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MY SECOND AND THIRD day at the NSA had passed with little fanfare. Although I was itching to sic the nanomites on the trail of Wayne Overman, I’d decided to be discreet and spend my first week keeping my eyes and ears open while learning my job—not all that difficult given how quickly I absorbed information. I had determined not to make a move until I had a better sense of the place.
My resolve lasted until Thursday.
Jayda Cruz. It is time to get up.
Jayda Cruz. It is time to get up.
Jayda Cruz. It is time to get up. Proverbs 6:9: “How long will you lie there, you sluggard?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I roused Zander and stumbled from the bed to the bathroom. Five minutes later, we were out the door, into our morning run.
It was after our run when I changed my mind: I was ready to put the nanomites to work. While I showered, I thought hard about which tasks to assign to the nanomites first.
I wanted to track Wayne Overman’s movements during his last weeks at the NSA, overlaid on the schematics of the NSA campus and cross-referenced against the movements of other NSA employees who came within Overman’s vicinity during that timeframe. I figured Facilities would have the schematics. Safety and Security would have the badge-tracking software. Both departments should have dedicated drives on the main NSA network.
And, even though government regulations required that email accounts and phone logs of its institutions and agencies be preserved, I was worried that whomever was responsible for Wayne Overman’s disappearance may have selectively expunged the last weeks of the man’s digital footprint at the NSA. I wanted the nanomites to download Overman’s emails and phone traffic—from the time the President asked him to dig into Harmon’s connections at the NSA until he disappeared. I hoped those documents would provide some clues as to what he’d discovered.
If Overman’s email and phone logs hadn’t been deleted, IT would have them.
“Nano, can you reach into the Facilities and Safety and Security drives from IT?”
Yes, Jayda Cruz. With the exception of the Repository and any air gapped vaults or SCIFS in the facility, we can access all department drives from IT. We can, in fact, access all department drives from any computer on the main network.
“Good. That gives me some options.”
The mites had touched on a big downside to working in the Repository. Because the Repository’s network was physically separated from the rest of the NSA networks, the nanomites could not get to the main network from my workstation, nor could they leave our department on their own momentum. I needed to convey them to a point of network access.
It was still my first week on the job, but I’d seen how employees pretty much stuck to their own departments or areas—and every one of those had an access control point. I didn’t know where, outside of the Repository, I could take the nanomites that my presence wouldn’t arouse suspicion. HR? Maybe. IT? Also a maybe.
The problem was that both of those departments were at the other end of the campus from the Repository. I needed a plausible purpose for going to either place.
I toweled off and dressed. As soon as I pulled on the lightweight top I was wearing to work, I added the lanyard from which my badge and key fob dangled.
Key fob.
I fingered the little device, its regularly changing code necessary for me to log into my computer at work.
“Nano. I’d like you to disable this fob so that I can’t log in this morning.”
Done, Jayda Cruz.
I finished getting ready for work. Zander and I drank our first cup of coffee, then ate breakfast together while reading our Bibles. We prayed over the day, mentioning Zander’s job search, Abe and our boy Emilio back in Albuquerque, and my efforts at work.
Zander laid a long, lingering kiss on me that left me breathless and silly as I headed out. Close to an hour later, I greeted Macy and my other team members, and tried to log in at my Repository workstation.
“Huh.”
Macy scooted her chair closer to mine. “What’s the problem, Jayda?”
“My fob isn’t working.”
“Here. Let me see.”
She examined the tiny screen that should have displayed the six-figure code for me to enter. It was blank. Sure enough, my fob was dead.
“Weird. You must have gotten a lemon.”
“Guess I need to return it to IT?”
“Yeah. Hey, Sherry? Jayda’s fob isn’t working. She needs to go back to IT.”
Sherry agreed, so I wound my way out of the warren of cubicles, through the Repository doors, across the breezeway into the next building, and down the hall toward the distant IT Department.
“Nano, when we reach IT, please send in a search party to trace Overman’s whereabouts for two weeks prior to his going missing. Overlay his movements on a detailed schematic of the NSA campus, and correlate his badge’s movements with every other badge within his proximity. Upload the data to Alpha Tribe so that we can study it together this evening.”
This task will take approximately 1.5 hours, Jayda Cruz.
“Huh? Why so long?”
This facility employs approximately thirty-seven thousand badge-wearing workers, Jayda Cruz, in addition to the influx of visitors from other NSA and intelligence sites.
The actual number was classified, but I figured the nanomites’ estimate had to be close.
“Um, okay, then. I’ll . . . I’ll return at lunchtime to fetch the contingency we leave behind.”
Hmm. I had a legitimate reason to visit IT this morning, but I’d need another excuse to visit the department a second time in one day. Ordinarily, I’d just walk through the doors in my invisible state, but . . .
“Nano, how many cameras are watching us right now?”
