21
Panic Sets In
In the vast NSA command center, Knuckles saw that it was Cade calling and answered his phone. “Cade. Go.”
From the hillside in Antigua, Cade stuttered. “Knuckles, Uncle Bill, get him. We’ve got . . . there’s a problem.”
“Well I guess so,” Knuckles replied. “Dude, calm down.”
Uncle Bill, the grandfatherly section chief, walked to Knuckles’s desk with a grin on his face. “Is that Cade? Put him on speaker.”
“Yes, sir.”
The speaker phone blared. “She’s . . . she’s . . .”
“Just calm down, Cade,” Uncle Bill said as he wiped a few crumbs from his beard. The tiny bits of orange cracker disappeared into the tight-weave carpeting. “Let me guess. Jana’s in a bar? Perhaps surrounded herself with d**g lords?”
There was a short silence. “How did you know that?” Cade said.
“Com
