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phone, the one she never had to use before.
    She pressed “1” for speed dial and connected to voiceprint identification. She spoke clearly, saying her name, employee number, and repeating the text message. Not only the content but the order in which she spoke mattered. She waited for authorization, then relay to the appropriate extension.
    The other end of the line picked up. Once a connection was made, an automated female voice gave notice. This conversation was being recorded.
    “Dr. Gardner?” The unknown voice was heavy with the gravitas of rank and the urgency of its mission.
    “Yes?”
    “Sorry to disturb you. It was necessary. Where are you?”
    “In my home office.”
    “Are you alone? Can you be overheard?”
    Faye glanced back at her closed office door. On the other side, muted holiday music mixed with muffled conversation from the living room. “I’m alone.”
    “You’ve been specially requested for reassignment. Your expertise is vitally needed in a Project currently underway.”
    “What project?”
    “I’m not at liberty to discuss it. A TS-4 clearance has been granted for you.”
    “TS-4?” Faye knew Level 3 was Top Secret. She had never heard of Level 4.
    “Special circumstances. I cannot say much more, other than the Project is currently working to avert a major crisis. If you accept reassignment, you’ll travel tomorrow morning to a new work location. It’s unknown when you’ll be able to return.”
    “What do I tell relatives and friends?”
    “As little as possible. Simply tell them you have a temporary assignment elsewhere. Beyond that, you’re still waiting to be briefed.”
    “Will I be able to contact anyone from the Project site?”
    “There’s a short list of allowed contacts. Immediate family members. Email and phone calls are allowed but no snail mail, no packages. All communications are screened and subject to redaction or additional restriction on a case-by-case basis.”
    “What about my current work in Building 1425?”
    “A liaison will be assigned as go-between to help with transition. Direct communication between you and your old worksite ends with this call.”
    Faye fell silent despite a flood of questions. It was no use asking them now. An answer was expected, regardless.
    “Will you accept reassignment?” The voice assumed her sense of duty and purpose was intact.
    “Yes.” Faye heard the answer from a place outside herself. A part of her wanted to go. But that was the part that never needed answers to the hard questions.
    Faye expected the conversation to abruptly end with travel instructions for next morning. Instead, the voice stumbled over its first awkward pause.
    “There’s one other matter…I was to cover it only if you said yes.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Your new station chief – will be Colin Insworth. Do you have a problem with that?”
    Air caught in Faye’s throat. She cleared it with, “Why should I?”
    “Normally, people with histories together wouldn’t be assigned to this Project, at least not in the same core compartment.”
    “What history are you referring to…” Faye felt exposed. She had no idea such personal information was tracked. Fifteen years after the fact, why would such a thing matter anyway?
    “We needn’t go into it. Just be aware, an exception has been made only because your skills are unique.”
    Faye fought off a flush of defensiveness. Any hint in her voice would only validate their suspicions. “So what are you asking?”
    “All we need to know is whether or not this will be a problem.”
    “No problem for me.” Immediately, she regretted the emphasis on me .
    “Fine. Give your name to the guard at the main gate of Joint Base Andrews Naval Air Facility tomorrow at 0900. You’ll be directed from there.”
    “How should I pack?”
    “Bring as much or little as you like. Be assured, whatever you need will be provided. If you want, don’t pack at all. Any other questions?”
    “No.”
    “Then