We have counted two live video feeds in every area we have been so far, Jayda Cruz.
“Uh, okay.”
Gamble was right—not that the cameras themselves posed a big problem to the nanomites, but here, at the NSA, I was supposed to show up on video feed wherever I went, whereas I was not supposed to show up on White House cameras. Did the NSA have people eyeballing its video feeds 24/7? Would anyone notice if I disappeared from the feed for a few minutes? Could I risk it?
Maybe I’d get away with it, but “risking it” was exactly what Gamble had warned me not to do. The spy masters of the world worked here, so it didn’t exactly calm my nerves that I had to pass the Safety and Security Department before I reached IT.
Rats. As Gamble had warned, the NSA was proving to be way more intimidating than the White House, throwing me off my game. Making me doubt my instincts.
Not to worry, I told myself as I approached my destination. I’ll figure it out. Something . . . something will come to me.
I strolled into the IT Department and approached the help desk. “Hi.”
The guy at the desk glanced up.
You know, I would bet my favorite donut that this kid was the poster boy for geek. In a lot of ways, he still looked like the president of his high school science club, when in actuality, he was probably my age.
Hmm. My age.
“Yeah? Can I help you?”
“Uh, sorry. Do you remember me? Jayda Cruz. I started work Monday, and you issued me this key fob.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure. I remember you.”
I’d told myself out in the hall that a solution would come to me, an excuse for returning to IT after lunch, and guess what? Something did—but not all schemes are created equal, right? At that exact moment a weird impulse popped into my head—an idea I acted on without additional consideration.
My left hand wandered up to my hair. My fingers twisted and curled a strand. I cracked a small, shy smile.
“It’s Rob, right? I, um, I really hope you can help me.”
Puh-thet-ic. I am the worst spy ever.
Okay, okay, I admit it. I do need that Spy 101 training. Good grief. What did Gamble call it? A series of “How to Stay Alive” workshops?
“What seems to be the problem?”
I exhaled. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Instead of handing him the fob, I leaned far over his workspace to place it on the desk in front of him, all the while smiling. A faint line of color edged its way out of Rob’s buttoned-up polo.
Preempting a sniff of self-derision, I faked a helpless sigh. “Well, Rob, for some reason, the numbers on the little screen . . . thingy don’t show up for me when I try to log in. But maybe I’m doing it wrong?”
I looked Rob full in the face, only twenty inches from him, and slowly blinked. Twice.
Rob’s blush crawled up his neck.
Jayda Cruz. Your behavior is quite . . . uncharacteristic. We are confused.
I kept my eyes locked on Rob’s. “Not now, Nano.”
Rob wrenched his gaze away from mine to stare at the fob. “Uh, yup. Looks like it’s dead.”
“Oh! So, I wasn’t doing it wrong?”
“Nope, I—” Rob made the mistake of looking back to me. “I-I . . .”
“You can fix it, can’t you, Rob?” Yeah, I injected a touch, a mere soupçon of wheedle into my question.
Jayda Cruz. We can fix the device for you. You know this. However, we do not understand. First, you asked us to render it inoperable. Now—
“SHUT IT, Nano!”
I don’t know. Maybe a microexpression crossed my face, a hint of my irritation with the nanomites?
Rob’s eyes widened. He slowly pushed his chair away from his desk. Away from me. Looking anywhere but at me, he stuttered, “F-fix it? Um, no. We’ll—that is I—will replace it. Give you a new one. Just . . . just take a seat at the terminal. . . over there, and I’ll log this one out of use and assign another to you.”
I beamed at him. “Thank you so much. You’re awesome, Rob.”
He couldn’t help himself. His eyes flicked up to my adoring approval.
The pink creeping stain darkened and roared up his neck, jaws, cheeks, and forehead. If the roots of Rob’s hair had spontaneously combusted, I would not have been amazed.
Amused, yes. Amazed? Not so much.
Five minutes later, after keying in my password and using my new fob to log in to the network, I left the IT Department.
I gave a happy little wave as I went. I might have been waving to the nanomites I’d left behind, but Rob definitely believed I was waving at him.
“Nano,” I said as I hit the hallway, “Make sure you download the complete schematics to this place. I want to know the layout—every building, floor, department, office, and broom closet.”
Yes, Jayda Cruz.
***
THE MORNING SPED BY, Macy demanding more of me as I showed her I could follow her guidance. I had to hold back, because to go any faster would have been, you know, abnormal. I cruised along at Macy’s speed and didn’t push it.
“Well, I’m impressed, Jayda, I really am,” she said at one point. “You have an amazing grasp of new things. No wonder they picked you for the job.”
“So, she’s Wonder Girl, is she?”
I glanced up and saw a woman about my age. Her black eyes glittered, but her face seemed expressionless.
Macy’s body language tensed up. “Hey, girl. How’s it going?”
