He didn’t even make it to his office door before people were coming at him.
First, Francine stood up the moment he walked in. “Billy, I need to —”
“Is someone dead?”
“Well, no, but —”
“Then it can wait until I get my coat off.” Billy finished walking into his office and took his time, shaking out the folds before hanging it up. But when he opened the door to call for his assistant, someone else was standing there instead: Douglas Trent.
“You’re not Francine,” he began.
“No, sir.” The British agent was holding a neatly aligned sheaf of papers. “I was rather hoping I could get in ahead of her. This could be critical.”
“Oh, damn it.” Francine stepped around from behind Trent. “I step out to go to the ladies’ room and —”
Billy glanced at the clock. 7:32. Couldn’t this day at least have had the decency to wait until normal working hours? “Pipe down, both of you. I’m getting my coffee. While I do that, you can each tell me why you think you go first.”
They exchanged a glance, but Trent backed down first, gesturing for Francine to start.
“It’s the Bohannon case,” she started. “One of my janitors left a message overnight. They saw him out at Hyde Field, in one of the hangars, and I need a search warrant for it. Legal says I don’t have justification.”
“He’s allowed to go into a hangar,” countered Billy. “Give me more.”
“It’s already on record. He’s afraid of flying. There’s no legitimate reason for him to be at an airfield.”
She was right, of course, but suspicion wasn’t enough to justify a search. “Maybe he was out there looking for help.”
“Oh, come on, Billy —”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I still haven’t heard probable cause.” He turned to look at Trent. “What about you?”
Trent glanced at Francine once more before indicating the papers in his hand. “There’s a problem in these computer access logs, sir. I can’t yet put my finger on it —”
“Then why are you even bothering him with this?” demanded Francine.
Trent didn’t spare her a glance. “You had your chance, Agent Desmond. Now I want mine. I just need your authorization to pull the logs back another week, Mr. Melrose. I’ve been to the Signals room already and have the form they need right here.”
“Fine. Bring it in here and I’ll sign it. Francine, tell me you have something more than an asset’s phone message, and I’ll clear the way with Legal.”
She frowned. “I don’t. Not yet.”
“Then it sounds to me like you have some surveillance work to do today.”
“Zeta’s already on that.”
He dropped the pen to stare at her. “You sent her on a stakeout alone?”
“She’s a full agent. She’s capable. And it’s light surveillance anyway, at least until the warrant gets issued.” She paused. “You sent Amanda on heavier stuff even before she was an agent.”
“Not alone. Why aren’t you out there with her?”
“I wanted to come in and ask for the —”
“Did you get that sleep you were supposed to get last night?”
She blinked, startled.
“Or is there some other reason your judgment’s too impaired to know that? Exactly what time did you come in this morning, anyway? You’re usually not here this early.”
Her mouth opened and closed before she opened it again to answer. “Not too long ago.”
“Miss Desmond,” Trent began mildly, “I got here at half six. You were already at your desk.”
She gave him a nasty look. “Was there a reason you felt the need to volunteer that?”
His eyebrows rose. “Because it’s true. Or am I misunderstanding, and is having been here for over an hour still ‘not that long ago’?” His tone was soft and silky, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath. “You must forgive me; I’m still getting used to American idioms.”
Her scowl told him her exact opinion of that reasoning. “You’ve got your authorization, don’t you? So why don’t you just run back down to Signals and pick up that paperwork? They’ve probably already prepped it, since you told them you were going to ask.”
Trent gestured. “Actually, I don’t have it yet. Mr. Melrose isn’t done signing.”
Francine sighed dramatically as she folded her arms. “Fine. I can wait that long. It’s not like it’s anything this Agency would care about anyway.”
“Francine —” began Billy, meaning to de-escalate, but Trent had already stepped toward her.
“What exactly was that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “As long as I’m on secondment here, I’m a part of this Agency.”
“You know exactly what that’s supposed to mean,” she snapped back. “There’s no open investigation about computer systems. So why are you looking at access logs? To get some information for your home office at our expense?”
“Now, you wait just one —”
“Enough,” snapped Billy as he picked the pen back up. “Both of you.” He could already feel his stomach beginning to churn, even though the clock had yet to reach 8:00. It was going to be a long morning.
It was going to be a short morning, thought Lee sourly, especially if Kelford was leaning the way he feared. The doctor had quietly gone over all the medical records that the surgeons had sent over, his face an unreadable mask as he reviewed the information and recommendations.
His presence back at the Agency on the morning after Billy had sent him home was pure fluke; they’d made this particular appointment before he’d been discharged from the hospital. To his surprise, Amanda had simply walked him down here and left.
