particular force. “You haven’t told anyone, have you? Particularly not
your wife.”
“No. Who the hell would I tell? Who would believe me?”
“You’d be surprised. Just remember: Anyone you tell is in danger, just
as you are.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jason snapped back. “So what are the
details?”
“Not now. Soon. The usual channels. Hang in there, Jason. We’re
almost through the tunnel.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope the damn thing doesn’t collapse on me before
then.”
The response drew a small chuckle and then the line went dead.
Jason slipped his thumb out of the fingerprint scanner, spoke his name
into the small speaker mounted on the wall and patiently waited as the
computer matched his thumb and voice prints to the ones residing in its
massive files. He smiled and nodded at the uniformed security guard
sitting at a large console in the middle of the eighth-floor reception
area. Jason was conscious of the name TRITON G/OBAL spelled out in
foot-long silver letters behind the guard’s broad back.
“Too bad they don’t give you the authority to just let me in, Charlie.
You know, one human being to another.”
Charlie was a large black man in his early sixties, with a bald head and
a quick wit.
“Hell, Jason, for all I know you could be Saddam Hussein in disguise.
These days you can’t trust outward appearances. Nice sweater, by the
way, Saddam.” Charlie chuckled. “Besides, how could this big,
sophisticated company possibly trust the judgment of a little old
security guard like me when they got all these gadgets to tell them
who’s who? Computers are king, Jason. The sad truth is human beings
don’t measure up anymore.”
“Don’t sound so depressed, Charlie. Technology has its good points.
Hey, I tell you what, why don’t we switch jobs for a while?
Then you can see the good stuff.” Jason grinned.
“Sure thing, Jason. I’ll go play with all those million-dollar toys and
you can go sniffing around the rest room every thirty minutes looking
for bad guys. I won’t even charge you for use of the uniform.
Of course, if we switch jobs we also switch paychecks. I wouldn’t want
you to miss out on a windfall like seven bucks an hour. It’s only
fair.”
“You’re too damn smart for your own good, Charlie.”
Charlie laughed and went back to studying the numerous TV monitors
mounted into the console.
As the massive door opened on whisper-quiet hinges, the smile on Jason’s
face abruptly disappeared. He moved through the opening.
Striding down the hallway, he pulled something from his coat pocket. It
was the size and shape of a typical credit card and was also made of
plastic.
Jason stopped in front of a doorway. The card slid neatly into the slot
in the metal box bolted to the door. The microchip buried within the
card silently communicated with its counterpart attached to the portal.
Jason’s index finger pecked four times at the adjacent numeric pad.
There was an audible click. He gripped the doorknob, turned it and the
three-inch-thick door swung back into the darkened space.
As the lights came on, Jason was illuminated briefly in the doorway.
He quickly closed the door; the twin dead bolts slid back into place. As
he looked around the neatly arranged office, his hands were shaking and
his heart was beating so hard he was absolutely certain it could be
heard throughout the entire building. This was not the first time. It
was far from the first time. He allowed himself a brief smile as he
focused on the fact that this would be the last time. Regardless of
what happened, this was it. Everyone had a limit, and tonight he had
reached his.
He moved to the desk, sat down and turned on the computer. Attached to
the monitor was a small microphone mounted on a long flexible metal neck
that one could speak into for voice commands.
Jason impatiently pushed it out of the way so he would have a clear view
of the computer screen. His back ramrod straight, eyes glued to the
screen, hands poised to strike, he was now clearly in his element.