Read Online Atropos by William L. Deandrea - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William L. Deandrea
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training, experience, and brilliantly twisted brain necessary for the job. For a few mad moments, Trotter had tried to duck the job and wish it onto Rines, but the fall that had smashed up his body had apparently also knocked some sense into his head, and he’d taken the job.
But that had meant a restructuring. It was a radical change, but at the same time it was a perfect demonstration of the Agency’s use-everything philosophy. Trotter now had the resources of a huge national and international news-gathering operation to put at the Agency’s disposal. Rines, who because of the decentralization would be needed full-time on Agency business, had “retired” from the Bureau and gotten a Private Investigator’s license. “Investors” (the Agency) had put up money for him to hire a staff and open these sumptuous offices in Alexandria, Virginia, not far from the Pentagon. Nobody who worked in these offices—except Rines, the top computer people, and the communications technicians who sent Trotter and the Congressman their thrice-daily reports—knew whom they were really working for.
This had a few advantages. For one thing, for an outfit like the Agency, recruiting was always a problem. The Congressman had started with men and women he’d known from OSS days, but they were dead now, or too old to cut it in the field. He’d bred one operative; for the rest, he had to depend on recommendations from the few people he trusted. But with the PI business, Rines hired likely candidates (he paid top money to get top prospects) and actually got to see how they did at the work before trusting them with information they might find too heavy a burden.
Fenton Rines Investigations also put all the information gathered from the straight business (and business was excellent) at the disposal of the Agency. It might not be especially gentlemanly, concerning yourself with the extramarital and/or financial peccadillos of the kind of people in the D.C. area who could afford Rines’s rates, but it was of inestimable value in spotting potential security risks, or for putting pressure on when you needed someone to do something.
And the Agency hadn’t lost touch with the Bureau when Rines had retired, either. The Azrael operation had made it necessary for a young Special Agent named Joe Albright to be brought in on some of the Agency’s secrets. That included the big one—that it existed. He’d shown an aptitude for this extra-special kind of Special Agentry that working for the Congressman—for Trotter, rather—required. Albright also had a girlfriend in Kirkester, someone he’d met during the Azrael thing, so it was perfectly natural to use him as a courier whenever they needed to send anything to Trotter.
The door opened. Rines rose to meet the Congressman and his son.
“Where have you got Jake?” the Congressman asked.
“Not here yet,” Rines told him. “How’s the President?”
“Seems like a nice guy. At least he’s a known quantity. Who knows what the next one’s going to be like?”
“Sit down,” Rines said. “Claudette will buzz me when Feder gets here.”
“As long as we’re here, we might as well get a little work done,” Trotter said.
“Sure, you want to go over the afternoon report? I was going to suggest that you do that first even if Feder had been here already.”
“Why’s that?”
“I think it might tell you what he’s got on his mind.”
Norman Jones keyed the door of the next car open and backed in, sweeping the platform behind him as he did so. He wasn’t in any hurry, but he wasn’t dawdling, either. His job was to clean up the Metro cars when they came into the yard every night, and in the morning, when he went home, all the cars would be clean.
He liked it better here, at the downtown yards outside Union Station. He’d built up enough seniority now so his wishes counted for something, and his first big wish was to get transferred from Shady Grove, which was way out in Maryland.
But that had meant a restructuring. It was a radical change, but at the same time it was a perfect demonstration of the Agency’s use-everything philosophy. Trotter now had the resources of a huge national and international news-gathering operation to put at the Agency’s disposal. Rines, who because of the decentralization would be needed full-time on Agency business, had “retired” from the Bureau and gotten a Private Investigator’s license. “Investors” (the Agency) had put up money for him to hire a staff and open these sumptuous offices in Alexandria, Virginia, not far from the Pentagon. Nobody who worked in these offices—except Rines, the top computer people, and the communications technicians who sent Trotter and the Congressman their thrice-daily reports—knew whom they were really working for.
This had a few advantages. For one thing, for an outfit like the Agency, recruiting was always a problem. The Congressman had started with men and women he’d known from OSS days, but they were dead now, or too old to cut it in the field. He’d bred one operative; for the rest, he had to depend on recommendations from the few people he trusted. But with the PI business, Rines hired likely candidates (he paid top money to get top prospects) and actually got to see how they did at the work before trusting them with information they might find too heavy a burden.
Fenton Rines Investigations also put all the information gathered from the straight business (and business was excellent) at the disposal of the Agency. It might not be especially gentlemanly, concerning yourself with the extramarital and/or financial peccadillos of the kind of people in the D.C. area who could afford Rines’s rates, but it was of inestimable value in spotting potential security risks, or for putting pressure on when you needed someone to do something.
And the Agency hadn’t lost touch with the Bureau when Rines had retired, either. The Azrael operation had made it necessary for a young Special Agent named Joe Albright to be brought in on some of the Agency’s secrets. That included the big one—that it existed. He’d shown an aptitude for this extra-special kind of Special Agentry that working for the Congressman—for Trotter, rather—required. Albright also had a girlfriend in Kirkester, someone he’d met during the Azrael thing, so it was perfectly natural to use him as a courier whenever they needed to send anything to Trotter.
The door opened. Rines rose to meet the Congressman and his son.
“Where have you got Jake?” the Congressman asked.
“Not here yet,” Rines told him. “How’s the President?”
“Seems like a nice guy. At least he’s a known quantity. Who knows what the next one’s going to be like?”
“Sit down,” Rines said. “Claudette will buzz me when Feder gets here.”
“As long as we’re here, we might as well get a little work done,” Trotter said.
“Sure, you want to go over the afternoon report? I was going to suggest that you do that first even if Feder had been here already.”
“Why’s that?”
“I think it might tell you what he’s got on his mind.”
Norman Jones keyed the door of the next car open and backed in, sweeping the platform behind him as he did so. He wasn’t in any hurry, but he wasn’t dawdling, either. His job was to clean up the Metro cars when they came into the yard every night, and in the morning, when he went home, all the cars would be clean.
He liked it better here, at the downtown yards outside Union Station. He’d built up enough seniority now so his wishes counted for something, and his first big wish was to get transferred from Shady Grove, which was way out in Maryland.
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