documents sent from External Anomalous Affairs were still prepared the old-fashioned, yet effective way on water-soluble paper in the event they had to be quickly destroyed. Even excessive moisture on a person’s hands would cause a reaction and dissolve small portions of the document. The knock on the door momentarily broke his train of thought.
“Enter,” he said, placing the envelope on top to cover the document.
“Your coffee, General,” Mrs. Klingenhoff said, pushing the door open with one hand while balancing the tray in the other.
“Ah,” Korbett replied, spinning around. He had forgotten he’d asked Mrs. Klingenhoff for more coffee this morning. Emmy had left early and gone off shopping for the day, otherwise she’d fuss at him for having too much coffee. A lot of caffeine aggravates your prostate , she’d remind him what the doctor had said. The hell with prostates , he said to himself. It’s cold this morning and I want another cup of coffee . “Just set it on the end table, Mrs. Klingenhoff. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure, General?” The soft-spoken elderly woman responded, used to putting in the cream and sugar just the way the General liked it.
“I’ll get it. That’s fine.”
“How about another pastry?” she replied.
Korbett patted his waistline, which really wasn’t true. At age sixty-two, he was still in top physical condition, having stuck to his daily workout regimen for the past forty odd years. “Gotta cut down. You’re cooking is doing me in.”
She smiled. She was the best housekeeper he and Emmy had ever employed.
“Will you be having lunch at the club or home today, General?”
Korbett thought for a moment. It depended on what was in the dispatch. “I’ll let you know a little later.”
Mrs. Klingenhoff smiled and turned to leave.
He called after her. “I have some important work, so please answer the phone and hold my calls for about an hour.”
The woman smiled and nodded. That was all he ever had to say.
She closed the door behind her. The aroma of the freshly-brewed coffee—Blue Mountain Jamaican, his favorite—filled the room. Korbett poured a cup, put in the cream and sugar, and took a sip. Perfect temperature. Carrying the cup over toward the desk, he placed the coffee on the table behind his chair within easy reach of spinning around. He usually had his coffee on the desk in front of him, but not if he was reviewing any dispatch that was prepared on water-soluble paper. One big spill and you could kiss the document good-bye. Instantly.
Korbett moved the envelope aside, put his bifocals back on, and spun around for one more sip of coffee before starting to read the document. The new code word had first caught his eye. NEXUS . This was the first document he’d seen which contained the new changed-out top secret code word. Korbett blew off the steam from the still piping cup.
All government documents that carried a secret or top secret security classification were marked with a single five letter code word reserved for that level of clearance. The purpose was to assign some psychological validity to the importance of the contents. Since only people with that particular level of clearance would hypothetically ever see the coded document, the assumption was that the code word would remain forever cryptic. But not in the real world. Five letter code words were kept active—several years in most cases—until they were compromised. Korbett always suspected that was probably the case within hours after the change out, so why should we really care? Switching code words cost the taxpayers millions.
Code words… The intelligence community played crazy games. Korbett always thought they were playing mind games with the Middle Easterners and the Chinese and everybody else by periodically changing code words. It must be because they want our enemies to think the word being used at any particular time has some esoteric meaning related to national
“Enter,” he said, placing the envelope on top to cover the document.
“Your coffee, General,” Mrs. Klingenhoff said, pushing the door open with one hand while balancing the tray in the other.
“Ah,” Korbett replied, spinning around. He had forgotten he’d asked Mrs. Klingenhoff for more coffee this morning. Emmy had left early and gone off shopping for the day, otherwise she’d fuss at him for having too much coffee. A lot of caffeine aggravates your prostate , she’d remind him what the doctor had said. The hell with prostates , he said to himself. It’s cold this morning and I want another cup of coffee . “Just set it on the end table, Mrs. Klingenhoff. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure, General?” The soft-spoken elderly woman responded, used to putting in the cream and sugar just the way the General liked it.
“I’ll get it. That’s fine.”
“How about another pastry?” she replied.
Korbett patted his waistline, which really wasn’t true. At age sixty-two, he was still in top physical condition, having stuck to his daily workout regimen for the past forty odd years. “Gotta cut down. You’re cooking is doing me in.”
She smiled. She was the best housekeeper he and Emmy had ever employed.
“Will you be having lunch at the club or home today, General?”
Korbett thought for a moment. It depended on what was in the dispatch. “I’ll let you know a little later.”
Mrs. Klingenhoff smiled and turned to leave.
He called after her. “I have some important work, so please answer the phone and hold my calls for about an hour.”
The woman smiled and nodded. That was all he ever had to say.
She closed the door behind her. The aroma of the freshly-brewed coffee—Blue Mountain Jamaican, his favorite—filled the room. Korbett poured a cup, put in the cream and sugar, and took a sip. Perfect temperature. Carrying the cup over toward the desk, he placed the coffee on the table behind his chair within easy reach of spinning around. He usually had his coffee on the desk in front of him, but not if he was reviewing any dispatch that was prepared on water-soluble paper. One big spill and you could kiss the document good-bye. Instantly.
Korbett moved the envelope aside, put his bifocals back on, and spun around for one more sip of coffee before starting to read the document. The new code word had first caught his eye. NEXUS . This was the first document he’d seen which contained the new changed-out top secret code word. Korbett blew off the steam from the still piping cup.
All government documents that carried a secret or top secret security classification were marked with a single five letter code word reserved for that level of clearance. The purpose was to assign some psychological validity to the importance of the contents. Since only people with that particular level of clearance would hypothetically ever see the coded document, the assumption was that the code word would remain forever cryptic. But not in the real world. Five letter code words were kept active—several years in most cases—until they were compromised. Korbett always suspected that was probably the case within hours after the change out, so why should we really care? Switching code words cost the taxpayers millions.
Code words… The intelligence community played crazy games. Korbett always thought they were playing mind games with the Middle Easterners and the Chinese and everybody else by periodically changing code words. It must be because they want our enemies to think the word being used at any particular time has some esoteric meaning related to national
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