Free The Regional Office Is Under Attack!: A Novel by Manuel Gonzales

you’re not the jokiest person I know, but, really? We’re under attack? Guns a-blazing attack?”
    “Minus the guns, yes, we’re under attack, or I’m pretty sure we will be.” She paused. “Actually, there might be guns.”
    “Cool,” Wendy said, and then so she wouldn’t get a second look or worse, said, “I mean, not cool as in ‘awesome,’ but.” She paused. “How very interesting.” She paused again. “So, is this new intel from one of the Ops?” she asked. “Or something from the Oracles?”
    “Look at the list, will you?” Sarah said, ignoring her questions, not yet ready to mention to anyone else the letter on her door, the information inside it. “Keep it between you and me for now. I would prefer not to have people in a panic all day, and maybe if we work real hard at it, we can stop it before it becomes too interesting. Hmm?”
    “Oh. Stop it?”
    Sarah sighed, spun in her chair to look at Wendy, to make sure it was Wendy and not, who knew, Jacob in a Wendy outfit. “I’m sorry, but are you feeling okay? Yeah, I think we can all agree that we should stop the attack. Right? Stop it?”
    “Oh, yeah, sorry, it’s just that, well, you said we were under attack and I thought you meant, like, right now, that we were in the middle of it, that’s all.” Wendy cleared her throat. “Stop it, definitely. Stop the attack
before
it happens. That’s definitely what we should do.”
    “Great. Glad we’re all caught up. The names, please?” Sarah went back to the drawings. What was she missing, what had she missed, where were the flaws? She wanted it all narrowed down, the attack scenario and her counterattack options worked up and presentable before the end of the day, but there was something missing. She couldn’t pinpoint what, but there was something. She could sense it.
    Wendy hadn’t moved. Sarah stopped and took a deep breath and rubbed one of her eyes with her thumb. “What, Wendy?”
    “Should we tell Mr. Niles?”
    “How do you know I haven’t told him already?”
    “Right, sorry. What did Mr. Niles say?”
    Sarah’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t feel the weight of her mechanical arm, that’s how it had been designed, but this morning, she could feel the weight of it pulling her down, she swore she could.
    “We’ll tell him when we have something more concrete, how about that? We don’t . . . storm into his office with six possible attackers and a probable attack.” Wendy was nodding. “The list, Wendy? Can you focus on the list, please, and help me figure this out?”
    “Right, boss,” Wendy said. “I’ll run probability reports for each name, create three—no, five—possible counterstrategies for each, get them to you by . . . what time is it now?”
    Sarah checked the clock. It was almost eight. How had it gotten to be almost eight? Sarah stared at the clock.
    “Whatever,” Wendy said. “I’ll have it all to you before ten?”
    Relieved that Wendy was acting like Wendy again, Sarah smiled.“Perfect, thanks.” Wendy smiled back, was about to leave when Sarah said, “Oh, and”—she sighed, God, why couldn’t she stop sighing—“I should probably bring Jasmine in on this. What time does she come in today?”
    Wendy cocked her head not unlike a spaniel. “Oh, nine I guess?” she said.
    “Never mind. I’ll look it up,” Sarah said. Wendy was usually on top of this shit, and Sarah didn’t really have time or patience for her to come down with a case of the “interns,” but whatever. She’d figure it out herself.
    Wendy moved closer to Sarah, reached over her shoulder for Sarah’s tablet. “Here,” she said. “You’re super busy. I can look it up for you, put her on your schedule.”
    Sarah held her tablet firm. “It’s fine, Wendy, Jesus. I can take care of it.”
    She scrolled through the schedule. It took her a moment to realize something was wrong and another moment for her to recognize what that something wrong was. Wendy was