by C. S. Graham
Miss Guinness made an incoherent noise.
Beckham handed her a platter. “Some fruit, Miss Guinness?”
She took two slices of melon and passed the platter on to Alexander.
Beckham said, “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the accident last night? An executive jet flying the CEO of Keefe from D.C. to Dallas exploded in midair. Five casualties were reported: the pilot and Miss Adelaide Meyer, and three employees of Global Tactical Solutions—Paul Fitzgerald, Lance Palmer, and Michael Hadley.”
Alexander met Beckham’s gaze. “Matt told you we have Fitzgerald’s computer hard drive at Langley?”
Beckham cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not. It seems to have disappeared from there.”
“Son of a bitch,” swore Alexander, leaning back in his chair. “There’s no way to tie any of this back to Keefe, is there?”
“Keefe?” Beckham reached for the milk pitcher. “No.”
“So who’s going to be fed to the press? The finger’s got to point at somebody.”
“The President and I had some discussion about this. Under the circumstances, I convinced him that it would be in the best interests of all concerned that this be identified as a domestic problem. Right now, speculation centers on a disgruntled Iraq War vet.” Beckham held the young man’s gaze. “No foreign involvement. No conspiracy.”
“A lone bomber instead of a lone gunman? Is that what you’re saying? All we need now is a grassy knoll.”
Beckham poured himself a glass of orange juice and glanced at the woman beside him. “You’re very quiet, Miss Guinness.”
She looked up, her eyes hooded, careful. “I’m a linguist, sir. When it comes to international intrigue and power politics, I’m afraid I’m out of my depth.”
“You’re also a very talented remote viewer.”
A shadow of surprise flickered across her features. “You’re familiar with the old programs?”
“Oh, yes. Which is why I’ve arranged to have you recalled to active duty.”
“What?” The look of horror on her face was almost comical. “Can you do that?”
He hid a smile. “I’m afraid so.”
“But—”
“You’ve been given a special, indefinite assignment to Division Thirteen in the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“She what?” said Alexander.
“The CIA?” echoed Miss Guinness. “But no one there believes in remote viewing. Not anymore.”
“That’s not exactly true. No one knows better than the CIA the limitations of our spy satellites and the NSA’s listening posts. A remote viewer has no limitations. He—or she—can send her mind anywhere in the world. It’s cheap, and it’s safe, and it works.”
“But it isn’t reliably accurate,” she said. “Even an eighty percent accuracy rate means that twenty percent of the time I’m dead wrong.”
“Considering the Company’s track record lately,” said Beckham dryly, “an eighty percent accuracy rate would be a big improvement.” He swung his head to look at the man beside him. “As for you, Mr. Alexander—George Chandler wanted to have you cashiered for disobeying orders, but I convinced him to give you another chance. I hear you’re something of a loose cannon. In my experience, there are times when loose canons can be valuable.”
He picked up another serving platter and gave his guests a wide smile. “Now, who likes grits?”
Tobie waited until they were in the hall outside the Vice President’s suite before she exploded. “They can’t do this to me!” She swung to face Jax. “Can they do this to me?”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
She ran the splayed fingers of one hand through her tangled hair. “What in the hell is Division Thirteen?”
Jax’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Obviously more than I’ve been told. I think Matt has some explaining to do.”
Later that afternoon, Tobie bought a bouquet of daisies in the hospital gift shop and took the elevator up to visit Colonel McClintock.
She found him sitting up in bed, a massive bandage around the crown of his head and another on the side of his face. But his coloring looked good and he was reading a book that he set aside at her knock.
“Come in, Tobie. I’ve been wondering how you were doing.”
She came to stand at his bedside. “I killed two men,” she said.
His expression was professionally flat. “So I heard. Are you okay with that?”
“Not exactly. One of them had a couple of kids. A boy and a little six-year-old girl.”
“He made bad choices, Tobie.”
She nodded. When her throat opened up again, she said, “So, how are you?”
His features relaxed. “I’ve got a hard head. They’re supposed to let me out of here tomorrow.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I involved you in this…that I got you hurt.”
“What are you talking about, Tobie? I’m the one who involved you in remote viewing, remember?”
She laid the daisies on his bedside table. “I’ve been called up again. Had you heard?”
“Yes.” An unexpected smile lit his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t enjoy your military experience.”
“I’ve been given an indefinite assignment to the CIA. Something called Division Thirteen. You ever hear of them?”
Colonel McClintock shifted his weight, looking oddly discomfited. “As a matter of fact, yes. I hate to tell you this, Tobie, but I occasionally work for them myself.”
About the Author
C.S. GRAHAM is the pseudonym of writing team Steven Harris and Candice Proctor. A veteran of the Vietnam War, Steven Harris spent more than two decades as an Army Intelligence officer. During that time, he worked for ten years in Washington, D.C., at the national intelligence level, where he became involved in the remote viewing project at Fort Meade. Candice Proctor is the author of eleven previous novels, including the critically acclaimed Sebastian St. Cyr mystery series published under the name C.S. Harris. A former academic with a Ph.D. in history, she has lived most of her life abroad. The authors now make their home in New Orleans.
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By C.S. Graham
THE ARCHANGEL PROJECT
Forthcoming
THE DEADLIGHT CONNECTION
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE ARCHANGEL PROJECT. Copyright © 2008 by Two Talers LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061982040
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