Fisher’s in the window. He never took his eyes off her, and she
doubted if he was all that interested at the moment in how her backside
and long legs looked in the black knee-length skirt and matching
stockings she was wearing.
As she stood there her ears picked up on a sound they usually didn’t:
the “white noise.” At sensitive government facilities windows were
potential outlets for valuable information, namely speech. To plug
this leak, speakers were mounted at the windows in these facilities to
filter out the sound of voices such that anyone lurking outside with
the fanciest in surveillance equipment would end up with zip. The
speakers accomplished this by emitting a sound akin to a small
waterfall, hence the term “white noise.” Reynolds, like most employees
in such buildings, had tuned out the background noise; it was such a
daily part of her life. Now she noticed it with stunning clarity. Was
that a signal to her to notice other things as well? Things, people
she saw every day and then thought no more of, accepting them for what
they proclaimed to be? She turned to face Fisher.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Paul.”
“Your career has been nothing short of spectacular. But the public
sector is often like the private in one regard: It’s the ‘what have you
done for me lately?” syndrome. I’m not going to sugarcoat this,
Brooke. I’ve already started to hear the rumblings.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I appreciate your complete
bluntness,” she said coldly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what I can
do for you lately, Agent Fisher.”
As Fisher rose to leave, he moved next to her, touching her lightly on
the shoulder. Reynolds recoiled slightly from this, the bite of his
words still smarting.
“I’ve always supported you, and I will continue to support you, Brooke.
Don’t read this as though I’m throwing you to the wolves. I’m not. I
respect the hell out of you. I just didn’t want you to be blindsided
on this. You don’t deserve that. This messenger is friendly.”
“That’s good to know, Paul,” she said unenthusiastically.
When he reached the door, he turned back. “We’re handling the media
relations from WFO. We’ve already had inquiries from the press. For
now, an agent was killed during an undercover operation. No other
details were provided, including his identity. That won’t last long.
And when the dam breaks, I’m not sure who can keep dry.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, a cold shudder hit Reynolds. She
felt as though she were being suspended over a vat of boiling
something. Was it her old paranoia kicking in? Or was it simply her
reasoned judgment? She kicked her shoes off and paced her office,
stepping over the paper land mines as she did so. She rocked on the
balls of her feet, trying to guide the massive tension she was feeling
throughout her body toward the floor. It didn’t come close to
working.
CHAPTER 19
THE RECENTLY RENAMED RONALD REAGAN Washington National Airport, which
everyone in the area still simply called “National,” was very busy this
morning. It was loved for its convenience to the city and its numerous
daily flights, and hated for its congestion, short runways and
stomach-jolting tight turns to avoid restricted airspace. However, the
airport’s new sparkling terminal with its row of Jeffersonian-inspired
domes and hulking, multi tiered parking garages with sky walks to the
terminal were very welcome to the hassled air traveler.
Lee and Faith entered the new terminal, where Lee eyed a police officer
patrolling the corridor. They had left the car in one of the parking
lots.
Faith watched the policeman’s movements too. She was wearing
“eyeglasses” that Lee had given her. The lenses were ordinary glass,
but they helped to further change her look. She touched Lee’s arm.
“Nervous?”
“Always. It kind of gives me an edge. Makes up for a serious lack of
formal schooling.” He put their bags over his shoulder. “Let’s grab a
cup of coffee and let the line at the ticket counter die down a little,
scope the place out.” As they looked for a coffee shop, he asked, “Any