All the better if you could control where such a meeting took place and arrange recording measures ahead of time. That was one reason Terry had rigged his office with nearly two dozen microphones and micro-cameras when he finalized the design of the filing safes, bookcases, and cabinets that had been built into the walls. He'd even designed the desk itself to serve as a kind of recording studio and control station with hidden buttons to individually control some of the different devices. Everything recorded in his office was dumped into four different digital vaults simultaneously, including a wallet sized mass storage device that was attached to his desktop system—a sort of digital bug-out bag.
After taking a deep breath, Terry steadied himself and began mentally composing what he'd say to the Stats Manager and how much he would leave in the shady gray area of the unanswered question. As he thought, he buzzed his assistant and asked for maintenance to come and remove the trash can and replace it. He was so lost in thought that it took him by surprise when, a few moments later, his assistant buzzed in and informed him one of the custodial staff was there to do just that. Terry blinked and looked down at the birth certificate staring up at him. He would take the chance. He picked up the paper, folded it tightly, and stuck it in his inside jacket pocket. He hung the jacket on the back of his chair just before buzzing the custodian through the door.
Terry left his pistol on the desk in plain sight and easy reach as the tall, gaunt man shuffled over to the trash can and replaced it with a twin, complete with a fresh liner. While the programmers that worked at this facility were more than justified to consider their employment a testament to their considerable skills, the maintenance staff was more likely to see this remote assignment as a sort of involuntary servitude. In reality, not many people who applied for the maintenance department could pass the necessary security clearances to get a job at a facility such as this one. That meant that the longer certain personnel served at less secure facilities, the more likely they were to be trusted with such a sensitive posting without the official background checks being performed. It was also more likely they were to have done something for which they assumed they were being punished. The end result was a maintenance and custodial staff that was, at times, more than a little surly and suspicious of the people running the facility.
At the door the custodian paused and turned back to Terry. He shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment before speaking. "I just wanted you to know, I'm praying for you," the man said hesitantly. "I know that what you've got weighing on you is more than I could imagine, and you seem like a good man. For what it's worth, I'm praying for you."
Terry opened his mouth to reply, but the custodian waived his hands and shook his head.
"No," he said firmly, "I don't want to know none of what it is you're neck deep in, with all due respect. You can keep that and I'll thank you to do so. I just wanted you to know, is all."
The man took a clip board from his cart outside the door and put a check mark on it. Terry saw his marker and frowned. "Do I need to sign that for you?"
The custodian shook his head. "No, sir, this ain't nothing for you. I have to track my job hours and completion times, and I forget if I don't write 'em down right off. That's all."
The man put the top back on his red permanent marker with a click that seemed to echo, and Terry forced a smile. The man nodded again, then closed the door behind him on the way out of the office. Terry sat for a long time and stared at the door. The image of the date had been written across the copy of his daughters' birth certificates in red marker. He thought about the two lists of names he'd generated and what all of it could possibly mean when tied together.
Someone, likely inside the
After taking a deep breath, Terry steadied himself and began mentally composing what he'd say to the Stats Manager and how much he would leave in the shady gray area of the unanswered question. As he thought, he buzzed his assistant and asked for maintenance to come and remove the trash can and replace it. He was so lost in thought that it took him by surprise when, a few moments later, his assistant buzzed in and informed him one of the custodial staff was there to do just that. Terry blinked and looked down at the birth certificate staring up at him. He would take the chance. He picked up the paper, folded it tightly, and stuck it in his inside jacket pocket. He hung the jacket on the back of his chair just before buzzing the custodian through the door.
Terry left his pistol on the desk in plain sight and easy reach as the tall, gaunt man shuffled over to the trash can and replaced it with a twin, complete with a fresh liner. While the programmers that worked at this facility were more than justified to consider their employment a testament to their considerable skills, the maintenance staff was more likely to see this remote assignment as a sort of involuntary servitude. In reality, not many people who applied for the maintenance department could pass the necessary security clearances to get a job at a facility such as this one. That meant that the longer certain personnel served at less secure facilities, the more likely they were to be trusted with such a sensitive posting without the official background checks being performed. It was also more likely they were to have done something for which they assumed they were being punished. The end result was a maintenance and custodial staff that was, at times, more than a little surly and suspicious of the people running the facility.
At the door the custodian paused and turned back to Terry. He shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment before speaking. "I just wanted you to know, I'm praying for you," the man said hesitantly. "I know that what you've got weighing on you is more than I could imagine, and you seem like a good man. For what it's worth, I'm praying for you."
Terry opened his mouth to reply, but the custodian waived his hands and shook his head.
"No," he said firmly, "I don't want to know none of what it is you're neck deep in, with all due respect. You can keep that and I'll thank you to do so. I just wanted you to know, is all."
The man took a clip board from his cart outside the door and put a check mark on it. Terry saw his marker and frowned. "Do I need to sign that for you?"
The custodian shook his head. "No, sir, this ain't nothing for you. I have to track my job hours and completion times, and I forget if I don't write 'em down right off. That's all."
The man put the top back on his red permanent marker with a click that seemed to echo, and Terry forced a smile. The man nodded again, then closed the door behind him on the way out of the office. Terry sat for a long time and stared at the door. The image of the date had been written across the copy of his daughters' birth certificates in red marker. He thought about the two lists of names he'd generated and what all of it could possibly mean when tied together.
Someone, likely inside the
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