53
NSA Command Center
Knuckles speed-walked into Uncle Bill’s office with his eyes glued to a printout. “Sir? The lab sent over something else. It’s about the microfilm.” He looked up. Bill was seated behind his desk, and a man wearing the uniform of a four-star general sat across from him. The general glanced at the kid. When his eyes landed on Knuckle’s Converse high-tops, he raised an eyebrow.
“Ahem,” Uncle Bill said. “Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?”
“Oh, ah, sorry, sir, sirs. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“That’s okay, son,” Bill said as he dropped into a sarcastic tone, “What General Mears here had to tell me wasn’t really that important.” He looked at the general. “What was it, General? Something about a terrorist bomb going off at the Tunis-Carthage International Airport?” Bill l
