Free Nefarious (The Blackwell Files Book 1) by Mr. Steven F. Freeman

interruption of their other friends. He was happy to observe Carlyle doze off almost immediately.
    “I may be mistaken, Mallory,” said Alton, “but it seems to me that you actually like your work.”
    “Love it,” replied Mallory.
    “Army accounting? Really? No offense, but I can’t think of a more boring or tedious job in the world.” A sharp left turn sent Mallory jostling into Alton’s side. His heart quickened, followed by self-chastisement. What am I? A middle-schooler? Besides, we’re just friends.
    “Boring, huh? And that’s based on your vast experience in the Quartermaster Corps, is it?” countered Mallory sweetly. “I know it may sound crazy to you, but I really do enjoy the logistical challenges of military accounting. Its complexity—and potential for abuse—are what make it interesting. The labyrinth of Army paperwork is like a puzzle waiting to be solved.”
    Alton shook his head. “I suppose one of the keys to happiness is enjoying your work, whatever it may be.” He thought for a moment. “What did you mean, ‘potential for abuse’?”
    “The Army’s paperwork and accounting procedures are so complex that it’s easy for people to hide their true intentions. That’s where I come in.”
    Alton wondered why he kept hoping David would make another left turn. He nonetheless continued the rhythm of the conversation without missing a beat. “So your job is to catch paperwork abusers? Is it really that serious?”
    “It can be. Sometimes it’s minor, people just trying to bill some other unit for their own unit’s expenses. At other times it’s serious—someone embezzling from the Army. For instance, let’s say Sergeant Smith submits a ‘bill’ from ‘Kabul Office Supplies,’ a fictitious supplier he made up. The Army cuts a check and sends it to the ‘supplier.’ Sergeant Smith deposits the check into a bank account under the name of ‘Kabul Office Supplies,’ an account he opened himself and from which he can withdraw the money anytime he chooses. That’ll earn you a trip to Ft. Leavenworth when you’re caught.”
    “’ When you’re caught,’ not ‘ if you’re caught’?” asked Alton.
    “Not when I’m around,” replied Mallory. “There’s always a paper trail, and I’m good at what I do.” She tipped up the bottle of Coors Light she had brought with her from the Lodge and swallowed the last dregs. “How about you, Alton? I have to say you don’t seem to be very enthused about your work.”
    Alton would have preferred to avoid the subject of his job, but he couldn’t sidestep the question. As if in confirmation of fate conspiring against him, their car took a sharp right turn, and Mallory fell over against the sleeping Carlyle. Alton silently rejoiced when the man did not awaken.
    “You’re right,” replied Alton when Mallory once again sat upright. “I love cryptography, always have. It was my major in college. What I like best, though, is applying it in the battlefield, where it matters the most.”
    The road gods seemed to cast a friendlier eye on Alton. David spun the wheel hard into a left turn, sending Mallory careening into him once again.
    “Sorry,” laughed Mallory self-consciously. “I can’t help it—”
    “No worries,” replied Alton, lowering his eyes to the floor, a little fearful to meet her penetrating gaze.
    “Al—,” began David, suddenly chiming in.
    “It’s ‘Alton,’ not ‘Al,’” replied his friend.
    “Don’t be modest, Al,” said David, grinning at the unilaterally-assigned nickname. “Everybody in C 2 knows you were a rising star in the Telecom Security function. From what I hear, you were one of the few people in the field who really understood how to bridge the gap between the classroom and the battlefield. Everyone says you were damn good at your field job.”
    A wistful feeling swept through Alton. “I guess I’ll just have to be damn good at something else now.”
    “Why?” asked Mallory. “Aren’t