Free Silent Assassin by Leo J. Maloney

intelligence long enough that he was always wearing the mask when he was out in public. And so, it was with a semblance of perfect calm and collection that he crossed the three lanes of Madison Drive to the Mall, where he was about to commit treason.
    As he walked past the tourists looking at their maps and pointing at landmarks, the word was swimming in his mind. Aegis . It had been lurking in his head for months now. But once he’d resolved to do this, it had started to insinuate itself into his conscious thoughts. He heard it reverberate in his head as he was falling asleep, or after long stretches of silence, cryptic, its significance escaping him. Aegis . In ancient Greece, it had been the name of the shield of the gods, and their insignia, conferring authority and knowledge along with protection on its wearer.
    But from what he had been told, Aegis meant something else too. Something that, like the word in his head, was also mysterious, also hidden, and also a constant presence. He dreaded what he was about to do. It was, he kept telling himself, for the good of his country. Of the world. It might help him stop this ongoing slaughter, and that was worth it. But he could never forget that, like in any deal with the devil, he did not truly comprehend the full potential consequences of what he was about to undertake.
    He shook these thoughts from his head and looked for the man he’d come to meet here, near the oaks across the street from the Smithsonian columns. The man, however, found him first.
    “Mr. Chapman,” came the greeting. Chapman turned around to see the person he was there to meet. The man himself was unremarkable. He looked like he might be a lobbyist or political advisor. Nothing about him would lead anyone to give him a second look. Except that, even with his glasses, Chapman could see that his face was devoid of any kind of expression. A cipher. You wouldn’t know by looking at him that this might be one of the most powerful men in Washington. Maybe one of the most powerful in the entire world.
    “My name,” the man said, “is Mr. Smith.”
     
     
    “So, you got something for me?” Morgan asked.
    Grant Lowry stepped aside to admit him into his home, a dark and unkempt apartment boasting stains on dirty carpets and an empty pizza box on the coffee table.
    “No, ‘hello, nice to see you, old friend’?” Lowry asked.
    “Hello, nice to see you, old friend,” said Morgan obligingly. “How’ve you been?”
    Grant Lowry was a computer programmer who’d been a friend of Morgan’s back when he worked for the CIA. They had struck up an unlikely friendship during Morgan’s service, and they had come through for each other enough times before so that Morgan trusted him implicitly.
    “Same old, except for all this shit that’s going on,” he said, walking through his apartment, and into the kitchen. “The Agency’s abuzz day and night, and Carr’s been on the warpath. Plus, we’ve got this special presidential task force breathing down our necks.” He opened the refrigerator. “Beer?”
    “It’s ten a.m.,” said Morgan. He looked at the pile of dishes and pots in the sink and grimaced.
    “It’s my day off, and it’s bad enough I’m stuck running errands for your sorry ass.” He twisted the cap off the beer bottle and took a swig.
    “So, you have something for me?”
    Lowry nodded, then swallowed a mouthful of beer. “Over this way.”
    For all the mess in his apartment, he had an impressive setup for his computer—four monitors, dual keyboard, and a couple of gadgets Morgan didn’t recognize, all on some kind of specialized piece of furniture that kept everything cool and adjustable. Lowry brought up an image on one of the monitors, which was upright. It showed a wire-frame rendering of the building that housed Zeta Division headquarters.
    “These are the final blueprints for the building,” he said. “Exactly what the developers used to actually build the thing, including