“Just came over to scope out the new kid on the block.” She continued to study me with that tell-nothing stare.
“Um, Jayda, this is Kiera Colón. Kiera, Jayda Cruz.”
“Cruz? Guess we’re both Hispanic, huh?”
“I’m not, but my husband is. We just moved here from New Mexico.”
“How nice.” She turned to Macy. “You going to finish the week?”
“I suppose we’ll find out. The doctor never thought I’d make it this far carrying twins, but here I am.”
“You know I wish you well.”
“Thanks, Kiera.”
With another glance at me, the woman moved off.
“Geeze Louise,” Macy breathed. “See what I mean about a sharp edge? Definitely lacking in social skills.”
I sniffed. “Doesn’t bother me.”
***
WHEN LUNCH ROLLED AROUND, the employees in our department started leaving in twos and threes. As soon as I finished the task I was on, I would go, also. Then, after lunch, I intended to poke my head into IT, waggle my fingers at Rob, and add a simpering, “Thanks again, Rob! I was able to log in with my new fob!”
A few seconds. Enough time for the nanomites I’d left there to flow back to me.
The more I ran those lines around in my head, the more I wanted to gag.
Ick, ick, ick. I despised girls who used their “charms” to manipulate guys.
Another thought hit me, one that carried a whopping dose of conviction: What was I thinking, flirting like I was single?
I glanced at my wedding ring. Why, I’m a married woman.
I almost laughed aloud. I’m a married woman! I loved the sound of those words, but I guess the magnitude of it hadn’t yet sunk in: I’m a married woman.
Oh, wow. I’m really sorry, Lord; I wasn’t seriously flirting. Doesn’t matter, though, does it? It was wrong. I should have thought it out before I acted. Please forgive me. Won’t happen again.
With my confession, the guilt I’d felt faded. Still, I had to laugh at my “discovery”: I’m a married woman! I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of saying it.
I locked my workstation and got my purse from one of my desk drawers.
“Lunch?” Macy asked. We’d had lunch together since I started.
“Yeah. I’m starved.”
Don’t know how I’m going to retrieve my nanomites, but sure.
Lord? I need a Plan B.
Macy laughed. “You’re always hungry, Jayda.”
We walked (slowly, to accommodate Macy’s rolling gait) to the campus cafeteria, a vast, bustling affair in the same building as IT but some distance from it.
“You know, we don’t always eat here. The base has a lot of food options. Just depends on what you’re hungry for.”
“Good to know.” For sure.
I hoped Macy wouldn’t comment on how much food I loaded onto my tray. I’d devoured two power bars between breakfast and lunch, but I was still ravenous. And I had an apple in my drawer in case, before the day was over, my stomach started revving up like a Grand Prix engine clearing its throat for a big race.
After we’d gone through the line and paid for our food, we spied Saul, James, and Neville and sat down at their table. Before long, Chantelle, Lynn, and Neri joined us. As it had the last three days, conversation around the table was varied and ranged from sports and video games to the newest movies.
The topic that never came up was work.
When we finished our meals, although we had another fifteen minutes left, most of the group headed to our department. I hung back and said to Macy, “You go on ahead. I think I’ll take a quick walk outside. Stretch my legs.”
“In this heat? Girl, are you crazy?”
“Well, I don’t recommend that you come with me,” I laughed. “That twin juggling act you’re lugging around might just fall out—and I am not prepared to handle that.”
Macy cracked up. “Oh, my word! Jayda, I didn’t think you had much of a sense of humor, but that is about the funniest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She was still giggling when she wobbled away.
“I can’t believe I just resorted to a prego joke,” I muttered to her back, “but I have got to retrieve the nanomites.”
I turned the corner to the nearest restroom. The restroom didn’t have a swinging door on its entrance but had, instead, a hairpin turn where you walk around a wall into the restroom proper. As I made the turn out of camera range, the nanomites dropped their invisibility on me. I spun around, jogged out of the restroom, to the IT Department, collected the nanomites I’d left there, and reversed the process to shed the nanomites’ invisibility. The trip took me a whopping six minutes.
I grinned and patted myself on the back as I exited the restroom and returned to work.
“Pretty slick, if I do say so myself. Nothing to it. I can use these restroom entrances like Superman uses a phone booth.”
I had to laugh. Who, born after the turn of the century, even knew what a phone booth was?
***
ZANDER PARKED HIS RENTAL car outside the offices of Columbia’s Grace Chapel and stepped through the office doors. A welcome blast of AC struck him in the face.
“Ahhh . . .”
“I hear that more times than you would believe. The heat out there is just this side of Hades.”
Zander laughed. “I’ll bet you do, and it sure is.” He stepped to the church secretary’s window. “Hi. I’m Zander Cruz. I have an appointment with Pastor Lucklow.”
