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Globall War of Terror - Operation Straightleg
Globall War of Terror - Operation Straightleg
You never know if your plans are going to work. Unless you carry them out. That means drills and exercises.
So despite the operational disruption, and despite the complaints, we were Going To Have An Exercise. The Site Location Executive and I saw completely eye to eye on this point. Everyone in the chain of command _between_ us did not.
Three days from now, we were going to simulate the campus coming under heavy external attack. The Reaction Force (corporate militia) would draw firearms and ammunition and move to staging areas, then to their defensive positions. The stretcher bearers would draw their equipment and report to their positions. The infirmary would prepare to receive mass casualties and also staff a dressing station at another location, which would be picked at the last minute. (Our medical staff was completely unenthused.)
Every part of the organization had its part in the Campus Defensive Plan. Security's part was threefold. 1) Execute the plan by calling the ball. 2) Hold the perimeter until augmented by Reaction Force arrival. 3) Maintain our own strike reserve by staffing all armed vehicles. 4) Maintain situational awareness for the Reaction Force commander. 5) Actually maintain security during the notional exercise - including internal security. 6) Implement and oversee the emergency action plan for the perimeter encampment. 7) Provide a notional _simulated_ adversary force. Note that word _simulated_. As the adversary force commander, I did not wish to be shot by our own folks. 8) Grade and evaluate the exercise results.
You notice I may have lied about merely threefold.
The final RTX (Real Tactical Exercise) planning meeting utterly conflicted with our weekly scheduled Ammunition Technical Working Group meeting. Because the ATWG meeting was absolutely critical, for reasons I did not want to share with anyone, I ordered its participants to continue with their meeting while I represented Security at the RTX planning meeting. Perhaps Major Anderson should have represented Security, but he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about or what he was doing, and therefore had been designated as the shadow for the Reaction Force commander - the person actually passing messages to and from the Security Control Center. In other words, I'd busted him all the way down to RTO and he didn't even realize it. Dumbass.
The meeting was precisely as time wasting and inane as I expected it to be. Fortunately, it was OK to work on one's laptop while attending meetings. So I was catching up on a mass of security observation tickets. Mind numbing but necessary.
###
"We managed a meeting without [Echo 18]. Finally," sighed Sharon.
Betty - Dr. Rize - stretched out on the rough wood picnic table. She didn't mind that most of the people present wanted to kill her. This was only partly because she didn't know.
"I've managed to recruit eighteen agents. Six of them are off campus. One of them is a contractor for H."
"Allah be praised," exclaimed Mo. "Do we have more info on H use of explosives?"
"Not much yet. Their Strike Force - troopers - carry flash bangs from a variety of manufacturers. Apparently there's a shortage of offensive, defensive and smoke grenades. As far as my informant knows, they don't have an organic bomb squad capability and they don't do explosive breaching."
"So where the hell are all these professional IEDs coming from?"
The site had suffered the wrath of several truck bombs. Fortunately for everyone, only one had detonated inside the campus. But it was getting to the point where every convoy had to worry about IEDs being placed on the routes. This had forced more frequent convoys on roads under campus observation, and less frequent convoys to other locations. At great personal risk, Mo(hammed) had defused one device - to discover a sophisticated cell phone detonator complete with timed detonation, remote detonation, antitamper and even tremble switching.
"H would like to know too. Suggesting strongly it's not them."
"Not necessarily. Their internal structure pits every leader against every other leader, apparently on purpose. One of them might have adopted a bomb maker."
The conversation continued with technicalities until the fragmentary knowledge of the team had been exhausted. Then Janine changed the subject sharply.
"What are we going to do to get [Echo 18] laid?"
"Is that possible?" Sarah exclaimed.
"What do you mean?" Janine arched an eyebrow.
"Look, we're all insiders here. I met the man while stark naked. I had just killed that fucker Robert with a flashlight to the throat. He didn't even look at my breasts! His eyes flickered between my hands and my face, the only thing he pointed at my chest was his handgun. I think he's gay."
