It took less than fifteen hours for John Dalton to make numerous attempts to reach Blair—via e-mail, text messaging, and calls to his business and mobile numbers.
Blair sat in his office, shaking his head. Harassment was one thing, but this was ridiculous.
He recalled trying to find some mention of Dalton’s agency, BIS, in the back issues of Time, without success. And he wondered now if the letters truly stood for what he had been told—Bureau of International Security—or if they, in fact, represented something entirely different.
Some years ago, stories of secret plots against America were the norm. President Bush had been accused of using these ominous threats to help his reelection campaign. By the time Barack Obama took office, most people were fed up and disillusioned.
So why should he believe John Dalton? Was America’s well-being truly at risk? Who was BIS? And what was Dalton’s role in all of this?
He fingered the man’s business card, slowly shaking his head.
What if he’s expecting this? Blair worried.
For what purpose?
I don’t know.
You don’t have to talk to him. Just see if he really works there. See if he comes to the phone.
I don’t know…
Only way to find out.
Yeah, I guess so.
Dialing the number made his skin crawl.
“B-I-S.” Female voice, businesslike.
Blair hesitated.
“Hello?”
“Yes, is John Dalton there, please?”
“One moment, sir.”
He dangled the receiver in his hand.
When Dalton’s voice came on the line, he disconnected.
Satisfied? he asked himself.