“I’m Christine. Right this way, Mr. Cruz.”
Zander followed the woman to the senior pastor’s office.
“Pastor? Mr. Cruz to see you.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Christine. Come in, Mr. Cruz, come in. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. And thank you for seeing me.”
They sat at a small table in the corner of the pastor’s office sipping the cold beverages Christine brought them.
“I’m glad to have the opportunity to get to know you better, Mr. Cruz.”
“Please call me Zander. My wife and I have attended Sunday services at Grace three times now. We wanted to let you know that we are making Grace Chapel our home church.”
“That’s wonderful news. We welcome you both. Would you tell me something about yourselves?”
“Sure. Jayda, my bride—we’re newlyweds—is a project manager. She started her new job on Monday. As for myself, until we left New Mexico for Jayda’s new job, I was the assistant pastor at Downtown Community Church, Albuquerque, where I led the young adult and visitation programs.”
“You don’t say.” Pastor Lucklow studied Zander. “If you don’t mind me asking, I’d appreciate hearing your testimony and call to ministry.”
“Of course, sir. Well, I’m grateful to the Lord for saving me out of a pretty rough life. For several years out of high school, I ran with a gang in my hometown of Las Cruces and, later, Phoenix. Drugs, alcohol, violence.” Zander cleared his throat. “Sex. Pimping.”
Zander swallowed again as Pastor Lucklow’s eyes bored into his. “The name of this church is significant to me, Pastor: Grace Chapel. If not for the grace of God and the courage of a certain street preacher, I believe I would be dead right now.”
Pastor Lucklow’s expression did not change. “Tell me more.”
“Yes, sir. As I said, a street preacher, a rugged and worn old guy, approached me one night. I was dealing, and I thought he was going to buy. Instead he told me that Jesus wanted to set me free from the trap I was in. Told me that Jesus loved me, that the Gospel was about transformation, a new life. Asked me, ‘Do you like this life? Or do you want a new one?’
“For reasons I couldn’t fathom at the time, I just up and left the corner I was working. Got into the old dude’s car, and we drove away. I dumped the drugs I was holding out the window. He knew the gang would hunt me down if I stayed in Phoenix—they don’t let you leave alive, you know—so he pointed the car toward Albuquerque.
“The whole time he drove, he shared Jesus with me, quoted entire passages of the Bible until my whole being was saturated with God’s word. By the time we drove through Grants, I was ready.”
Zander’s throat tightened. “He pulled over to the side of the road and we prayed. He told me to call upon the Lord and beg Jesus to forgive me. I did. I bawled like a baby as my chains dropped away and the Lord washed me clean. Jesus saved me on I-40 at mile marker 86. That encounter with God is as vivid in my mind and heart today as it was seven years ago.”
“Fascinating,” Pastor Lucklow murmured. “What happened then?”
“Well, I followed that old man for months. He preached wherever the Lord led him, and we slept wherever we found ourselves. I learned a lot from him about sharing Jesus. Learned how to study the Scriptures, how to pray, how to confess my mistakes and failings daily and receive forgiveness. How to walk in the Spirit and follow his guidance.
“Then, one day, my old friend says, ‘Kid, you need to go to Bible school.’ Long story short, I spent two years working my way through Bible college. Before I graduated, I called my parents. They hadn’t heard from me in close to three years. I asked them to come see me. We talked for a long time, and I apologized for all the grief I’d put them through. I told them about Jesus and how he’d saved me. The Lord blessed that time of reconciliation. My family forgave me, and my relationship with them has been restored.
“After a summer internship at DCC, the church hired me. I served there for two more years—until five weeks ago, when, as I said, we moved here because of the job offer Jayda received. Now I’m wondering what the Lord has for me. I’m looking for work, but I’d love if the Lord opened a door of ministry, too.”
Pastor Lucklow leaned back in his chair and considered Zander. Zander endured the examination with calm patience.
I am, after all, a complete stranger to this man. Zander didn’t know what God had in mind, but he felt something momentous at work.
That feeling only increased when, after a long moment of deliberation, Pastor Lucklow said, “Pastor Cruz, are you familiar with Celebrate Recovery?”
“Yes, I am, sir. I belonged to a CR group during Bible college.”
“Oh? Interesting. In a curious turn of events, our Celebrate Recovery group has just lost its directors. Lovely married couple. They were called to a church in Ohio.”
“I see.”
“Our CR group is a thriving, growing arm of our church, a vital part of our ministry to the community. Your background . . .”
“Is in line with your group’s needs?”
“Yes. Just so. At present, the CR assistant directors are leading the group but, in addition to having four children to care for, they have expressed that their desire is to support whomever God chooses to place in leadership rather than be the leaders.”
Zander nodded, and Pastor Lucklow continued to study him.
“Pastor Cruz, our CR group meets every Thursday evening, 6:30-8:30, in the fellowship hall. What would you say to visiting a time or two? Check out what God is doing.”