Wyatt shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"Within five minutes of meeting the man, he shoved a nozzle up my ass. And it didn't even hurt. I thought he was your team medic. I seriously doubt he's gay. Maybe asexual?"
Sharon shook her head.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Remember that critical incident in the perimeter camp?"
"Which one?"
"The rape."
"Yeah. The guard had it coming."
"Well, what _really_ happened was...." and Sharon explained that Echo 18, not the victim, had been the one to murder the guard-turned-rapist.
"That's fucked up," more than one person exclaimed. Janine turned green.
"And then we took a shower. Together. Naked."
Mo and Wyatt exchanged a glance and subtly pushed back in their seats. This was rapidly becoming 'girl talk.'
"So what was it like?" Dr. Rize asked, squirming a little in her seat.
"There was no _it_. We just showered."
"But not gay?"
"No. Not gay." She sighed. "It would be really hard to overlook. Or miss."
"So what happened the next time you took a shower together?"
"Hasn't happened. The one time I suggested it, he did that lined-lip thing and walked off."
They had all learned when Echo 18's lips were in a flat line, it was unwise to push. He had a habit of making a cutting comment that came not from verbal judo, but verbal kendo with live blades - when he chose not to apply more direct negative corrective feedback.
"Has anyone else tried to get in some sack time with the boss?" Sarah asked.
There were several reasons why Sarah hadn't. First and foremost had been waiting to heal from her injuries, both above and below the belt. After that was the certainty that she had one or more venereal diseases, possibly even HIV. While she wasn't symptomatic, she'd had nonconsensual direct exposure to men who were. They would not be infecting anyone else. Or breathing for that matter. Then there was her newly acquired distaste for the bedroom sport, which she hoped to overcome sometime between now and when she died. Maybe. Last but not least, Echo 18 had her respect. She didn't generally fuck guys she respected, unless she was in a relationship. And a relationship with Echo 18 ... she suppressed the thought.
The group knew most of this, but no one - especially the guys - was going to bring it up.
What they didn't know that when the Marines had landed, Sarah had been half-dragged (the other half was her dragging them) into the bushes and in exchange for favors received, had managed to liberate various accountable items. Including a medium machine gun that now had its own mount on one of the trucks.
Echo 18 knew. And when he had seen her after the helicopter had taken off, crying and hugging a tire of a fire truck for fear of anything or anyone else, had taken her in his arms, hugged her for ten minutes, then slowly talked her down.
Dying for him would be easy, after that. But not fucking.
Betty shook her head.
"Yeah. I gave it a shot. It didn't go well..."
###
I was going through Dr. Rize's patient files, comparing them to my working notes. The good - actually, not so good bordering on suicidal - Doctor was watching as I did. A huge breach of patient confidentiality, but I was not playing this game for penny ante stakes. I would use any intel I could get.
I finished and closed the last file, handing the stack to Dr. Rize. She stumbled forward a little and I reached out an arm to keep her from falling.
The last time I'd had a handful of Betty had been when I'd taken the pistol in her mouth away from her rather suddenly and forcefully. I'd been focused on not having someone's brains blown out -- hers or mine.
This time I was a lot more alert to nuance. The fact that two of her four blouse buttons were undone, that she was wearing a black lacy bra, that she was _relaxing_ into my arms, and that she was leaning upward for a kiss.
So I stepped back and let her fall. Fortunately for her, her chest took most of the impact on the thin industrial carpet.
She looked up at me and sat up, pursing her lips and looking at my groin.
"You know, [Echo 18], you could do anything you wanted and I'd have to go along with it," she said throatily.
I had to nip this in the bud.
"I think we should keep things on a more _professional_ footing, Doctor," I said coldly. "I might have to discuss certain unpleasant facts with the SLE if we became unnecessarily ... personal."
###
Everyone winced except Dr. Rize.
"I haven't dared bring it up with him since."
Janine finally calmed down enough to lean forward.
