12
Operation ZG
“This better be important,” growled Jim Giles groggily, blinking into the glaring light, trying to identify who had dared to flip the switch.
“There’s been a development, sir,” a woman’s voice replied. The door closed hastily.
Atlanta. I’m in Atlanta. Operation ZG. A development?
Giles kicked his feet of the couch, sat up, fastened his top button, and adjusted his tie, all in one fluid motion. But he felt his age more than a little as he struggled off the couch. At fifty-two, Giles had finally discovered that there was a limit to how many nights he could string together with little sleep.
As bright as the light had been in the tiny, windowless office, his destination was much brighter. And unpleasantly noisy.
The Order had taken possession of a hangar at Peachtree-De
