“Kit, hey. Skype is in the building here. How’s things on your end?” Sinclair said.
“Getting there,” Kit said, folding open her laptop and plugging it in.
“Great,” Sinclair said as Kit typed in the office Wi-Fi password Amy had given her.
Kit clicked on the link that was waiting on the website and suddenly Sinclair appeared on the screen, waving at her from behind his desk. She looked at his tie. His hairstyle was even shorter and blander now. He’d gotten it cut, she realized.
“There you are, Kit. Ta-da, the magic of modern technology, huh?” he said.
She looked at his eyes. There were bags under them. He was aging right before her eyes.
“Woo-hoo,” Kit said quietly, turning off her phone as she sat.
“So tell me,” Sinclair said, putting his chin on his palm. “How the heck did you end up in Denver, Kit? Last time we spoke, you had your head in a paint tray at home or something.”
“I’m glad you asked, Francis,” Kit said, grinning as she stared into his eyes. “It’s a funny story. The second I hung up with you, an old girlfriend of mine called and asked me to be her maid of honor. She lives over here in Colorado Springs, and her original maid of honor bailed at the last second. Pain in my butt, but an hour later, I was on a plane. I thought I could get back in time, but I missed my flight. Can you believe all that?”
The blank expression on Sinclair’s stressed face seemed to indicate a no to that one.
But he liked to lie, too, didn’t he? Kit thought. Through his shiny perfect teeth.
“Get out! A last-second maid of honor? That’s something else. But wait, you weren’t invited to the wedding originally?”
“Oh, I was invited, but I decided not to go what with getting shot and all,” Kit said, nodding. “But she was a good friend once and she was in a bind.”
She looked Sinclair in the eye.
“You know how important that is, right, Francis? Loyalty to friends?” she said.
“Of course. I get it,” the weasel said, looking away.
Yeah, right, Kit thought. You don’t get shit.
Sinclair checked his watch.
Not a Rolex yet, she noted, but he was trying, wasn’t he?
“Listen, Kit. Turns out you’re not the only one running late to the meeting. It’s actually going to be another half an hour before the rest of the crew gets here.”
“Perfect,” Kit said. “I’ll grab a cup of coffee. Reconnect at, let’s say, nine forty-five? Or text me if it’s sooner. How’s that sound?”
“Um,” he said.
“Um what, Francis?”
“Nothing. Okay. Perfect. Half an hour,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
Kit stood and took a deep breath.
Phase one, check mark, she thought.
Now for the fuzzy part.
Amy wasn’t at her desk when Kit got to it, but when she turned she saw her friend coming down the cubicle lane with a new ream of printer paper in her hands.
“Hey, Kit? What’s up?”
“Amy,” Kit said checking her watch. “I hate to bother you even more, but it turns out there’s actually some classified information my team needs to share with me. You guys have a SCIF here, right?”
Amy blinked at her. There was a puzzled look on her face.
“Yes, I think so. I heard it’s up on fourteen next to the SAC’s office. Your case is going that deep, huh? Counterintelligence deep?”
Kit nodded.
“What’s the protocol for using the SCIF? Do we need to talk to the SAC or something? I’ve never even been in one.”
“I have no idea,” Amy said. “I never had to use it myself. Let’s stick our heads into my boss’s office and see.”