Free Brink of Chaos by Tim Lahaye Page B

of a raft of bids for the new DOD computer software installations, she noticed someone standing, cap in hand, by her desk. He was a young red-headed fellow, a second lieutenant like herself. There was something familiar about him. Then Deborah pieced it together. She had seen him linger at her cubicle before as he had passed by.
    Deborah gave him a glance.
    “Lieutenant Jordan,” the young man began, “just wantin’ to congratulate you on your father’s successful mission in North Korea. The folks around here all know about it and salute your father … even if the politicians don’t … if you get my drift.”
    “Thanks, Lieutenant.” She tossed him a half smile and eyed him more closely.
    “And I’d say —
hooah
, Colonel Joshua Jordan, if I may.”
    Her smile got bigger. “Yes, you may.” She glanced at his name tag — Lt. Birdow . “Soldier, you have a first name?”
    “Ye s, ma’am.’ Tom.”
    “I’m Deborah.”
    “Pleased to meet you.”
    Birdow cocked an eyebrow at her. “If I may ask, are you with the DOD press center?”
    “No. People just think that because my desk is here.”
    “Then you’re in the Defense Information Systems Agency unit like me?”
    “Right. Except …”
    He filled it in, “You didn’t get assigned to Fort Mead in Maryland where the rest of us in DISA are stationed.”
    “Nope.” She didn’t elaborate.
    Tom Birdow looked like he was going to follow up but decided against it.
    Deborah was enjoying the company — and the break from the tedium. “So what brings you to HQ?”
    “Just dropped off some papers at the E Ring.”
    She wanted to ask him why he had just couriered something to the inner ring of the Pentagon where the senior Army officials had their offices, but she didn’t pry. She didn’t have to. He explained, “This information coordination between DOD and Homeland Security for BIDTagging citizens is one big complicated system.”
    Tom’s last comment hit a sour note with Deborah, for intensely personal reasons. “I bet,” she said, dropping her smile. Now she was thinking about her mother’s defiance of the new government mandate and the risks she was taking. Her voice took on a formal tone. “Well, Lieutenant,” she said, “back to business.”
    “I’ll stop in again, next time I’m in the neighborhood.”
    “Please do.”
    After he left, Deborah felt the urge to call her mom.
Later
, she thought.
I’ll call from my apartment
.
    She looked around her cubicle and thought about Tom Birdow’s unasked question, which she herself had asked repeatedly. Why
hadn’t
she been transferred to Fort Mead with the rest of the DISA staff? Instead, she was tucked away in this obscure corner of the Pentagon. Deborah, of course, had her suspicions. And it had to do with the controversial nature of the “Jordan” legacy.
    I’m being isolated because of my last name
.
Colorado, Hawk’s Nest Ranch
    Abigail was on the video phone with Joshua, who was back in Israel. He had just finished briefing her on all of the details of the mission to rescue Captain Louder — the ones the White House would neveradmit and the American people would never learn — unless, of course, it was laid out in AmeriNews, the only remaining news source not controlled in some way by the current administration.
    Abigail needed to know, so she asked once again, “So, you’re really safe now? Really?”
    “Yes.”
    She sighed. A shiver went down her back as she visualized the dangers and thought about what might have been. Then she collected herself. “Josh … oh, Josh, you know I’m so terribly proud of you …”
    “That means the world to —”
    But Abigail didn’t let Joshua finish. “Please, listen. I’m also devastated by the risks you just took — once again —”
    “Honey, let me explain —”
    “And honestly, I’m a little angry —”
    “I need to tell you something —”
    “No,” Abigail said. “Strike the record. Let me rephrase the question to the