“I would be glad to, Pastor.”
“Very well. I will be praying, asking the Lord for guidance.”
“I will do the same.”
Pastor Lucklow stood and ushered Zander to the hallway. “Would you please leave your contact information with Christine? And welcome to Grace Chapel. My wife and I already have lunch plans this Sunday, but we would be delighted to have lunch with you and your bride after service the following Sunday. We’d like to get to know you better.”
“It would be our pleasure, Pastor.”
Zander whistled a little tune on the way to his car.
Lord, thank you for this encouraging meeting. All your ways are wonderful.
***
“I’M HOME!” I CALLED.
“About time. I’m starving. Chinese buffet?”
That empty cavern within roared its approval.
We drove to what was already our favorite Chinese place, The Great Wall. After we’d each filled two plates and sat down with them, I leaned toward Zander.
“Had a good day,” I mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.
“I take it we have homework this evening?”
I was occupied with stuffing my face, so I nodded.
“I had a good day, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
We smiled with contentment at each other and dug deeper into our food. I couldn’t say more about my day until we returned to our apartment, but Zander could. When the rumbles from our stomachs started to die down, he elaborated.
“I met with Pastor Lucklow this morning.”
“Did you tell him we’re putting down roots at Grace Chapel?”
“Yup. By the way, he invited us to have lunch with him and his wife after church next Sunday.”
“That’s great.”
“Our meeting was kind of fascinating. He asked me to share my testimony with him. You know, I learned something, watching him watch me.”
“Oh?”
“The man knows how to listen. He gave me his full attention and interest. Really wanted to know how the Lord had worked in my life. And . . . he didn’t flinch when I told him what I was like . . . before. In fact . . .”
I glanced up. “Yes?”
“He asked me if I was familiar with Celebrate Recovery.”
“Celebrate Recovery?”
“It’s a Christian program that uses biblical truths and principles to help people overcome drug and alcohol addiction and their underlying roots. Lots of wounded unbelievers find Jesus through CR. I belonged to a CR group when I was in Bible college, so I’m acquainted with the program. Pastor Lucklow invited me to sit in on the meetings.”
Zander poured more tea for both of us. “He said that the leaders of the group were recently called to another church.”
I arched my brows. “And?”
“And we agreed to pray and ask for the Lord’s guidance. If I were to take on the group’s leadership—and that’s entirely up to the Lord—I’m sure Pastor would need to know me better, first. Could take a while.”
“Pastor McFee will give you a good reference.”
“I’m sure he will. He might even tell Pastor Lucklow that CR is a good fit for me.”
Zander smiled. “It’s up to the Lord. I’m happy to wait on his timing.”
Our hunger pangs at abeyance, we drove home. On the way, I caught Zander up on my day.
“I dropped some nanomites at IT today, and they downloaded the schematics of the NSA complex. I’ve asked them to render a 3D model from the schematics, so we can explore the place and memorize the layout.”
“Good idea. If you ever need me, I’ll want to already know the ins and outs.”
“Learning the layout is the first step in tracking Wayne Overman. I also asked the nanomites to download Overman’s badging history. He disappeared about two months ago. I want to follow his last few weeks of movements.”
“Okay. And what about . . . looking at the movements of others around him?”
“Yes. That’s the next piece. If we see anything curious, particularly around the time of his disappearance, then we home in on those individuals.”
Armed with a pot of decaf, Zander and I sat at our little dinette set and went together into the nanomites’ “warehouse.” They were ready for us with more than a 3D model of the NSA facilities. They had created a VR environment where we could travel through the NSA complex as though we were there.
“This way,” I motioned to Zander.
I led him first toward the Repository, which, I was beginning to realize, sat far away from a lot of the other departments on campus. Waving at the cubicle farm in the large room, I said, “My team sits way over there. All the workstations in here have access to the NSA’s intel taxonomy. The role of the Repository Department is to catalog and index the intel so it can be retrieved and then fulfill retrieval requests.
“One team here manages the catalog itself. Another team in the department is staffed with classification experts who determine the intel’s classification levels and markings. Yet another team studies the metadata and decides where in the catalog the files go. Every file is named using code words for date, location, and content and is cross-indexed with related files.”
“Quite an undertaking.”
“It is. Can you imagine managing these files without computers?”
“Impossible.”
“Yeah. Then there’s our team. We answer the retrieval requests. A lot of data requests as well as new intelligence flow into the Repository every day. Our team also tracks the department’s progress against the traffic we receive. That’s my job. I enter tasks and resources in the project software.
“From our workstations, we can view the catalog and its files but cannot open the files. Every scrap of data requires both an encryption key and encryption software.”
“That doesn’t stop the nanomites, right?”
“Right. However, the amount of data in the Repository is hard to fathom. We’re talking xenottabytes. It will take them a few days to sort it all.”
I hesitated. “The nanomites have asked me to spend a couple of days at the safe house. With the printer. They want to upgrade the nanocloud’s storage capacity.”
“It would have to be a weekend, then.”
“Well, I’m not looking forward to spending a weekend there and sleeping on a couch.”
We left the Repository and crossed over to the adjoining building. I showed Zander the cafeteria, then the HR Department, Safety and Security, and IT. We walked back into the IT server farm and studied the racks and racks of blade server enclosures.
“Their hardware must be specially made for the NSA,” I observed.
Jayda Cruz, we were able to reproduce the exact layout of this server farm and download a precise network configuration for your perusal.
“Good work, Nano. Zander and I will finish our tour and then we’ll get back to you.”
Would you care for us to guide your tour? We have studied the facility diagrams and can identify most areas in the complex.
“Most?”
A few rooms are unlabeled, Jayda Cruz. We may be able to deduce their use as we overlay the badging software on the complex layout.
“Zander?”
“Yeah. Go ahead, Nano. Lead on.”
In response, the nanomites plotted a course before us using pale lights that led away from general employee access to a bank of elevators. Zander took my hand and, in our kitchen, at our dinette, he did the same. We entered the virtual elevator. I liked how my hand felt in his, how his fingers stroked mine. That warm, possessive sense felt good. Right. There was nothing controlling about Zander’s touch. He was kind. Respectful.
I sighed with contentment. I’m a married woman—
“Earth to Jayda?”
“Hmm?”
“Time to get off.”
The elevator had stopped and opened. Zander tugged gently at my hand, and we stepped into a foyer that spoke “power” with a capital “P.”
U.S. and NSA flags bookended the seals of U.S. Cyber Command, the National Security Agency, and the Central Security Service. Large portraits of President Jackson and NSA Director Willem Bradshaw, both strong examples to the country’s African American community, hung in prominent honor.
Jayda and Zander Cruz, this is the executive suite.
“I think we figured that out,” Zander answered.
“How did you know to furnish this foyer in such detail, Nano?”
The network contains many photos, Jayda Cruz. This location is used to present awards and recognition.
“Got it.” We wandered through the floor, noting the suites for the Director and Deputy Director, conference rooms, and so on—none of which were rendered in the complete detail the foyer had been.
We spent another hour walking NSA halls, entering offices and departments, noting the vaults and SCIFs, committing them to memory—particularly the exits and where they led. I knew the nanomites could direct me in a situation where (God forbid) I was being pursued, but the recollection of that dim place where the nanomites did not answer my frantic cries for help was never far from my thoughts. I needed to know the layout of the campus for myself.
Just in case.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, Nano.”
“I agree. I’m anxious to get to Overman’s movements.”
We are ready to project Mr. Overman’s badge movements onto the 3D rendering, Zander Cruz. We will begin four weeks prior to his disappearance at your command.
“Uh, make it so, Nano.”
The delight Zander felt in his Picard imitation was infectious, and I giggled my appreciation—only to choke on my half-uttered laugh when the rendering of the NSA complex . . . dropped out from under us.
Perhaps we rocketed UP, rather than the building plummeting DOWN. I couldn’t tell which, but it didn’t much matter, because the rapid, ongoing shift in perspective propelled my stomach to places it did not belong.
The complex zoomed OUT, then it zoomed IN.
Our view resolved to the main entrance of the multi-storied building. Ground floor.
“Whoa,” Zander gasped, gripping my fingers like a lifeline.
“Oh, yeah. I need a warning for that.”
“And I’ll need a barf bag if you pull that stunt again, Nano,” Zander growled.
Noted, Zander Cruz. Ordering barf bags now.
“No! Wait—argh. Never mind.”
Shall we cancel the order, Zander Cruz?
“You know what, Nano? At times you are worse than clueless.”
“Not something I’ve ever said,” I snarked. My jibe earned me a dig in the ribs—where I’m most ticklish.
“Hey!”
“You earned that.”
Recommencing program, Zander and Jayda Cruz.
Once the acute sensation of free fall had passed and I had swallowed down my stomach from where it had lodged in my throat, a trail of blue footsteps appeared, overlaid on the first-floor blueprints. A date and time stamp blinked off to the side of the rendering so that we could tell when Overman’s movements took place.
The footprints entered the elevator—and the elevator shot up. The first floor dropped away, and the second floor rose in its place.
I was a bit more ready for the rollercoaster ride, but Zander moaned. This time I squeezed his fingers.
The blue footprints crossed the floor and stepped into what we knew was Overman’s office—two levels below the Director’s suite. Sometime soon, I wanted to visit Overman’s office in person, but that foray would require forethought and planning. I doubted any helpful trace would remain in his office, but it was worth a try.
