Free The Menagerie 2 (Eden) by Rick Jones Page B

“And what about Ms. Moore?”
    “She’s doing what she can.”
    “It’s not like we have a whole lot of time on this,” he told him. “The region is highly unstable. Who knows how long that marine terrace you’re sitting on will hold.”
    “It’ll hold.”
    “Just make sure that you stay on top of things. The people I have to answer to do not have the patience that I do. And if they bend my ear, Whitaker, then I’ll bend yours until they bleed. Is that clear?”
    Whitaker knew that agencies often overlapped each other and worked in collusion to achieve the means. In this case it was a CIA deep-cover operative who reported carefully construed information to the president and his staff, culling away deep-rooted issues that even the top-seated administer was not privy to. Whitaker answered to McCord, McCord answered to a CIA black-op senior, and so on. Intelligence always had a specific chain of command for specific agendas.
    “ That ship holds a goldmine of intel,” said McCord. “I need Moore to breach an opening wide enough for our people to access enough data that would enable us to harness and manipulate pure energy. Once done, the military application of such technology would be unlimited.”
    “She’s working on it.”
    On the screen McCord leaned forward into the light, revealing fine lines that were naturally grafted onto his face and brow. “Once she does, then you are to appropriate all data and forward it to me without hesitation—data from every scientific department on board that ship.” He leaned back into his chair, into the shadows. “And stay monitored,” he added. “When the constituency I answer to believes that they have enough to work with, then I’ll give you the final command.”
    “Understood.” The final command was no different from the Final Solution, at least by Whitaker’s thinking. Protecting the country was optimum. This has always been the First Rule of self-preservation, a rule that often came with the cost of lives, the term ‘collateral damage’ nothing more than a loose phrase justifying preconceived objectives. Everybody on board this ship was scheduled to die.
    “When the time comes, you choose the method. That’s why we hired you,” said McCord.
    “I know my duties,” he answered. “It’ll be neat and clean.”
    “That’s good,” he returned. “Because we need the Mexican government to think that a catastrophe hit and the data couldn’t be saved. We’ll give them info of course—just enough to appease them, but not enough to help them with their research.”
    Whitaker leaned forward, resting his forearms and elbows on the desktop. “There are three goals,” he said. “One, learn how to harness energy. Two, learn how to manipulate that energy. And three, leave no one behind.”
    “So far, Captain Whitaker, you have yet to achieve a single objective.”
    “I can’t control the first two, McCord. You know that. But I can control the third goal . . .” he allowed his words to trail as he leaned to the side of the desk, grabbed his assault weapon, and held it before the monitor’s eye. “With this,” he finalized, gently lowering the weapon to the desktop. “I’m a soldier, not a scientist. So my options are limited.”
    “And so is time, Mr. Whitaker. The forces of nature will eventually catch up and still you’ll be sitting in that underwater tank, wondering what happened. In other words, time is of the essence. If things aren’t happening, make them happen. Look over her shoulder, if you have to. Absorb everything she says. Take everything in. Be a taskmaster, if that’s what it takes. Expedite things—move things along.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “This is not a vacation for you or your team,” he said, his tone bearing sharpness. “Be a second shadow to Ms. Moore, press her. But get that data. And get the data that’s flowing into O’Connell’s log, as well.”
    Whitaker nodded. “Will do,” he said. Then: