Free Whiplash by Dale Brown

know.”
    Rubeo was no longer a government employee. But several of his companies were under contract to the Office of Technology, and when Breanna had offered him the opportunity to brief Danny Freah on Whiplash, he had decided to take her up on it. Rubeo had always liked Freah and the Whiplash people personally, though he found many of their security procedures annoying. The pinkie rings had been his idea, an easy way of eliminating many of the delays imposed by the security checks and constant surveillance. Like everyone admitted to Room 4—the code name for the basement facility on the CIA campus—he, too, wore one.
    “I suppose you want an explanation about the nano wall,” said Rubeo.
    “Well, yeah.”
    “Very well. It’s a parlor trick.”
    The wall worked by arranging energy within certain frequencies; to put it crudely, it was as if molecules were iron shavings in a child’s Etch A Sketch game, and used to draw a wall. The field could be broken by movement at certain speeds, but not others; the wall could not be penetrated by bullets, for example.
    “So it could protect against a missile?” asked Danny.
    “Concrete is just as effective.” Rubeo waved his hand. “There are perhaps some uses for camouflage, that sort of thing. Or very expensive walls.”
    It also made a high-quality projection screen.
    “Have a seat,” said Breanna, gesturing to one of the nearby club chairs. “And I’ll show you what it can do.”
    The wall morphed into a crisp video display, the sharpest Danny had ever seen, demonstrating its prowess with a scene from last year’s Super Bowl.
    “Another parlor trick,” said Rubeo, this time with a touch of pride.
    The video ended abruptly, replaced by the seals of the CIA and the Department of Defense.
    “The Office of Technology is involved in a lot of projects,” said Breanna. “We work very closely with a number of government agencies. Some of us work for the Defense Department, and some of us for the CIA. You might say our responsibilities are intramural.”
    The CIA still had its own technology department, separate from Breanna’s operation. The Wizards of Langley were responsible for a host of innovations, everything from supersonic spy planes to microscopic bugs. But changes in the organizational structure of the intelligence and military communities, along with severe budget cuts, had moved a great deal of their work over to the Defense Department. Some research had always been outsourced in any event, and many of the changes simply meant that the scientists, engineers, and other technical experts simply had a different paymaster.
    Whether directly funded by the CIA or through the Defense Department, the problem wasn’t coming up with new technology. It was getting it out of the developmental labs and into the hands of field agents. Breanna, with her Dreamland background, had been picked to make that happen. One solution was to simply eliminate much of the bureaucratic infrastructure. Where once layers of liaisons and departmentmanagers had fought over turf in both Defense and Intelligence, now a handful of people worked with her and the scientists directly.
    “Is Whiplash going to be a CIA command?” asked Danny. “Or military?”
    “Neither,” said Breanna. “It’s more like a hybrid.”
    “How?”
    “We’re going to work that out. You’re going to help.”
    “OK.”
    Breanna glanced at her watch. Reid and Nuri Lupo were due to meet them in a half hour.
    “Let’s introduce him to MY-PID,” she told Rubeo. “We have a meeting soon and I’d like him to be familiar with some of the technology.”
    Rubeo closed his eyes. He hated the nickname; it was very 1984. “Very well. Come with us, Colonel. And please don’t touch anything. It may blow up.”
    Rubeo was so deadpan that Freah didn’t know whether that had been a joke or not.
    The scientist led the way down the hallway—more nano walls—to a small room set up like a library. Small armchairs were