Free The Elizabethan Secret (Lang Reilly Series Book 9) by Gregg Loomis

office of any intelligence agency is the ‘Classified’ rubber stamp.”
                  There was a pause as Seimz and Rogers looked at each other again, each expecting the other to reply.
                  “Puts us in a bind,” Seimz finally said. “Our orders are to find out what you bought. Hell, no one told us why, just do it.”
                  “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt,” Lang said dryly. “Truth of the matter, I’m not sure what it is other than there’s a good chance it belonged to the Elizabethan John Dee.”
                  “As in Queen Elizabeth I?” Rogers asked.
                  “Yes. Anyway, I bought it for a friend who’s interested in stuff like that. I might be able to help you if I knew why it’s important.”
                  “Any chance you’d loan it to us, to The Office, let us determine what it is?” Rogers wanted to know.
                  Lang grinned. “As you said, I spent some time with the Agency. One thing I learned: Never trust the government, particularly government spooks.”
                  Seimz stood. “I take that as a ‘no’.”
                  “Good guess, George.”
                  There was a moment of silence.
                  This conversation has more stops and starts than a MARTA bus.
                  Lang nodded toward the door. “On your way out, you might apologize to the nice grandmotherly type at the reception desk.”
                  The pair got to their feet. Lang was not surprised they did so at the same time.
                  “Mr. Reilly, you are being less than a patriotic American,” Rogers offered.
                  Lang favored them with a smile that had little humor in it. “Since when did ONI become the official arbiter of patriotism? Not only did I serve my country, I deem it unpatriotic as well as stupid to mindlessly submit to government requests no matter how unreasonable they may be. Tyranny thrives in direct proportion to the erosion of individual liberty. My opinion is we have gone too far down that road already. But so much for my somewhat antiquated beliefs. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
                  Neither made any effort to apologize to Sara.
                  She stood in the doorway as Lang related what had happened.
                  When he had finished, she shook her head, “Maybe you should have given them the thingamajig. I never had a pleasant experience with government.”
                  Lang thought about it. Neither had he, at least not since he had resigned from the Agency.
                 
                  He sat back down at his desk, thinking. The Russians wanted the, the. . . whatever it was. He guessed Naval Intelligence (a true oxymoron, in his opinion) had somehow picked up on the fact without knowing exactly what it was.
                  He frowned before pushing the old-fashioned intercom on his desk.
    “Sara, would you please get Dr. Abram Wildstein on the phone for me?”
     

14.
    Physics Building
    837 State Street
    Georgia Tech Campus
    4:15 That Afternoon
     
                  The physics building was an unmemorable modern red brick edifice totally at odds with the 1888 Victorian tower that appears on the school’s logo. Unlike much of the campus, its profile was softened by a grove of trees and a rare swath of grass littered with students taking advantage of today’s sneak preview of spring.
                  Lang checked the note he had left on his iPhone and pushed his way through glass doors. A short way down a hallway was Lecture Room 5, featuring stadium-style seating. At the center, leaning over a table stacked with papers was Dr. Abram Wildstein.
                  Perhaps by coincidence but more