"He's very not my type. Way too high strung and ... well ... psychotic. But I was talking with our VP of Human Resources last week..."
###
It had been an exhausting four hours. I was nearly blind from looking at spreadsheets. So was our VP-HR.
Every line was literally a life. This wasn't budget or spreadsheets. This was some poor bastard - and his or her family - casually shot in the back of the head. At least one life per line, sometimes several.
These were the spreadsheets we were about to E-mail to Homeland, accounting for each and every one of the H1-B visa holders we were willing to admit to.
She sighed, we double checked one last time, and she clicked on "SEND."
Then she leaned back and put her long, long legs up on the desk.
"Do you drink, [Echo 18]? Because I could really, really use a drink right now?"
"Sorry, ma'am, I don't. But I could probably scare up something for you. Vodka?" I reached for my wi-fi cell - this was not a request that should go out on radio.
She shook her head. "It was just a thought. I don't like having all these lives in my hands. How do you feel about it?"
"I really, really hate it. But if you don't do it, and I don't do it, who is going to? We do the ugly things to keep these people safe."
"Do you have anyone in your life?" she asked.
I already knew the reciprocal answer. She had had a husband and two children. The Firecracker had widowed her in ninety seconds. It had taken a few more hours to kill her children. One had made it to Stanford before dying a week later. It might have been touch and go with a bone marrow transplant. But her daughter simply hadn't met triage criteria. Those had to be saved for certainties, not chances.
"No," I said briefly. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"I'm very lonely," she said, apropos of nothing. "Everyone who works for [CLIENT] is either my subordinate or my superior. That substantially limits my potential dating pool."
I didn't judge. Of course I knew that people were bonding together, looking for comfort in a world gone mad. I'd had to go to some effort to overlook the less suitable and practical parings off, and put my foot down on nonconsensual or dangerous liaisons.
This potential liaison was incredibly dangerous. It violated an essential principle of compartmentalization.
"I understand and I sympathize," I lied quietly. "I don't judge. But my job requires me to make extremely difficult decisions. It would be awkward to sleep with someone I like, who is attractive and strong, and then have to ... do the ugly thing."
She blinked.
I held up my laptop.
"A computer file is weightless. But every one of these lives is so very heavy. There is a saying, 'Duty is heavier than mountains, death is lighter than a feather.' You deserve so much better than I can offer you, because duty has to come first. I am very flattered, but no."
She in turn blinked again.
"I appreciate your candor and integrity. I won't mention it again."
As someone who not only taught and enforced harassment rules in the workplace, but literally (post Firecracker) executed them, she had to accept a polite 'No.' But would she be capable of not taking it personally?
We would have to find out.
I put away my laptop and left.
###
"Damn," Wyatt exclaimed. "I mean, she's like a 12 out of 10."
"She was really, really impressed. And of course she has to sit on her hands to avoid asking him _again_, because that would really be a major issue. So she had to tell someone and she -- again, because I'm not an employee -- told me."
Mo stretched and stood up.
"So not women, not men ... and neither a powerful woman nor a helpless one ... not asexual. If you really want to pursue this project, has anyone talked to Alvin?"
"Alvin? The dog handler... oh wait. Yuck!" Sharon exclaimed.
"People are ... human. Oh, and you might want to ask Janitorial."
"Why Janitorial?" Wyatt asked.
"They still do the laundry and trash for the DC."
"That's snooping. No, that's just _low."
"This whole subject is low. But I do agree. Allah enjoins us to lifesaving deeds, and getting our boss ... laid ... is probably going to save some lives. Maybe a lot of them."
On that dubious note, Mo left the meeting to go work on explosive.
The rest broke up to pursue their duties in various ways. And a new side project.
###
"Oh, no, we change his sheets once a week. Towels in the data center restroom. He carries a washcloth in a baggie, but he washes it himself. You know ... the wiping."
Wyatt was increasingly sorry he'd asked. But any piece of intel was helpful.
