Chapter 4

The phone on the slight woman's desk rang, causing her to jump slightly. She swallowed, working as the bank manager's assistant had worn on her as the months moved on in a seemingly endless rubble of inappropriate comments, idiotic requests, and condescension.

She picked up the phone. "United Mizrahi Tefahot Bank, Elijah Bridgeport's office, Miss Massey speaking, how may I help?"

"Mr. Silverton's office calling from the main branch in Tel Aviv. He needs to speak with Mr. Bridgeport on an urgent matter."

"I'm sorry sir, he has stepped away from his desk for a moment. May I have him return your call?"

"No, you may not," Tariq said with more force than he normally would ever use with someone, "this is quite urgent and Mr. Silverton needs to speak with him immediately. Can you have him paged?"

"Yes, sir, if you will hold momentarily, I can connect you."

"Thank you," Tariq responded.

Massey paged her boss, and after about a minute, he appeared and she connected him with the man she thought to be calling from the main branch of UMTB.

Ros had waited for the clot of a manager to leave, satisfied with himself that she knew what she was doing. Little did he know what she was really doing. Another idiotic white male who had been promoted because of gender and color as opposed to talent and skillset; it was an old tale that continued to remake itself. Ros was thankful that in Section D, the chief didn't need to be male or female, but rather was based on skillset and experience. For all of his faults, one thing Harry Pearce was not was a mysognist.

"Control," Ros said into softly into her comm, "I've accessed the surveillance cameras and have connected the satellite disk link. Ready for you to tap in and download."

"Great," Tariq's even voice responded as he tapped his keyboard, "I'm logging in now. It'll take about ten minutes. Can you keep it clear Alpha One?"

"Affirmative. I can keep it clear. The quicker the better though."

Ros watched the monitor of her laptop as she kept track of Tariq's progress. Ten minutes had turned into twelve, and into fifteen. She nervously looked behind her, expecting to see the manager appear.

"How close are we?" She asked into her comm.

"It's coming," Tariq said, "it's a lot of information, and video takes a lot of space, longer time to download. We're almost there."

The elevator hydraulics hummed into action, and the tension in Ros' voice was apparent, "Now would be a good time, Control."

"Another thirty seconds."

She could hear the elevator doors open and close, and the sound of leather-soled shoes echoing on the marble floor of the basement as he approached. Ros felt perspiration roll down her back.

"Okay, Alpha One, go!"

Ros disassembled the equipment, stowed the laptop under the false bottom in the briefcase, and packed the rest in the body of the case, closing it just as Bridgeport approached.

"Everything is as expected, I take it, Ms. McNeil?" The condescension in his tone apparent.

She smiled, "Yes indeed it is, thank you very much, Mr. Bridgeport."

"Is there anything else I might help you with?"

"No," Ros smiled, "thank you, we're good to go."

"Then I'll see you out, to make sure you find your way."

"How kind," Ros purred demurely.

It was a good thing for the clot of a manager that her OP didn't include eliminating him, as Ros was rather certain that she would have made it quite unpleasant.

"Tariq," Harry growled, "have you analyzed the data from Ros?"

Tariq's brow furrowed, "I just downloaded it, Harry; I need some time."

"We don't have time, Tariq," Harry snapped, "we need to know what type of attack they are planning and when. Is it a bomb, a microbe, a good-old-fashioned-robbery… what?"

Tariq typed as quickly as he could, entering search parameters for ways to unravel the answers. "I'm working on it, Harry. I'm working as fast as I can."

Harry leaned into the young man's ear and sneered, "Move faster."

Pearce stalked out and Tariq released the air he had been holding in his lungs. He knew he could find the information they needed by analyzing all the data from the security cameras, computers, and bank records; whomever was behind the resurgence of the Integralists, he knew he'd get to the bottom of it. He didn't need Harry breathing down his neck.

He also knew Harry's ill-temper had little to do with the UTMB.

Lucas hung up the phone just as Harry approached his desk.

"What have you got, Lucas?"

"Just spoke with a friend at six—"

"—And?"

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Harry's impatience, but simply continued. "And he has heard nothing about the JIC, Mace, or Ruth."

"Damn it."

"Yes, but—"

"—But?"

"But I found some of Ruth's notes."

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Ruth would never leave notes lying around about something this sensitive."

"No she didn't." Lucas smiled, "I found a data disk hidden in the handle of the umbrella she keeps in the bottom drawer of her desk."

"Well done, Ruth," Harry muttered. "What did you find out?"

"After reading through her notes, I believe Ruth was about to conclude that Oliver Mace engineered compromising situations with high-placed personnel, collected, compiled, and then used that information to eliminate everyone within the JIC who opposed Mace's own policies."

Pearce made a sound of disgust. "Filthy abuse of power, but not at all surprising considering the source."

"Sadly, there's nothing illegal about creating the circumstances under which people do things they shouldn't, putting them in compromised positions at work."

"No there isn't; however, the Cabinet Office takes a dim view of eliminating your opponents through means that are…less than scrupulous." He pat Lucas on the shoulder. "Can you make a file for me?"

"You'll have it soon."

Harry sat in his chair and picked up the phone. After a couple of rings, a woman answered pleasantly.

"JIC, Chairman's Office."

"Harry Pearce, Section D. Is he in?"

"I'm sorry sir, but he's not at the moment."

"Very well, I'll need to set up a meeting then."

"For when?"

"As soon as possible. This is rather urgent."

The woman on the phone frowned, and thought for a moment, as if weighing options. Finally she said, "He's at his club all afternoon, Sir Harry, you can find him there."

He smiled then. "Thank you very much."

Harry hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and headed toward the pods. He hoped Oliver was already several drinks in, although nothing would save the man from Harry's wrath.