“You don’t need me,” she’d explained when he’d asked. “Just let me know what the two of you work out.”
Was this her idea of giving him some privacy? Payback for his grouchiness last night? Her not wanting to influence any decisions that were made? Or was it perhaps that she was anxious to get back to the case that was waiting for her up in the Q? He hadn’t had a chance to figure it out, and the anxiety about that — more than he’d thought would be there — was gnawing at his gut.
“…you think?”
Lee blinked himself back to the moment. “I’m sorry, Doc. What was that?”
Kelford sighed. “I said that it looks like you’ll already be taking on an awful lot, once you’ve recovered enough to start physical therapy and work on getting off those crutches. What do you think, Stetson?”
“I’m about ready to crawl out of my head from boredom,” answered Lee honestly. “Look, Doc, I mean to recover. Fully. And I can’t wait to get off these damn things. But I can’t spend all my time thinking about it when part of this is —” he grasped for words “— just a matter of letting my body heal itself. I need to keep my mind busy. That’s why I want to come back on a desk.”
“Melrose sent you home yesterday.”
“Billy’s just being overcautious. Something about liability.”
“It’s a valid concern, Scarecrow, especially with you still on codeine. Your judgment’s not at one hundred percent. It can’t be, as long as you’re on that.”
Annoyed, he blew his breath out. “I’m already starting to wean myself off. I can make it through the day with just aspirin or regular Tylenol if I can still take the #3 at night. And it’s not like I’m trying to drive or operate any machinery.”
The doctor closed the file. “I’m inclined to let you see what you can do, but only part-time and on a probationary basis. And with the understanding that one problem will send you right back out again. Any problem.”
He felt a frisson of hope. “That’s all the chance I need, Doc. Just let me prove myself.”
“I’m going to want you to check in with me every day. Across a lunch hour, perhaps.”
“I can do that.” Although he could feel his lips thinning at the idea.
“And I think I’ll keep the pain medication down here.”
“Now, wait a minute, Doc. If I have to come down every time I want a little relief —”
“That’s my offer, Scarecrow. Take it or leave it.”
His lips pressed together even harder. “I guess I have to take it. Where do I sign?”
Kelford extracted a sheet of paper and handed it to him along with a pen. Lee hopped on his left foot to get closer to the desk, picking it up, but before he could sign his name he dropped the pen. “Slippery little thing.”
The doctor’s eyes had narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Look, Doc, I’m going to drop things every now and then. I’ve got this basket, but my hands aren’t yet used to using crutches. And my wrists ache sometimes.”
“Hmm,” murmured Kelford. “Any tingling in your fingers?”
Lee shrugged before picking up the pen. To his eyes, his signature looked perfectly normal, but the doctor seemed to take a bit more interest in it than normal. He didn’t say anything, though, so Lee decided not to bring it up. The last thing he needed was to hand the other man an excuse.
In times past, Agency personnel had had golf carts at their disposal for long walks, but those had been the victim of budget cuts back in ’83. Lee sighed when he came out into the corridor. It hadn’t ever seemed like that long of a walk from the elevator to the medical office, but that had been when he’d had two good legs to walk on.
Buck up, Stetson, he told himself. You’ll have that again. It was a promise to himself, one that he meant to keep. Somehow.
Fortunately, nobody needed him to be fast on his feet right now. Even more fortunately, there was an elevator. Three flights of stairs would have been a bit too much.
He grimaced as soon as the elevator doors opened on the bull pen’s level; he could already hear the raised voices. Including Billy’s. Which meant this might not be the right time to approach him with the release paperwork from Kelford.
Uh-uh, he argued to himself. You’re the one who’s demanding to get back to work. Too late to turn tail now. Besides, a good tussle could sometimes be fun, particularly when Francine was involved.
Biting his lip, he went around the corner and through the glass doors. The receptionist gave him a wide-eyed look, but didn’t say anything further.
Which was all right, because Billy did, pouncing once he caught sight of him. “— and I told you to go home, Scarecrow! What part of ‘don’t come back until you’re ready’ didn’t you hear yesterday?”
“I am ready,” he answered smoothly. “Kelford’s signed off on desk duty.” He had to stop to take his hand off one of the crutches and hand over the paperwork.
Billy scanned it with a scowl. “Fine. You can assist Amanda in the Q-Bureau.”
He looked from Billy, to Francine, to the exchange guy from MI6 — what was his name again? — and then back to Billy. “Sounds like you need more help down here.”
