Berkeley, just across the bay, before chucking it all for a military career “just to see if he could hack it.” She wasn’t so much a feminist as an individualist, whose hackles rose whenever she perceived a person—any person— squashed by the system. The two years they spent together in the city by the bay were good years for both of them.
Good things end, though. No moss gathered on Debrah Drexler’s career, and she used her Bay Area popularity to jump into the national game, winning a seat in the Senate on her first try. That had been the end. If a local mayor was allergic to gossip, for a U.S. senator it was deadly poison. Though Kelly grasped her reasons in an intellectual exercise, his heart remained baffled, and confusion led inevitably to pain. She threw sporadic communications his way, trying to maintain contact, but it was too hard, especially when the conversations turned to personal matters. So when they did speak, which was not often, it was only about politics.
That was how she knew that Kelly Sharpton opposed the NAP Act. He was one of the few in his agency who did—most agents in CTU, and most officers in other intelligence units, were grateful for every tool that helped them do their job. But the aggressiveness of this “New American Privacy” awakened in Kelly some of his old Berkeley sensibilities. He wasn’t sure he wanted to live in a country so willing to sacrifice what it loved to save itself. It was his job to invade people’s privacy, disrupt their lives, sift through their secrets, because sometimes those people were evil. But he had always appreciated the watchmen who watched him. But now the watchers had joined the party themselves praising and encouraging the very government operations that the Founding Fathers had sought to check.
“I don’t really know the Attorney General,” Kelly said. “Would he go through with it?”
Deb half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Oh, he’d do it just to hurt me. We aren’t the best of friends.”
“The confirmation hearings. I remember.”
“This is just icing. It would ruin me. ‘Champion of Women’s Rights A Former Prostitute,’ ” she read the imaginary headline. “That’s going to be fun.”
“What do you need from me?” Kelly asked.
“He’s got something, Kel. Some kind of proof, or he wouldn’t talk about making it public. Twenty year old rumors would be useless. He’s got something. I need you to find out what he’s got and destroy it.”
Kelly felt his chest tighten. A fist clutched his heart. “That’s ...you say it pretty easy. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“I’m desperate,” she said.
Words like felony, destruction of evidence, and breaking and entering floated through Kelly’s mind. “We’re talking about the Attorney General here. And it’s the digital age. And he’s friggin’ three thousand miles away from me. I can’t just toss his apartment and look for the negatives.”
“There’s got to be something. I don’t know anyone else—”
“You’re on the Senate Intelligence Committee!” Kelly shot back. “You know everyone! You know the bosses of my bosses’ bosses!”
“But I can’t trust anyone. Not anyone in Washington. Trust me, anyone I ask will either expose me right away or they’ll use the information themselves and I’ll do this all over again in a year or two. No one there is stupid enough to—”
“But I am . . .”
“You’re brave enough,” she said. She paused, as though the enormity of her request was finally dawning on her. “Kelly, I barely know what I’m asking. I don’t even know what you can do. I don’t even know what he has, exactly. All I do know is that I’ve got an hour to make a decision. And I can’t let that get out.”
He sat up, almost getting to his feet. “You don’t mean you’d change your . . .” he trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. “That’s not you. You don’t buckle under.”
He could feel her stress through
Good things end, though. No moss gathered on Debrah Drexler’s career, and she used her Bay Area popularity to jump into the national game, winning a seat in the Senate on her first try. That had been the end. If a local mayor was allergic to gossip, for a U.S. senator it was deadly poison. Though Kelly grasped her reasons in an intellectual exercise, his heart remained baffled, and confusion led inevitably to pain. She threw sporadic communications his way, trying to maintain contact, but it was too hard, especially when the conversations turned to personal matters. So when they did speak, which was not often, it was only about politics.
That was how she knew that Kelly Sharpton opposed the NAP Act. He was one of the few in his agency who did—most agents in CTU, and most officers in other intelligence units, were grateful for every tool that helped them do their job. But the aggressiveness of this “New American Privacy” awakened in Kelly some of his old Berkeley sensibilities. He wasn’t sure he wanted to live in a country so willing to sacrifice what it loved to save itself. It was his job to invade people’s privacy, disrupt their lives, sift through their secrets, because sometimes those people were evil. But he had always appreciated the watchmen who watched him. But now the watchers had joined the party themselves praising and encouraging the very government operations that the Founding Fathers had sought to check.
“I don’t really know the Attorney General,” Kelly said. “Would he go through with it?”
Deb half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Oh, he’d do it just to hurt me. We aren’t the best of friends.”
“The confirmation hearings. I remember.”
“This is just icing. It would ruin me. ‘Champion of Women’s Rights A Former Prostitute,’ ” she read the imaginary headline. “That’s going to be fun.”
“What do you need from me?” Kelly asked.
“He’s got something, Kel. Some kind of proof, or he wouldn’t talk about making it public. Twenty year old rumors would be useless. He’s got something. I need you to find out what he’s got and destroy it.”
Kelly felt his chest tighten. A fist clutched his heart. “That’s ...you say it pretty easy. Do you have any idea what that means?”
“I’m desperate,” she said.
Words like felony, destruction of evidence, and breaking and entering floated through Kelly’s mind. “We’re talking about the Attorney General here. And it’s the digital age. And he’s friggin’ three thousand miles away from me. I can’t just toss his apartment and look for the negatives.”
“There’s got to be something. I don’t know anyone else—”
“You’re on the Senate Intelligence Committee!” Kelly shot back. “You know everyone! You know the bosses of my bosses’ bosses!”
“But I can’t trust anyone. Not anyone in Washington. Trust me, anyone I ask will either expose me right away or they’ll use the information themselves and I’ll do this all over again in a year or two. No one there is stupid enough to—”
“But I am . . .”
“You’re brave enough,” she said. She paused, as though the enormity of her request was finally dawning on her. “Kelly, I barely know what I’m asking. I don’t even know what you can do. I don’t even know what he has, exactly. All I do know is that I’ve got an hour to make a decision. And I can’t let that get out.”
He sat up, almost getting to his feet. “You don’t mean you’d change your . . .” he trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. “That’s not you. You don’t buckle under.”
He could feel her stress through
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