Severe Clear by Stuart Woods Page A

a touch of the cattle prod to get him moving.
    “We picked up an e-mail transmission from a cell phone in California to a website we have a continuous watch on.”
    “What was the text?”
    “It was in English: ‘All is well. I am fine.’ We ran a decode on the phrase and got nothing.”
    “Sounds like a prearranged signal,” Hipp pointed out.
    “That’s what we think, but there is a further wrinkle.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It was signed ‘Nod.’” He spelled the word.
    Hipp leaned back in his chair and recited: “‘And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.’ Genesis four, verse sixteen.”
    “I figured you’d come up with something a little off the wall,” Fritz said.
    “Such flattery,” Hipp replied.
    “What do you make of it?”
    “Read all of chapter four—hell, read all of Genesis. Run Abel against it, run Enoch.”
    “Who is Enoch?”
    “The son of Cain.”
    “I wasn’t raised religious,” Fritz said.
    “Then you are at a disadvantage in the world,” Hipp said. “Reading assignment for you: the King James Bible.”
    “The whole thing?”
    “Be good for you. It’s the basis of so much of the Christian world, and the translation is very beautiful.”
    “I know about Cain and Abel,” Fritz said. “I read Steinbeck’s novel East of Eden .”
    “Maybe that’s the reference, instead of Genesis. Run names from that, too, Cal’s brother, father, and mother. Cast a wide net.”
    “Okay,” Fritz said, rising to go.
    “Wait a minute,” Hipp said.
    Fritz sat down again.
    “Give me a minute,” Hipp said. He stared dreamily out the window, then he began to recite:
     
    “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
    Sailed off in a wooden shoe—
    Sailed on a river of crystal light,
    Into a sea of dew.
    ‘Where are you going, and what do you wish,’
    The old moon asked the three.
    ‘We have come to fish for the herring fish
    That live in this beautiful sea;
    Nets of silver and gold have we!’
    Said Wynken,
    Blynken,
    And Nod . ”
     
    Hipp raised his eyebrows and looked at Fritz questioningly.
    “I haven’t read that, either,” Fritz said.
    “Then read it. It’s by Eugene Field, who wrote children’s poetry in the late nineteenth century. There are four stanzas. I don’t have time to recite the whole thing for you, so Google it, print it, and go through it carefully. Give some thought to the wooden shoe and the nets of silver and gold. There could be other meanings, who knows? Now beat it.”
    —
    F ritz left Hipp’s office, went back to his cubicle, found the poem, and printed it, while two of his colleagues looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”
    “A poem that Hipp said to take a look at,” Fritz replied. He printed two more copies and handed them to the two young men, who read it.
    “Check out the last stanza,” one of them said.
    —
    F ritz read aloud:
     
    “Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
    And Nod is a little head.
    And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
    Is a wee one’s trundle bed . ”
     
    The three looked at each other. Fritz was the first to speak. “So what the fuck does that mean?”

 13 
    H olly Barker was working at her desk at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, when her boss, Lance Cabot, the Agency’s deputy director for operations, walked into her office and sat down across the desk from her.
    “Good morning,” he said.
    This was odd, Holly thought; she had met with him two hours before, at eight A.M. , as was their daily custom. “Good morning again,” she replied.
    Lance looked at her thoughtfully but said nothing.
    “What?” Holly asked.
    “It appears that you will no longer be working for me,” he said finally.
    Holly sat back in her chair. “Are you firing me, Lance?”
    “There are signs you might be moving from under my wing.”
    “Come on, Lance, spit it out.”
    “Are you saying you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
    “Finally, you understand