“No,” said the exchange officer tightly. “Miss Desmond just needs to see reason.”
“I’ve never known Francine not to be reasonable.” He glanced over at her. “Irritating, annoying, and smug? Often. But not unreasonable. That’s new.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she muttered.
“Anytime. Just what exactly are you being unreasonable about?”
“I’m not!” she retorted. “Trent here just thinks I can’t see what he’s really up to.”
“He’s working under my orders!” broke in Billy. “The same way you’re supposed to be, Desmond! Keep it up and —”
“You’ll what?” she snarled.
Lee was shocked. He’d never heard her openly challenge Billy in front of another person that way. And over something this minor?
“Well?” she asked. “What? Make me go babysit Zeta on her stakeout?”
Billy’s tone was positively arctic. “That is insubordination, Agent Desmond.”
It was, and everyone else in the bull pen had gone stock-still. Francine’s chin came up, but she didn’t say anything. For the first time, Lee noticed traces of exhaustion on her face. What was going on with her?
“That’s also,” continued Billy, “the second day in a row you’ve stepped out of line in public. We already discussed your treatment of Scotty Parker yesterday.”
What? Lee had heard about the incident in the bull pen, but it hadn’t been that bad, had it? Just Francine being Francine, right? He made a mental note to find out the details. Mrs. Marston wouldn’t tell him, he knew, but maybe someone else knew something. Or maybe he could sweet-talk Francine herself into coming over for dinner this evening, just to decompress and calm down.
Francine’s face had flushed, but she hadn’t moved or changed expression.
“As of now, you’re relieved and can consider yourself on report.”
Lee could count on one hand the number of times those words had come out of Billy’s mouth, and at least one of them hadn’t actually counted.
With stiff, jerky movements, Francine marched over to her desk, yanked open the drawer, and took her purse out. Then she turned smartly on her heel —
“Computer access card,” snapped Billy.
She gave him a truly venomous look, but pulled it over her head and flung it back toward the desk. It clattered to the floor beside the chair. She didn’t look back at it as she finished stomping out.
Lee inhaled suddenly. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped breathing.
“Pick that up for me, Trent,” said Billy. “Then you’re in my office. You too, Stetson. Everyone else, back to work. Show’s over.”
The sound of his crutches seemed unnaturally loud as he complied. Trent came in right behind him.
“Close the door, Trent,” said Billy, and for the first time Lee realized his supervisor was sweating. “Both of you have a seat. Lee, maybe it’s just as well you’re back on duty. I’m going to need additional manpower down here. Do you know what Francine was working on?”
“No,” he admitted, his voice still unusually quiet. “I wasn’t at the last staff meeting.”
“I’ll bring you up to speed after we finish in here. Right now, I want you to look at this stuff Trent has. It’s all Greek to me, but you’ve worked military reconnaissance. Does any of it look familiar?”
They exchanged a glance along with the files. Was Billy really going to just pretend everything was normal?
Lee gave himself a mental shake. Of course he was. He had to. Opening the folder, he scanned through what looked like gibberish. “What is this?”
“Computer access logs,” said Trent.
“For what?”
“I’m not sure,” replied the other man. “I’ve just now gotten authorization to go further back, and before…” he trailed off. “Well, before. I was headed back down to Signals to get it.”
He kept scanning down, flipping a page — and the name jumped out at him. “Wait a minute. Aegis.”
Douglas’ expression sharpened. “Yes. Precisely. That’s not right.”
“What is Aegis?” asked Billy. His hand skittered across his desk as though reaching for his usual antacids, but there weren’t any there.
“An integrated weapons system,” he answered. “They started work on it during ’Nam. I helped test a couple of its precursors while I was over there. It’s meant as a counter to anti-ship missiles.” He looked up. “Billy, they’re still using it. We have ships out there right now using this system.”
“Ships?” echoed Trent. “But wouldn’t that be a concern of the Navy?”
“Yes, and it’s the Navy’s program,” Lee confirmed. “Why do you ask?”
“Because this is supposedly an Army database,” he answered.
Frowning, Lee shook his head. “No, there’s no reason it would be —” he broke off. “Are you sure? Didn’t you say you just now got the okay to get more information?”
“I did, but the source was clear from the beginning.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “You Americans could use a few computer security improvements.”
Billy was leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his forehead, but interestingly enough he hadn’t reached for his usual antacids. “How far back does this go?”
“That’s why I requested the additional logs, sir,” said Trent. His voice was almost too quiet. “I don’t yet know.”