We soon recognized Overman’s day-to-day routine—arrival at 7:00 sharp each morning, regular visits to conference rooms and other offices, hours spent in his own office, lunch at 12:30 each afternoon (frequently eating in the cafeteria, other times leaving the campus), and his daily departure time, around 5:00 or 5:30, once as late as 6:00.
“Long hours,” Zander noted.
What we couldn’t see were the activities Overman engaged in—phone calls, emails, meetings, conversations. The nanomites would scrub through those logs for us, and we would study them together another evening.
Day followed day of similar movements. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary—not until the evening Overman disappeared. He returned to his office from a meeting at 4:30. Five o’clock came and went, then 5:30 and 5:45 without his leaving for the day. At six o’clock Overman had still not left his office. The minutes ticked off until it was 6:15. 6:30. 6:45.
“Why is he still in his office?” I whispered.
With no warning, the blue footprints signifying Overman’s badge left his office and walked to the elevator. Overman’s badge descended the elevator. The elevator stopped on the first floor. Overman got out, proceeded to the front entrance as usual, then exited the building.
You have watched the current badge tracking to its end, Jayda Cruz. We recommend overlaying the movements of other badges within ten feet of Wayne Overman’s badge.
“Play the last hour, overlaying the badges of other personnel who come within ten feet of Overman.”
Rendering now, Jayda Cruz.
The nanomites played the footage on fast-forward. There was Overman, ostensibly sitting in his office. The timer off to the side showed an hour passing in five minutes. Again, we had no idea what was actually happening in his office. Was he on the phone? Reading or sending emails? Overman may as well have been Schrödinger's cat. We knew he was in there, but was he alive or dead?
At ten after six, two sets of footprints appeared in Overman’s office.
“Wait. Back that up and pan out to the entire floor,” Zander demanded.
The nanomites pulled back and reran the last few minutes at normal speed. Two sets of prints got off the elevator, walked directly to Overman’s office, and entered.
“Pull back again, Nano,” I asked. “Rerun from the time the two people get off the elevator. This time I want to see every badge on the floor.”
The nanomites zoomed out and reran the simulation. No other badges showed up on the floor.
“He was alone.” Zander and I spoke at the same time.
“Nano, can you tell us who those two people are?”
They are members of the security team, Jayda Cruz. Security police officers.
“What happens next?”
Zander and I watched as the officers’ footprints moved away from Overman’s office while he remained in it. The officers entered the elevator and descended to the first floor where they exited and returned to the Safety and Security Department.
Zander and I were silent for a minute. Finally, I said, “This tells us nothing other than Overman stayed late the night he disappeared and that two SPOs briefly visited him.”
Yes. Nothing to suggest anything amiss. Although his normal departure from work occurs between 5:00 and 5:30, tracking records for the past year show Mr. Overman staying beyond six o’clock seven times. You have watched the current badge tracking to its end, Jayda Cruz.
“You said that already, Nano.”
“Um, hold on,” Zander interjected. “You said, ‘the current badge tracking.’ What do you mean by ‘current’?”
We found that the tracking records have been altered, Zander Cruz.
I huffed in exasperation. “And you’re just now telling us this?”
It was necessary for you to view the tracking footage released to base security and the police who investigated Mr. Overman’s disappearance.
“And said tracking footage indicated nothing out of the ordinary.”
Exactly, Jayda Cruz.
“Nano,” Zander said, “Tell us more about the altered tracking records.”
The alterations were quite sophisticated, Zander Cruz; however, we noticed that the logs were off by two milliseconds. A human would not have detected such a discrepancy.
“Two milliseconds?”
Yes. Two one-thousandths of a second. When the records were spliced, the resulting timeline of the events lost two milliseconds. It was, we are certain, an unintentional error, but an error nevertheless.
“Video footage,” I whispered. “Show us the video footage of the elevator at the time Overman supposedly exited.”
We can, Jayda Cruz, however the video is a repeat from August two years ago.
“A repeat?”
We scanned video footage of the elevator, beginning with the night of Overman’s disappearance, going backward in time. We discovered that Wayne Overman wore the same suit, shirt, and tie on August 4, two years past, as he did when he arrived the morning he disappeared. Someone spliced footage of him leaving on that date two years ago into the feed from the night of his disappearance. The police and base security have not discovered this manipulation of the video footage. They have not realized that the briefcase he carried that evening is not the same one he arrived with. Although the differences are subtle, we noted them. They are further proof that the video footage of his exit the night he disappeared was falsified.
I shivered. “Whatever happened, happened right there, at the NSA.”
Yes, so we have discovered.
“You have more to show us?”
We recovered bits of the deleted badge tracking files, Jayda Cruz, and have recreated what we could. It provides a more accurate picture of the events that night.
Zander cleared his throat. “Show us, Nano.”