###
"Look, Janine, I think I know what you're hinting at, and that is _nasty_. Not only is it cruelty to animals, and nasty, but it deeply disturbs the victim animal. I mean making the animal useless for any work. There's a reason why farm boys fuck goats and sheep and cows if they're desperate ... but not dogs or horses."
"Grant him any fetish you like. Can you see Echo 18 damaging site security?"
###
Sharon keyed into the Data Center cage. She knew Echo 18 was in his daily evening meeting with Major Anderson. But she would only have a few minutes.
She had his mobile phone PIN. And for once the phone was there.
She opened the file manager and searched for videos. There were dozens, mostly work related, but a few movies.
"The Princess Bride" ...?
The rest were movies, ranging from PG through R. She briefly checked them to see if the file names matched the contents - they did - then nearly dropped the phone. Time up.
The man doesn't even have porn on his phone?!?
###
We met in the File Storage Room.
Janine handed me back my laptop. She explained about the new dual boot and secure OS that could be accessed with an unusual keystroke combination and the flash stick. But it had to be plugged into a particular port.
I made sure I understood. Then she asked something strange.
"I checked through your files. Where do you keep your personal files? I just want to make sure I didn't affect them when I repartitioned."
"I don't have personal files. Except some stuff on my phone, which I never connect to the laptop."
"Oh."
I knew she was assuming the usual IT tech's license to rummage through whatever. And under the security procedures I'd established for the Room, nothing secure was to be kept electronically anyway, unless it was on a computer Janine had personally safed. Such as my laptop, just now.
"That reminds me of something. I know you are running rampant through the CLIENT network. What illicit uses are you noticing?"
"An absolute ton of personal file sharing. It's extremely unsafe to run a torrent or download over the external network connection, but there are several locally run servers. I can set you up for access."
"No need. Snag any useful documentaries on intelligence and put them on the PCs in here. Unless someone is shooting up a ton of red flags, I don't care about warez or pr0n."
"Got it."
###
The RTX was scheduled for tomorrow. 0800 hours. It was not going to be fun.
So I took off earlier, didn't do my usual evening checks, and returned to my cage in the Data Center.
I carefully locked the door and took off my gun belt, boots and pants.
Then I curled up to go to sleep.
###
The lock made a faint click in utter darkness. I knew in my sleep exactly where my handgun was.
"Smooth is fast."
So it was half a second later that I was coming up in a half naked crouch (lower half) with my handgun in my hands, weapon light on, acquiring a sight picture.
Sharon.
I holstered.
"Come in. And explain yourself."
She did. Rambling at first. First the ribald speculations from everyone I worked with. Then the stories of Betty and the VP-HR. Then other commentary, even the disgusting ones. Dogs? Really? At least they hadn't thought of My Sharona, so to speak. I couldn't figure out which would be worse - the intense but discreet surveillance whenever we visited the perimeter camp, or a discreetly arranged but horrific Michael Jackson moment. Finally she worked her way up to the shower we had shared.
I heard her out. I'd twitched my blanket over my junk, but I was still half naked.
I patted the bed next to me. A friendly gesture, not a smutty one.
She sat.
"Let me guess. You were going to search my phone again."
"Again?"
"I have some serious security software. It not only told me when but who. You should have just asked."
I opened my phone, opened the software that revealed the icon, typed in a long password, then opened the file directory. And passed the phone over.
She looked through it. Her eyebrows shot up.
"That's it?"
"That's it. I think of it as a necessary chore, like eating and sleeping and toilet. Nothing to waste time on. Wouldn't have mentioned it except that _most of my key staff_ seem to have acquired an obsession with my wang."
The object of the conversation twitched briefly under the blanket.
"I really enjoyed our shower. I don't want to do it again. I don't want to take it further. I know you're a professional's professional and that you can leave it there. Are we good?"
"We're good. Sir."
"Dismissed to your duties. And discreetly tell the others to keep their eyes off and hands out of my ... panties."
###
The RTX went off without a hitch.
