Free Face, The by Angela Hunt Page B

you rotate medical personnel in and out—”
    “They follow procedures. And they have clearance.”
    “You could see that my aunt gets clearance. Mr. Traut would arrange it, if you asked him to.”
    My comment is as much compliment as challenge, and she’s quick to recognize both aspects. “Don’t toy with me, Sarah. I know you too well.”
    But I know her, too. She’s my mentor, protector, and guardian, but I won’t let her be my jailer. At one point Baby had to stand up to her father, didn’t she? A girl doesn’t get to dance with Johnny Castle if she meekly obeys every command.
    I return her stare with deadly concentration. “Look, I’ve given the company every free hour since I finished my schooling. I don’t ask for much, but I do want this meeting. Write Dr. Carey and invite her to visit me.”
    “I fail to see how that would be prudent.”
    “If you don’t write her, I’ll contact her myself.”
    When Dr. Mewton hesitates, I know she’s wondering if she could find a way to block me. There are firewalls and safeguards built into every system on this island, but I know how to hack most of them. If given time and the opportunity, I could find a way to reach almost anyone, and Dr. M knows it.
    My director taps her fingertips on the desk. “I don’t know how long ago this woman applied for clearance, but the process can be quite involved. And it will take time to follow the proper procedures.”
    I’ve waited twenty years to hear from a family member, so what’s a few more weeks or months? “You said she was stubborn.”
    Dr. Mewton manages a choking laugh. “True. But no matter how we arrange it, she’ll have to come alone.”
    “Why would that be a problem?”
    Dr. M shrugs. “Some women don’t enjoy traveling alone, particularly out of the country. I have no idea how she’ll react to this stipulation, of course, but she might not be willing to go through such trouble. Still, if she is…I suppose we could arrange a meeting.”
    “Good. Thank you.”
    “But don’t be surprised if she decides not to follow through,” Dr. Mewton warns as I stand. “Not every woman is willing to fly across the Atlantic to visit a place that doesn’t exist.”

Chapter Fifteen
    Renee
    D uring the first week of June, a full fourteen months after I applied for a security clearance, I open a plain white envelope that arrives in the afternoon office mail. The envelope is postmarked with zip code 20205, which, I have learned from my lawyer, is the unique postal code assigned to CIA headquarters at Langley.
    Inside the envelope are two pages: the first informs me that my application for employment as a staff psychologist is under consideration; the second advises me to report to CIA headquarters in McLean, Virginia, at 10:00 a.m. on June 27. I must bring an official ID with photograph, my birth certificate, and any information that might help resolve questions about alien registration, delinquent loans or taxes, bankruptcy, judgments, agreements involving child custody or support, alimony or property settlements, arrests, convictions, probation, and/or parole.
    I’m tempted to bring a TV Guide with my favorite programs highlighted, just in case they ask for more information.
    For the first time in my life, I’m grateful I never had children. In the five years since my divorce, my life has remained boring and uncomplicated—no arrests, no bankruptcies, no convictions or parole violations. The only blemish on my record is my penchant for speeding, so if I offer canceled checks as evidence that I’ve made peace with the traffic court, perhaps I can be forgiven.
    I immediately buzz Becky and ask her to clear my calendar for the morning of June 27. “On second thought,” I add, “maybe you’d better clear the entire day. I have no idea how long I’ll be tied up.”
    “Something official?” she asks.
    “Something…important. And if I tell you any more…”
    “I know, you’ll have to kill me.” She sighs,