. 'Communications comes under my brief. If you can't contact me, then go directly to the DDI. Mr Carter is along to represent Internal Security.'

When they had left, Tucker spoke. 'You didn't have a lot to say.'

'Damn right,' replied Carter. 'This one's for the losers. It's your fucking computer. You sort it out.'

After he had gone, Tucker sat still, nervously working out what he was going to tell Jean and the children. Sorry kids, but it's only Santa and the CIA who work on Christmas Day. Even the President gets the day off.