Free Point of Impact by Tom Clancy Page B
Authors: Tom Clancy
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Science-Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Computers, Technological, Political Fiction, Secret service, Crisis Management in Government - United States, Crisis Management in Government, Computers - United States, Secret Service - United States
come to argue about the military's checkered history. And whatever happened, we can hardly blame General Howard, can we?"
Jay shut up, having expressed his standing liberal attitude.
"All right. If there's nothing further, I've got a ton of files to review."
Forty-five minutes later, as Michaels sat developing eyestrain scanning computer files using his new sharp-goggles, supposedly designed to keep the letters so clear you wouldn't get eyestrain, there was a tap at his door.
"Jay."
"Boss. I uploaded what I could find on this George guy. I didn't know if you'd get to it before he showed up."
"Thanks, Jay, I appreciate it."
After Jay left, Michaels found the file and read through it. Not much. There was a brief bio on Zachary George, place and date of birth, education, family, and shorter work history. Seemed Mr. George had been with the NSA since leaving college fifteen years ago, and the only references to his status there was a GS number only a grade below Michaels's own before he was booted upstairs.
"Sir?" came the voice of his secretary over the com. "Your nine o'clock is here."
Well, speak of the devil. "Show him in."
Mr. George wasn't particularly impressive upon first look. Average height, average weight, brown hair cut short but not too short, fair skin, and clothes that were standard midlevel bureaucrat: a gray suit expensive enough to look decent, not so expensive as to stand out in your memory. Black leather shoes. Put him in a room with four other people, and he'd be invisible. The guy in the comer who looked totally average? No, no, not him, the guy next to him.
Michaels stood and extended his hand. "Mr. George."
"Commander. Good of you to see me."
"Well, we like to keep relations good with our fellow agencies. Spirit of cooperation and all."
"With all due respect, sir, bullshit. Almost anybody at my agency would cut the throats of everybody at yours if they thought it would gain them two brownie points at review time. And that's pretty much my experience with all the security agencies I've dealt with."
Michaels had to smile at that. "Don't sugarcoat it that way, tell me what you really think."
George returned the smile, and whatever he was up to, he was interesting.
"Have a seat."
The NSA man sat, leaned back, crossed his ankle over his knee. "You figured out what it is I'm up to yet?"
"I have some thoughts. Why don't you just tell me?"
George smiled again. It started on the right side and worked its way across his face. "Well, sir, I don't want to make it too easy for you."
"Much as I'd like to fence with you, I do have a couple of other things on my plate. Twenty questions isn't high on the list. Talk or walk."
George nodded, as if that was what he expected to hear. "Sir. You may be aware that there are qualities connected to this drug we spoke of that might be of use to certain of our military organizations."
"That thought has crossed my mind."
"As it happens, my agency has a ... research facility engaged in studying certain pharmaceutical aids for possible use in ... field operations."
"Really?"
"More information is need-to-know, I'm sorry. Suffice it to say, we would be very interested in speaking with the chemist who has come up with this compound when you find him."
"Why aren't you talking to the DEA?"
George smiled. "We have. Frankly, we don't think the DEA has much of a chance of catching the guy."
"It is their area of expertise, isn't it?"
"Then why did they come to you for help?"
That was a good point, but Michaels didn't speak to it. Instead, he said, "And why didn't you just go after the dealer on your own? NSA has a finger in just about every pie there is, don't they?"
"True. And as a result, we are stretched somewhat thin. Net Force has had some excellent results in its short history, and continuing to speak frankly, your computer operatives are better than anybody else's. Including ours. You probably know we've tried to, ah ... recruit some of them."
Michaels
Jay shut up, having expressed his standing liberal attitude.
"All right. If there's nothing further, I've got a ton of files to review."
Forty-five minutes later, as Michaels sat developing eyestrain scanning computer files using his new sharp-goggles, supposedly designed to keep the letters so clear you wouldn't get eyestrain, there was a tap at his door.
"Jay."
"Boss. I uploaded what I could find on this George guy. I didn't know if you'd get to it before he showed up."
"Thanks, Jay, I appreciate it."
After Jay left, Michaels found the file and read through it. Not much. There was a brief bio on Zachary George, place and date of birth, education, family, and shorter work history. Seemed Mr. George had been with the NSA since leaving college fifteen years ago, and the only references to his status there was a GS number only a grade below Michaels's own before he was booted upstairs.
"Sir?" came the voice of his secretary over the com. "Your nine o'clock is here."
Well, speak of the devil. "Show him in."
Mr. George wasn't particularly impressive upon first look. Average height, average weight, brown hair cut short but not too short, fair skin, and clothes that were standard midlevel bureaucrat: a gray suit expensive enough to look decent, not so expensive as to stand out in your memory. Black leather shoes. Put him in a room with four other people, and he'd be invisible. The guy in the comer who looked totally average? No, no, not him, the guy next to him.
Michaels stood and extended his hand. "Mr. George."
"Commander. Good of you to see me."
"Well, we like to keep relations good with our fellow agencies. Spirit of cooperation and all."
"With all due respect, sir, bullshit. Almost anybody at my agency would cut the throats of everybody at yours if they thought it would gain them two brownie points at review time. And that's pretty much my experience with all the security agencies I've dealt with."
Michaels had to smile at that. "Don't sugarcoat it that way, tell me what you really think."
George returned the smile, and whatever he was up to, he was interesting.
"Have a seat."
The NSA man sat, leaned back, crossed his ankle over his knee. "You figured out what it is I'm up to yet?"
"I have some thoughts. Why don't you just tell me?"
George smiled again. It started on the right side and worked its way across his face. "Well, sir, I don't want to make it too easy for you."
"Much as I'd like to fence with you, I do have a couple of other things on my plate. Twenty questions isn't high on the list. Talk or walk."
George nodded, as if that was what he expected to hear. "Sir. You may be aware that there are qualities connected to this drug we spoke of that might be of use to certain of our military organizations."
"That thought has crossed my mind."
"As it happens, my agency has a ... research facility engaged in studying certain pharmaceutical aids for possible use in ... field operations."
"Really?"
"More information is need-to-know, I'm sorry. Suffice it to say, we would be very interested in speaking with the chemist who has come up with this compound when you find him."
"Why aren't you talking to the DEA?"
George smiled. "We have. Frankly, we don't think the DEA has much of a chance of catching the guy."
"It is their area of expertise, isn't it?"
"Then why did they come to you for help?"
That was a good point, but Michaels didn't speak to it. Instead, he said, "And why didn't you just go after the dealer on your own? NSA has a finger in just about every pie there is, don't they?"
"True. And as a result, we are stretched somewhat thin. Net Force has had some excellent results in its short history, and continuing to speak frankly, your computer operatives are better than anybody else's. Including ours. You probably know we've tried to, ah ... recruit some of them."
Michaels