“All right.” He exhaled slowly as he leaned forward. “Let me see that authorization paperwork again. I want Signals to go as far back as they can for you.” He glanced up. “Scarecrow, forget what I said about Francine’s case load. I’ll find someone else. You know about Aegis, so you’re leading this.” Billy met his eyes. “From the office. Not the field.”
“Billy,” he began, “Playing devil’s advocate. We don’t know it’s that serious. It could just be a hiccup.”
“Do you really think that?”
With a sigh, Lee dropped his eyes. “No.”
“Neither does anyone else. Both of you listen to me very carefully. You write everything down longhand. Don’t use computers. And you bring those reports to me daily. In here, where I can lock them up.” He paused to take a breath. “It’s also eyes-only. At least until we can figure out what the hell a Navy system’s name is doing in the middle of the Army’s records. That’s bigger than either one of them.”
Lee swallowed. Billy was right. The question was: how much bigger?
Douglas took his time making his morning tea, taking comfort from the familiar sounds and scents. It was a good anchor. Americans preferred coffee this early in the morning, but his first task today wasn’t American. Even if the first swallow tasted somewhat outside his expectations.
Making his way to the couch in his temporary apartment, he picked up the phone to dial it. The connection took a couple minutes, during which he sipped more tea, feeling it warm him from within. Despite everything he’d heard about how terrible the Americans’ version of the beverage was, he was finding it wasn’t particularly bad. Different? Yes. But not bad.
“Trent?”
He sat up, placing the tea on a side table. “Yes, sir.”
His supervisor took a sharp tone. “You were due to check in yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It got a little busy around the Agency.” He gave a high-level overview of the past few days’ activities. “Melrose has placed Stetson in charge of the operation.”
“Isn’t Stetson injured?”
“Yes.” He reflected for a moment. “Melrose is apparently drawing on Stetson’s specific military background. On the surface, it seems a good fit, but I couldn’t be certain of Mr. Melrose’s reasons unless I specifically asked him.”
“Stetson is also something of a maverick.”
“He is,” acknowledged Douglas. “But he didn’t question Melrose. In fact, if anything…” he trailed off, thinking. “The hierarchy was quite clear. Which had just been demonstrated with Melrose’s reaction when Desmond went round the bend again. She’s now on suspension.”
“She hadn’t been before?”
“No,” he confirmed. “But yesterday there was a very public and unpleasant scene. Melrose came down fairly hard. Several of the agents, Stetson included, appeared a bit subdued immediately afterward.”
“You had,” his supervisor noted, “characterized his leadership style as somewhat loose. Lax, even. Now it’s sounding as though he only enforces the chain of command sporadically. Yet you’ve noted that the section itself is quite efficient.”
“It is,” he said slowly. “It could be that Melrose has chosen a collegial style of leadership, versus a formal one. That seems a bit unusual, since his dossier indicated military service during the Korean conflict.”
“We’ll take note,” replied the supervisor. “That sort of leadership style occurs here as well, but not in security or law enforcement ranks.”
“No, sir,” Douglas agreed. “Until I actually saw it in action yesterday, I wouldn’t have thought it appropriate for an intelligence agency.”
“You almost sound as though you admire him.”
“I wouldn’t take it that far. I…” he trailed off. “But it gave me some things to think about.”
“Very good,” said his supervisor. “You were sent there to study leadership styles and evaluate any potential improvements to our own.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Continue doing so. I’d specifically be interested in hearing how this particular leadership style functions in crisis situations. If seconds count, decisions must be clear.”
“Yes, sir,” Douglas repeated. “Yesterday was the first time I witnessed anything that approached a crisis situation. But I’ll watch for others.”
“Good,” said his supervisor, moving on to some administrative topics before they signed off. Douglas picked up the mug to sip more tea only to realize he’d finished it.
That was just as well. It was already past seven here in Washington. He should prepare for the office.
Taking the mug to the kitchen, he rinsed it and left it on the counter for a proper wash later, padding back through the living area toward the bedroom. But then his steps stopped short as another thought hit him.
What if the reason I’ve not seen Melrose in a crisis until now is because he actively tries to prevent them from happening? That’s a known management technique, albeit not an approach common within our Service.
Douglas shook his head. Perhaps he was reading more into things than they warranted. He needed to observe more before coming to any conclusions. Still, he added the question to his mental list.
- According to the U.S. Navy, “the AEGIS Weapon System (AWS) is a centralized, command-and-control (C2) and weapons control system that was designed as a total weapon system, from detection to kill.” Most of the operational details in this story are either artistic liberties or conjecture, but its purpose and usage are as presented.