97
Cade and Knuckles spread Rupert’s papers across a large table at NSA headquarters and grouped them by age. Of prime interest was the stack dated within the last six months. Rupert’s writings had become more fragmented at that time, and it seemed his belief in the project was shifting. The two were mostly quiet and paced back and forth, reading one paper after another. After six hours, Cade finally broke the silence.
“I’m exhausted. I’ve got to take a break. Hey, Knuckles, let me ask you a question. There’s something that’s been bothering me. Why do they call you Knuckles?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s because of my threatening persona. Are you saying my peach fuzz and hundred and twenty-two pounds of manliness doesn’t scare you?”
“Well, now that you mention it . . .”
“Hey, Cade,” said Knuckles.
