Page 31 of Agent Zero
A copy ofCome, Love, Sleep.
Now she remembered blindly grabbing it from the shelf, and everything inside her turned over with a sick thump.
It’s true.It’s all true.
Reese was nowhere in sight.
TWENTY-ONE
It was,Trinity thought, rather instructive to see just how frantic people could become once the window for effective action had passed and they were playing catch-up.There were more efficient ways to catch a rogue operative, certainly.
She had simply decided to follow Bronson’s ill-tempered order and cease informing him of such things.
An interesting quandary: Did one obey theletteror thespiritof an order?Such a consideration had never been of overriding import, at least not in conscious memory.Each scenario presented to her before the last forty-eight hours had been clear-cut in the extreme.Or had she simply not seen the complexities under the surface?
As it was, Bronson placed her in the office, at the smaller, glass-topped desk, and returned with a box of file folders.“Look through these, start calculating,” was all he said, before retreating to his own desk and getting on the phone to continue requisitioning resources, in between barking sharp orders at Caldwell whenever that unhappy major returned to this buried, windowless nerve center.It was Caldwell who’d brought more military assets into the equation—wasted effort, since any program agent would know to stay away from any installation.
But Trinity didn’t say a word.Instead, she leafed through Division’s files on the program participants.
At least, the agents who had survived infection and had not been subject to induction.Was her own file somewhere in this box of red-jacketed statistics and numbers?
Perhaps.There was no reason to hurry, though.The longer she could keep Bronson unaware of her current mental state, the better.
And just what is your current mental state?
Six’s file was familiar; she had already calculated the percentages Bronson wanted.He wasn’t even asking for theimportantones.
The door banged open, but it was just Caldwell, out of breath.
Bronson settled back in his chair.“Christ, knock next time, will you?”
“It’s Eight,” Caldwell panted, sweat on his forehead turning his blond high-and-tight darker.His fatigues, usually ironed and starched to the picture of perfection, had also suffered.
Trinity’s own clothes needed laundering as well.Bronson seemed to have forgotten her requirements.
“What now?”Bronson reached for the empty box of tissues.“Goddamnit.”
“They bungled the civilian erasure.”Caldwell sought to remain standing straight, his breath coming in huge shuddering gasps.“It’s a mess.We have him, we’re bringing him in, but we had seventy-five percent casualties, and?—”
“And?”
“A news copter got there.Civilian LE is onsite.A house fire, but they’ll find shell casings, and?—”
“Crap.”Bronson’s right hand twitched, as if longing to make a fist.“Youmoron.You let the cops get there before cleanup?”
Caldwell straightened, his eyes narrowing.“I don’t appreciate?—”
“Never mind.We have resources in place.Dean Thackeray’s plane lands in forty-five minutes.Get out there and bring him up to speed.”
“Thackeray?”Caldwell, suppressing whatever displeasure he felt, now looked like an eager young basset hound just aching to scramble after an interesting smell.
Bronson pinched the bridge of his nose.No doubt his head hurt as well.“Civilian egghead to run the medical tests.What about the grids?”
“Up and running, as well as the sweeps.”
Six isn’t in the city anymore.Trinity closed his file, set it aside.The only thing troubling her was why Six had bothered to return to the woman’s apartment.A drugged civilian could not have taken out two of an Alt-Sec team.
Not without help.
