“You like it? It’s got elegance, hasn’t it?” The sergeant turned his wrist to show the band.
“It’s amazing what these people can do.” Hudro produced the watch he had just bought in the Terran sector. “What do you think of that?”
“Wow! Pretty nice.”
“I just got it—for someone when I get back home.”
The sergeant held it admiringly alongside his own. “Do you know something?” he confessed. “I don’t even know how to read what they say.”
“Me neither,” Hudro whispered as he took it back. There was a rapport. So at least he had a friend here already if the need arose. Infiltration training. Think and prepare.
Outside the building, he found a quiet spot and used his phone to call the Terran number of the Hyadean intelligence unit at the Brazilian police facility in Acre province that Yassem worked with. A clerk located her and transferred the call.
“Who is this?” her voice asked.
“The guy who questions.”
“Yes?” Since he hadn’t used his name, she knew the subject was sensitive.
“We need to talk privately. Here’s where I’ll be to take it.” He read out the code he had copied for Uyali Headquarters Command. “Make it thirty minutes. There’s something slightly wrong that’ll need straightening out. That’s important. Okay?”
“Okay. . . .” There was anxiety in her tone. “Is there—”
“Later.”
Yassem would know what to do. The remark about something being slightly wrong was a code they had agreed previously for emergencies.
Hudro went back into the Administration Center, sent a cheerful nod to the desk sergeant, and made his way up to the Headquarters Command office. The female captain was still at the desk. Hudro approached her.
“Yes?” she inquired.
“My name is Hudro.” He showed his identification.
“Sir!”
“I was here earlier. I’m expecting a call on a secure channel. Did it come through yet?”
“I haven’t heard anything.” The captain called a log onto a screen and consulted it. “I’m sorry, there’s no sign yet.”
“Thanks.”
Hudro took a seat, browsed through some journals again, and made a show of looking irritable and restless. “Are you sure there isn’t anything through for a Colonel Hudro?” he called over to her ten minutes later.
She checked again. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Two soldiers appeared, conducted a brief conversation, and were taken by a clerk to one of the rooms. “Who’s your commanding officer?” Hudro demanded after another ten minutes or so.
“That would be Major Sloorn, sir.” She was getting rattled. Just what he wanted. He sat glaring at the folio, flipping the pages and moving his head in short, jerky movements. Finally, her voice almost cracking with relief, the captain called, “Colonel Hudro, sir!”
“Yes!” He got up and strode over.
But already she was looking uncertain. “A secure-channel call just came in. . . . But it’s specifying a Colonel Mudro. I don’t know if . . .”
“Well, of course it’s the one!” Hudro snapped. “Some native clerk somewhere.”
“Well, I really should call them back and . . .”
“Look, this is an important matter, and I need privacy. I’ve waited long enough. Where can I take it? Just connect it through, please.”
“Room 1304. It’s just along the corridor.”
“Thank you.” Hudro strode away in the direction she indicated. Being a communications specialist with an intelligence unit, Yassem would be able to make the call without its being logged as official procedure required. In the past, some of the things she had managed to extract from official files had been astounding. Misspelling his name by one letter—the “something slightly wrong”—would be a fairly elementary error—to any person. But it meant that the surveillance computers wouldn’t have found a match.
A minute later, he was looking at the features of Yassem. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Where are you? Still in Bolivia? That was the longest half hour I’ve ever spent. I’ve been so worried!”
“I’m not hurt or anything. But I might have been compromised. If so, then we might have to move our plans forward and get out right away. Is that still what you want to do?”
Yassem swallowed and nodded her head. “If we must.”