Betrayal

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The National Security Agency Headquarters (NSA)

Security and Counterintelligence Unit

Fort Meade, Maryland

PROJECT DIRECTOR FLYN BEACHER sat in his office on the third floor of the 9th building of the 1,300 buildings spread across the 350 acres that housed the NSA. All those stupid little figures ran through his mind. He was just a small speck in the entire workings of an organization charged with the protection of the United States government communications and information systems against penetration and network warfare. And yet he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Something was wrong. But the problem was, he didn't really know what exactly was wrong. He leaned his bald head back and blew out a stream of bluish smoke. He was supposed to give up cigarettes, that was what his doctor had said. But in the last day he had gone through an entire pack and was working on his second.

The door to his office opened without a knock and a dark haired man with heavy black glasses entered, closing the door behind him and headed across the carpet to Beacher's desk. This was Oral Butkus, a Program Manager working under Beacher. "State troopers report seeing Burnette in Fox Hill."

"Where the hell is that?"

Butkus leaned on the back of one of the two swivel chairs on this side of the desk, "It's out south of the Chesapeake Beach area. I had to look it up on a map."

Beacher cursed, "How the hell did she get all the way out there?"

"I have no idea. A state trooper spotted her and gave chase. He lost her on some back road and backtracked looking for signs of her hiding. Apparently, her car went into a part of the Battle Creek Swamp and he spotted the roof just below the water."

"Is she...?"

Butkus shook his head, "No, they don't think she's dead. There was no sign of her in the car or nearby in the swamp. Course, they're gonna send divers in to make sure. Waters murky, of course."

Beacher's jaw clenched and he shook his head, his voice low as if someone would hear him, "What the hell is going on Oral? This isn't like Burnette. She can't be a damn terrorist."

Pulling the swivel chair out, Butkus sat down, smoothing his tie down over his shirt, "I have no idea. I was wondering the same thing myself. None of it makes any sense. But...we did get that tip-off. And whatever evidence the FBI is going on from that point on. We just have to trust–"

"I don't necessarily trust the FBI," Beacher said, "or many other government agencies, for that matter. We're in a position to know a lot of the crap those guys can pull."

Butkus shook his head softly, "You can't really believe the FBI would do something like that. Why would–?"

Beacher thumped a heavy finger on his desk, "I'm not saying they did. But something is wrong. I can feel it."

Clearing his throat, Butkus ran his fingers down his tie, smoothing it again, "So...what do you want to do?"

Sitting back and letting his frustration and anger out on a sharp breath, Beacher shook his head, "I guess there's not much we can do right now." He picked up a pen and began clicking it as he rocked in his swivel chair for a moment, looking down. Then he looked across at Butkus, "We need to get someone on her station."

Butkus nodded, "I know. I can get Willetts started right away so there's no gap in our security."

"Is she up to it?" The pen clicked away.

"Yeah. She's been working hard to get up to speed. Burnette worked closely with her–"

"She seemed pretty antsy this morning," Beacher as he clicked the pen. "Are you sure she's okay?"

Butkus shrugged, "Yeah. I noticed that too, but I think it's just because she liked Burnette"–

"What about getting into the system?" Beacher asked

"We have the protocols set up. Burnette set it in place and added Crista Willetts–"

"Get going, then," Beacher said firmly. "We can't afford to wait in the hopes...." He threw the pen down on the desk.

Oral Butkus nodded, a slight smile on his face, smoothing his tie as he got up, "I'll get it put in place right away."