Even though I was in a mood to kill someone.
You never know if your plans are going to work. Unless you carry them out. That means drills and exercises.
So despite the operational disruption, and despite the complaints, we were Going To Have An Exercise. The Site Location Executive and I saw completely eye to eye on this point. Everyone in the chain of command _between_ us did not.
Three days from now, we were going to simulate the campus coming under heavy external attack. The Reaction Force (corporate militia) would draw firearms and ammunition and move to staging areas, then to their defensive positions. The stretcher bearers would draw their equipment and report to their positions. The infirmary would prepare to receive mass casualties and also staff a dressing station at another location, which would be picked at the last minute. (Our medical staff was completely unenthused.)
Every part of the organization had its part in the Campus Defensive Plan. Security's part was threefold. 1) Execute the plan by calling the ball. 2) Hold the perimeter until augmented by Reaction Force arrival. 3) Maintain our own strike reserve by staffing all armed vehicles. 4) Maintain situational awareness for the Reaction Force commander. 5) Actually maintain security during the notional exercise - including internal security. 6) Implement and oversee the emergency action plan for the perimeter encampment. 7) Provide a notional _simulated_ adversary force. Note that word _simulated_. As the adversary force commander, I did not wish to be shot by our own folks. 8) Grade and evaluate the exercise results.
You notice I may have lied about merely threefold.
The final RTX (Real Tactical Exercise) planning meeting utterly conflicted with our weekly scheduled Ammunition Technical Working Group meeting. Because the ATWG meeting was absolutely critical, for reasons I did not want to share with anyone, I ordered its participants to continue with their meeting while I represented Security at the RTX planning meeting. Perhaps Major Anderson should have represented Security, but he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about or what he was doing, and therefore had been designated as the shadow for the Reaction Force commander - the person actually passing messages to and from the Security Control Center. In other words, I'd busted him all the way down to RTO and he didn't even realize it. Dumbass.
The meeting was precisely as time wasting and inane as I expected it to be. Fortunately, it was OK to work on one's laptop while attending meetings. So I was catching up on a mass of security observation tickets. Mind numbing but necessary.
###
"We managed a meeting without [Echo 18]. Finally," sighed Sharon.
Betty - Dr. Rize - stretched out on the rough wood picnic table. She didn't mind that most of the people present wanted to kill her. This was only partly because she didn't know.
"I've managed to recruit eighteen agents. Six of them are off campus. One of them is a contractor for H."
"Allah be praised," exclaimed Mo. "Do we have more info on H use of explosives?"
"Not much yet. Their Strike Force - troopers - carry flash bangs from a variety of manufacturers. Apparently there's a shortage of offensive, defensive and smoke grenades. As far as my informant knows, they don't have an organic bomb squad capability and they don't do explosive breaching."
"So where the hell are all these professional IEDs coming from?"
The site had suffered the wrath of several truck bombs. Fortunately for everyone, only one had detonated inside the campus. But it was getting to the point where every convoy had to worry about IEDs being placed on the routes. This had forced more frequent convoys on roads under campus observation, and less frequent convoys to other locations. At great personal risk, Mo(hammed) had defused one device - to discover a sophisticated cell phone detonator complete with timed detonation, remote detonation, antitamper and even tremble switching.
"H would like to know too. Suggesting strongly it's not them."
"Not necessarily. Their internal structure pits every leader against every other leader, apparently on purpose. One of them might have adopted a bomb maker."
The conversation continued with technicalities until the fragmentary knowledge of the team had been exhausted. Then Janine changed the subject sharply.
"What are we going to do to get [Echo 18] laid?"
"Is that possible?" Sarah exclaimed.
"What do you mean?" Janine arched an eyebrow.
"Look, we're all insiders here. I met the man while stark naked. I had just killed that fucker Robert with a flashlight to the throat. He didn't even look at my breasts! His eyes flickered between my hands and my face, the only thing he pointed at my chest was his handgun. I think he's gay."
Wyatt shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"Within five minutes of meeting the man, he shoved a nozzle up my ass. And it didn't even hurt. I thought he was your team medic. I seriously doubt he's gay. Maybe asexual?"
Sharon shook her head.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Remember that critical incident in the perimeter camp?"
"Which one?"
"The rape."
"Yeah. The guard had it coming."
"Well, what _really_ happened was...." and Sharon explained that Echo 18, not the victim, had been the one to murder the guard-turned-rapist.
"That's fucked up," more than one person exclaimed. Janine turned green.
"And then we took a shower. Together. Naked."
Mo and Wyatt exchanged a glance and subtly pushed back in their seats. This was rapidly becoming 'girl talk.'
"So what was it like?" Dr. Rize asked, squirming a little in her seat.
"There was no _it_. We just showered."
"But not gay?"
"No. Not gay." She sighed. "It would be really hard to overlook. Or miss."
"So what happened the next time you took a shower together?"
"Hasn't happened. The one time I suggested it, he did that lined-lip thing and walked off."
They had all learned when Echo 18's lips were in a flat line, it was unwise to push. He had a habit of making a cutting comment that came not from verbal judo, but verbal kendo with live blades - when he chose not to apply more direct negative corrective feedback.
"Has anyone else tried to get in some sack time with the boss?" Sarah asked.
There were several reasons why Sarah hadn't. First and foremost had been waiting to heal from her injuries, both above and below the belt. After that was the certainty that she had one or more venereal diseases, possibly even HIV. While she wasn't symptomatic, she'd had nonconsensual direct exposure to men who were. They would not be infecting anyone else. Or breathing for that matter. Then there was her newly acquired distaste for the bedroom sport, which she hoped to overcome sometime between now and when she died. Maybe. Last but not least, Echo 18 had her respect. She didn't generally fuck guys she respected, unless she was in a relationship. And a relationship with Echo 18 ... she suppressed the thought.
The group knew most of this, but no one - especially the guys - was going to bring it up.
What they didn't know that when the Marines had landed, Sarah had been half-dragged (the other half was her dragging them) into the bushes and in exchange for favors received, had managed to liberate various accountable items. Including a medium machine gun that now had its own mount on one of the trucks.
Echo 18 knew. And when he had seen her after the helicopter had taken off, crying and hugging a tire of a fire truck for fear of anything or anyone else, had taken her in his arms, hugged her for ten minutes, then slowly talked her down.
Dying for him would be easy, after that. But not fucking.
Betty shook her head.
"Yeah. I gave it a shot. It didn't go well..."
###
I was going through Dr. Rize's patient files, comparing them to my working notes. The good - actually, not so good bordering on suicidal - Doctor was watching as I did. A huge breach of patient confidentiality, but I was not playing this game for penny ante stakes. I would use any intel I could get.
I finished and closed the last file, handing the stack to Dr. Rize. She stumbled forward a little and I reached out an arm to keep her from falling.
The last time I'd had a handful of Betty had been when I'd taken the pistol in her mouth away from her rather suddenly and forcefully. I'd been focused on not having someone's brains blown out -- hers or mine.
This time I was a lot more alert to nuance. The fact that two of her four blouse buttons were undone, that she was wearing a black lacy bra, that she was _relaxing_ into my arms, and that she was leaning upward for a kiss.
So I stepped back and let her fall. Fortunately for her, her chest took most of the impact on the thin industrial carpet.
She looked up at me and sat up, pursing her lips and looking at my groin.
"You know, [Echo 18], you could do anything you wanted and I'd have to go along with it," she said throatily.
I had to nip this in the bud.
"I think we should keep things on a more _professional_ footing, Doctor," I said coldly. "I might have to discuss certain unpleasant facts with the SLE if we became unnecessarily ... personal."
###
Everyone winced except Dr. Rize.
"I haven't dared bring it up with him since."
Janine finally calmed down enough to lean forward.