The layout of Overman’s floor reappeared, with Overman’s badge in his office. The two security police officers entered his office. Moments later, they left his office. Overman’s badge remained behind.
“What? Isn’t this what we’ve already seen, Nano?”
Continue watching, Jayda Cruz.
The SPOs got into the elevator but, rather than going down, they went up two floors . . . to the executive suite. The officers’ prints led to a large office where they joined three other sets of prints.
The five badges remained in the office for nearly fifteen minutes. After ten minutes had passed, I started fidgeting.
“What’s going on, Nano?”
Patience, Jayda Cruz.
Another four minutes ticked by on the timeline before anything happened—before things started to become clear.
Four of the prints exited the office at the same time. They walked two abreast to the elevator. They entered the same way, two ranks of two badges.
“Curious,” I murmured. “They look like they’re marching or something.”
“Not marching,” Zander whispered. “Carrying.”
I looked at him and back to the nanomites’ rendering, not understanding.
The elevator with the four badges went down but did not stop at the ground level. It descended into the basement where the four badges, still maintaining their odd formation, walked to what the nanomites had labeled “loading dock.”
After a minute, two badges disappeared from the screen. We watched the remaining two return to the elevator, go up, and step off at Overman’s floor—where Overman’s badge continued to blink inside his office.
The two SPOs entered Overman’s office. Seconds later, Overman’s badge blinked off.
“What just happened?”
“They broke or somehow shorted out his badge,” Zander replied.
“But . . .”
“Didn’t you get it?”
“No. I . . . I’m lost.”
“Nano, the four badges leaving the executive floor. They were all SPOs?”
Yes, Zander Cruz.
“They carried Overman down the elevator, Jayda. Put him in a vehicle parked in the loading dock. Two SPOs drove off with him. Two returned to his office and deactivated his badge.”
I stared at the layout again. “Nano. Zoom in on the executive suite.”
The basement layout faded and gave way to the fourth floor.
“Zoom in on the office where the five badges were.”
Two SPOs had removed Overman’s badge from him and left it in his office. They had escorted him upstairs where he had either been killed or knocked unconscious. Four SPOs carried him to the basement and placed him in a vehicle. Two SPOs drove him away—and Overman was never seen again.
The office where Overman had met his fate was, like the rest of the NSA schematics, clearly labeled. My breath caught as I read the label: Deputy Director, National Security Agency. Senior civilian leader of the NSA. Responsible for guiding and directing the NSA’s operations, studies, and policy.
The honorable Lawrence Danforth.
“Oh, Zander. We need to call Gamble. Right away. The President . . . he needs to know.”
***
“HAVE YOU MET THE REPOSITORY’S new hire? Jayda Cruz?”
“You mean the gal who stole your job?” Rob snickered as he said it.
“Shut up, Rob. There’s something off about her.”
“Agree. She brought a dead key fob to the Help Desk this morning and played out some flirty little scene with me.”
“Flirty? Doesn’t sound like Cruz.”
“Yeah? Well, she really laid it on thick. It was about all I could do not to laugh in her face. It was kind of fun, pretending to be taken in by it.”
“Somehow, I doubt you did much pretending, Rob.”
“You don’t need to be so nasty. It wasn’t my idea to dress and act the part of a geek.”
“Rob, you are a geek. You were placed in IT to be our eyes inside the network—not to be cool.”
“And you were tasked with getting access to Repository information requests, so I could trace those back to the requestors.”
“Don’t act smart, Rob. I was prepped for that job. You pulled the interviews and hiring recommendations yourself. I had the highest interview scores out of all the candidates . . . and then they hire this Jayda Cruz out of the blue and it turns out she’s a nobody with zero intelligence background?”
“You did have the highest scores—until Cruz interviewed.”
“How is that possible without any intelligence experience? Someone had to have manipulated the data.”
“I’ve looked at the logs. Nothing. There’s no evidence of tampering with the files.”
“I don’t know how they did it, but this Jayda Cruz is not what she appears to be. She’s smart but, like I said, something’s off. And if someone planted her here, that means there’s another player in the game.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“You do that. She didn’t return from lunch today with her team. Macy mentioned she was going outside for a walk, but when she came back to our department she was fresh as a daisy. In this humidity? Not likely. She should have shown some signs of perspiration. I want to know where she really went.”
“I’ll track her badge movements when I get into work tomorrow and let you know what I find.”
“Check the video feeds, too. I’ll call you again tomorrow evening, same time.”
***
OUR SESSION WITH THE nanomites—walking through their renderings of the NSA complex and reviewing Overman’s badge tracking data—had taken hours. It was well after midnight before Zander and I spoke to Gamble. It took another hour to explain what the nanomites had uncovered to Gamble’s satisfaction.
When he understood what the nanomites had found and could repeat it back to us, he said, “I’ll pass this along ASAP.”
~~**~~
