| |
News of the missing athlete was all over the morning news programs. The two Olympic officials who appeared on camera seemed to be genuinely puzzled, even outraged.
The TV personalities touched on the most outlandish possible explanations, up to and including abduction by terrorists.
All right! thought Aldridge, watching the coverage over his pop tarts. Those guys are more on the ball than I would have predicted. That takes seeds, man! Now, they’ll have to figure out what to do with her.
Thankfully, that was not his problem. Time to call a friend and see what was shaking.
It only took one call. Jeff Simmons, one of his oldest friends from their days as trainees at the "Farm" in Virginia and now a mid-level official with the Agency, told him cryptically what had happened, or rather not happened. Carefully talking around the fact that an alien was his subject, he spoke in a low voice.
"The package you sent never arrived. My family checked the whole mailroom, but apparently someone else picked it up before we got there."
"Bloody hell!" said Aldridge. "I wonder if it got forwarded somewhere."
"No idea," said Simmons. "We're checking a few things, but so far, there's no sign of it."
“Damn!” said Aldridge. “Back to the drawing board. We’ll have to have the post office do a thorough search. Thanks, Jeff.”
He had mixed his metaphors, but he didn’t care. The way he saw it, it simply meant that the hunt was still on. And he was still in it.
