“Report, man. What the hell’s going on here?” Fitzsimmons’ snarl lashed out at Gleason, but somehow, to Amundson, Gleason seemed made of granite.
Of course, granite only needed to be chipped away.
Or a stick of dynamite would work as well. Amundson planned to be the one to light the fuse.
Gleason sat behind his desk, palms flat on the gleaming surface, and everything in perfect order around him. One file lay on the side of the desk. Framed photos hung perfectly aligned on the wall showing Gleason with politicians, a triumphant Gleason holding the reins of a large dark horse, a much younger Gleason with a cadre of other young men and women Amundson recognized from files he’d read. The original group of six agents who’d formed the AGS as an offshoot of the US Geological Survey.
His research had shown that the six had been a single geological survey team and somehow they’d convinced the powers of the US Geological Survey that they should be a team unto themselves to ‘identify and address the gaps in the geological system caused by the meridian system’ – whatever the hell that was. Typical of the time—specialization breaking agencies down further and further.
It was time for the splintering to stop.
Gleason sighed—finally. His broad hands whitened as he seemed to press harder into the desktop. So the situation was getting to him. Good.
“I’m truly glad you’re here,” Gleason said. “It has been a most difficult few days. Yes, we lost an Agent the other day. We’re still investigating what happened, and that is why I didn’t bother you with the news. My report would be sent after the investigation’s complete.” He met Fitzsimmons’ gaze. “I thought you had better things to do than worry about a single Agent’s death.”
“You thought.” Fitzsimmons hunched forward in his chair. “You thought? You didn’t think at all—or else you did, and decided to hide things.”
Gleason only cocked his head. “You are reading too much into the lack of one phone call, Director.”
“Don’t you condescend to me, ” Fitzsimmons’ beak of a nose targeted on the AGS Chief. “You should have reported to me. I made that eminently clear at our last meeting. Now I’ll repeat my question one last time. What the hell is going on?”
Gleason, living more dangerously than Amundson ever wanted to, stood up. You had to admire him for his foolhardy bravery. He peered down from his height at the Director.
“What’s going on, Director Fitzsimmons, is that someone seems to be taking out my agents, and by spending time with you I’m not focusing on finding whoever it is.”
Fitzsimmons was on his feet so fast Amundson knew the explosion was coming. But Gleason getting thrown out of the AGS and having Fitzsimmons arbitrarily shut the agency down was the last thing Amundson wanted. That would quash his plans to consolidate the AGS with Seattle station. After an amalgamation, watch how fast his star would rise.
“Gentlemen. Please.” He rose and stepped between the two men. “This is no way to deal with difficulties—fighting amongst ourselves. It is what the enemies of this great nation would wish.”
He looked from face to face, forcing himself to make honest eye contact. Finally Gleason nodded and sat. Fitzsimmons gave him a flat, black glare.
“Please, Chief Gleason. Tell us what has happened, and perhaps we can help.” Amundson sat and carefully crossed his legs in the European style that so set him apart from his peers. He cultivated the slightly effeminate gesture to encourage others to underestimate him.
“I said we lost an agent two nights ago. We lost another tonight. In both cases the agent on the desk indicated that another Gifted caused the change that killed the agent.” His voice was clipped, factual, with barely a hint of resentment. Generally well played, but there was a hint of secrets there, too. Things Gleason did not want uncovered. Too bad for him.
Fitzsimmons glowered in his chair, so Amundson took the lead.
“And how did this Agent Drake become involved in the previous case?”
Gleason chewed his cheek and met his gaze. Clearly he didn’t like what he was about to say.
“She was on the desk. She left to backup Agent Lamrey when she couldn’t raise him by phone. She apparently found him partially encased in a wall, but was blocked from rescuing him by an unknown subject. When she did get him free, it was too late.”
“Unfortunate.” Fitzsimmons’ comment came out in a hiss and Amundson held up his hand. They were getting somewhere. They didn’t need to get into another argument.
“That is what she claims.”
Gleason nodded.
“And this evening? What occurred that left Agent Drake in such a state?”
Gleason swung his bald head towards Amundson as if he suddenly realized his danger didn’t come just from Fitzsimmons. His chair squeaked at the movement. My god, the man was not as astute as Wolf had thought. He smiled to himself. This was going to be more fun than he had anticipated.
“We don’t know. As you saw, we have not exactly had a chance to debrief Agent Drake.”
“But what do you know, Chief? There must be something you can say to explain the mess in your office. That machine alone was over a million dollars if I recall, and now it lays smashed on the floor.”
“You know my budget, now, do you?” But a hint of fear came in the anger.
“Chief Gleason, Director Fitzsimmons made me your Liaison to Homeland Security. I take my duties seriously. Now if you will explain to Director Fitzsimmons and me….”
“Agent Drake was on desk. She hit the alarm at about 2135 hours. I was out on business but had just arrived in the parking lot when it sounded. Agent Moore and I found the war room in operation when we arrived. Then there was what appeared to be an attack on the AGS itself. A quake. It threw the desk and Agent Drake into the wall, but she still attempted to assist Agent Janet Hunt, the Agent in distress. She was unsuccessful, and Agent Hunt was lost.”
The precise, measured words provided an overview, but none of the detail and none of the insider knowledge Gleason would have. Simply the facts. He would have done the same, but would have given anything to have had access to the thin man’s brain.
“This is the same Agent Hunt who started with you in the AGS?”
Gleason turned at Fitzsimmons’ question and a sigh escaped him. “Yes. It was, and it pains me. Janet Hunt was a valued member of the team and a friend.”
“Like Vallon Drake is a valued member?” Amundson took back the conversation.
“Yes.” But it was more guarded, as if Gleason were not quite sure where this was going. That was a good thing.
“Tell us about her.”
Gleason paused briefly. “She is young. The—daughter of one of our best agents. Talented, if a trifle rough around the edges.”
“What does that mean, if you please?”
The hands on the desk slid into fists.
“It means she’s sometimes difficult and tries things her own way. But she always admits her mistake and comes back to the fold—the AGS way. She knows the limits.”
“Does she? The woman I saw out there looked like she had seriously surpassed her limits.”
“You saw her exhausted. She’d just fought for an Agent’s life—and lost. How would you look in those circumstances?” The ire in the man’s voice was music to Amundson’s ears. He was slipping the shivs under Gleason’s skin.
“Or perhaps she was exhausted from killing Agent Hunt, too?”
Fitzsimmons’ comment left a void in the office except for the quickly masked intake of Gleason’s breath. The Director cocked his head like a bird eyeing its prey.
“What? This did not cross your mind? An Agent can go rogue, Chief Gleason. Or have you forgotten this in your zeal to protect your agency? Perhaps that is why you have not reported these incidents to myself or Director Fitzsimmons. If I may ask, just how many deaths have there been, Chief Gleason?”
A barely contained shudder seemed to run through the thin man, and Amundson knew he’d won.