"He's very not my type. Way too high strung and ... well ... psychotic. But I was talking with our VP of Human Resources last week..."
###
It had been an exhausting four hours. I was nearly blind from looking at spreadsheets. So was our VP-HR.
Every line was literally a life. This wasn't budget or spreadsheets. This was some poor bastard - and his or her family - casually shot in the back of the head. At least one life per line, sometimes several.
These were the spreadsheets we were about to E-mail to Homeland, accounting for each and every one of the H1-B visa holders we were willing to admit to.
She sighed, we double checked one last time, and she clicked on "SEND."
Then she leaned back and put her long, long legs up on the desk.
"Do you drink, [Echo 18]? Because I could really, really use a drink right now?"
"Sorry, ma'am, I don't. But I could probably scare up something for you. Vodka?" I reached for my wi-fi cell - this was not a request that should go out on radio.
She shook her head. "It was just a thought. I don't like having all these lives in my hands. How do you feel about it?"
"I really, really hate it. But if you don't do it, and I don't do it, who is going to? We do the ugly things to keep these people safe."
"Do you have anyone in your life?" she asked.
I already knew the reciprocal answer. She had had a husband and two children. The Firecracker had widowed her in ninety seconds. It had taken a few more hours to kill her children. One had made it to Stanford before dying a week later. It might have been touch and go with a bone marrow transplant. But her daughter simply hadn't met triage criteria. Those had to be saved for certainties, not chances.
"No," I said briefly. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"I'm very lonely," she said, apropos of nothing. "Everyone who works for [CLIENT] is either my subordinate or my superior. That substantially limits my potential dating pool."
I didn't judge. Of course I knew that people were bonding together, looking for comfort in a world gone mad. I'd had to go to some effort to overlook the less suitable and practical parings off, and put my foot down on nonconsensual or dangerous liaisons.
This potential liaison was incredibly dangerous. It violated an essential principle of compartmentalization.
"I understand and I sympathize," I lied quietly. "I don't judge. But my job requires me to make extremely difficult decisions. It would be awkward to sleep with someone I like, who is attractive and strong, and then have to ... do the ugly thing."
She blinked.
I held up my laptop.
"A computer file is weightless. But every one of these lives is so very heavy. There is a saying, 'Duty is heavier than mountains, death is lighter than a feather.' You deserve so much better than I can offer you, because duty has to come first. I am very flattered, but no."
She in turn blinked again.
"I appreciate your candor and integrity. I won't mention it again."
As someone who not only taught and enforced harassment rules in the workplace, but literally (post Firecracker) executed them, she had to accept a polite 'No.' But would she be capable of not taking it personally?
We would have to find out.
I put away my laptop and left.
###
"Damn," Wyatt exclaimed. "I mean, she's like a 12 out of 10."
"She was really, really impressed. And of course she has to sit on her hands to avoid asking him _again_, because that would really be a major issue. So she had to tell someone and she -- again, because I'm not an employee -- told me."
Mo stretched and stood up.
"So not women, not men ... and neither a powerful woman nor a helpless one ... not asexual. If you really want to pursue this project, has anyone talked to Alvin?"
"Alvin? The dog handler... oh wait. Yuck!" Sharon exclaimed.
"People are ... human. Oh, and you might want to ask Janitorial."
"Why Janitorial?" Wyatt asked.
"They still do the laundry and trash for the DC."
"That's snooping. No, that's just _low."
"This whole subject is low. But I do agree. Allah enjoins us to lifesaving deeds, and getting our boss ... laid ... is probably going to save some lives. Maybe a lot of them."
On that dubious note, Mo left the meeting to go work on explosive.
The rest broke up to pursue their duties in various ways. And a new side project.
###
"Oh, no, we change his sheets once a week. Towels in the data center restroom. He carries a washcloth in a baggie, but he washes it himself. You know ... the wiping."
Wyatt was increasingly sorry he'd asked. But any piece of intel was helpful.
###
"Look, Janine, I think I know what you're hinting at, and that is _nasty_. Not only is it cruelty to animals, and nasty, but it deeply disturbs the victim animal. I mean making the animal useless for any work. There's a reason why farm boys fuck goats and sheep and cows if they're desperate ... but not dogs or horses."
"Grant him any fetish you like. Can you see Echo 18 damaging site security?"
###
Sharon keyed into the Data Center cage. She knew Echo 18 was in his daily evening meeting with Major Anderson. But she would only have a few minutes.
She had his mobile phone PIN. And for once the phone was there.
She opened the file manager and searched for videos. There were dozens, mostly work related, but a few movies.
"The Princess Bride" ...?
The rest were movies, ranging from PG through R. She briefly checked them to see if the file names matched the contents - they did - then nearly dropped the phone. Time up.
The man doesn't even have porn on his phone?!?
###
We met in the File Storage Room.
Janine handed me back my laptop. She explained about the new dual boot and secure OS that could be accessed with an unusual keystroke combination and the flash stick. But it had to be plugged into a particular port.
I made sure I understood. Then she asked something strange.
"I checked through your files. Where do you keep your personal files? I just want to make sure I didn't affect them when I repartitioned."
"I don't have personal files. Except some stuff on my phone, which I never connect to the laptop."
"Oh."
I knew she was assuming the usual IT tech's license to rummage through whatever. And under the security procedures I'd established for the Room, nothing secure was to be kept electronically anyway, unless it was on a computer Janine had personally safed. Such as my laptop, just now.
"That reminds me of something. I know you are running rampant through the CLIENT network. What illicit uses are you noticing?"
"An absolute ton of personal file sharing. It's extremely unsafe to run a torrent or download over the external network connection, but there are several locally run servers. I can set you up for access."
"No need. Snag any useful documentaries on intelligence and put them on the PCs in here. Unless someone is shooting up a ton of red flags, I don't care about warez or pr0n."
"Got it."
###
The RTX was scheduled for tomorrow. 0800 hours. It was not going to be fun.
So I took off earlier, didn't do my usual evening checks, and returned to my cage in the Data Center.
I carefully locked the door and took off my gun belt, boots and pants.
Then I curled up to go to sleep.
###
The lock made a faint click in utter darkness. I knew in my sleep exactly where my handgun was.
"Smooth is fast."
So it was half a second later that I was coming up in a half naked crouch (lower half) with my handgun in my hands, weapon light on, acquiring a sight picture.
Sharon.
I holstered.
"Come in. And explain yourself."
She did. Rambling at first. First the ribald speculations from everyone I worked with. Then the stories of Betty and the VP-HR. Then other commentary, even the disgusting ones. Dogs? Really? At least they hadn't thought of My Sharona, so to speak. I couldn't figure out which would be worse - the intense but discreet surveillance whenever we visited the perimeter camp, or a discreetly arranged but horrific Michael Jackson moment. Finally she worked her way up to the shower we had shared.
I heard her out. I'd twitched my blanket over my junk, but I was still half naked.
I patted the bed next to me. A friendly gesture, not a smutty one.
She sat.
"Let me guess. You were going to search my phone again."
"Again?"
"I have some serious security software. It not only told me when but who. You should have just asked."
I opened my phone, opened the software that revealed the icon, typed in a long password, then opened the file directory. And passed the phone over.
She looked through it. Her eyebrows shot up.
"That's it?"
"That's it. I think of it as a necessary chore, like eating and sleeping and toilet. Nothing to waste time on. Wouldn't have mentioned it except that _most of my key staff_ seem to have acquired an obsession with my wang."
The object of the conversation twitched briefly under the blanket.
"I really enjoyed our shower. I don't want to do it again. I don't want to take it further. I know you're a professional's professional and that you can leave it there. Are we good?"
"We're good. Sir."
"Dismissed to your duties. And discreetly tell the others to keep their eyes off and hands out of my ... panties."
###
The RTX went off without a hitch.
Even though I was in a mood to kill someone.