He looked at his watch, waiting for the seconds to tick off until it was exactly seven-oh-five. Then he entered some numbers; waited; tapped in his authentication; then entered another, shorter set of numbers. After a series of clicks, the familiar voice came on the line. “Servandae vitae mendacium.”
“Nemini dixeris,” said Lime, giving the countersign.
“I’ll take your report now,” Colonel Rush said.
Per his training, Lime wasted no words. “My insertion was timely. Agent Swanson has made more progress than expected on Hostile Interdiction Three. Despite the fire, she has aggressively followed up on the remaining evidence.”
“Could this lead to further progress?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Don’t you think termination would be a wise precaution?”
“With all respect, sir, it might be a little early for that. Swanson is the suspicious type and may be salting her evidentiary trail. We don’t want to skin the rabbit unless we’re sure no scat’s been left behind.”
“A colorful expression. Did you pick it up out there?”
“This morning, sir.”
“I’ll remember it. And you’re confident leaving her in place is the right way to proceed?”
“Yes. I’ve eliminated the biggest, most immediate threat. If something happens to Swanson directly on the heels of that, it will raise questions. In my opinion, sir, the ongoing dig is far most dangerous.” He paused. “May I ask how the debriefing is proceeding?”
“It reached its termination. No further information of use was extracted. He hadn’t identified the location of Alpha, although he did discover that Beta was merely the ricochet location. Their team is currently searching for Alpha.”
“If the group discovers…Well, sir, you know my concerns about the initial extraction being insufficiently thorough.”
“It’s not our place to question the actions of those who came before us.”
“I’d never do that,” said Lime.
“And you do understand the reasons why no further extraction or exploration was undertaken, or can be undertaken in the foreseeable future, at Alpha?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t negate the possibility of…”
Lime’s voice trailed off, and his superior completed the sentence. “Contact.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Duly noted.”
“I want to assure you that I will keep my foot on the throat of Swanson’s inquiries—and, if it becomes necessary, escalate with prejudice.”
“Very good. If that’s all, we’ll talk again tomorrow at the scheduled time—unless an alert arises before that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lime replied. Two additional clicks, then the line went dead.
Lime sat for a moment, mentally reviewing the conversation and whether it called for any restructuring of his plans. Deciding it did not, he took the SIM card from the phone, then turned toward an unusual device resembling a small oil drum, topped with a cylindrical steel cap tethered to the drum by a flexible pipe of metal mesh. Swinging open the cap, he dropped the chip of silicon in, then closed it again. The faintest whump sounded within as the barrel cyclone incinerated the SIM card. Next, Lime looked at the phone, mentally counting the number of times it had been used. Five. Despite its resistance to high-tech infiltration, tradecraft nevertheless dictated it was time to switch it out for another.
The whump the phone made as it was flash-incinerated was louder, but still nothing above a footfall, and in no way disturbed the somnolence of the evening.
35
CORRIE LOOKED UP from her desk, eyes fastening on the Pyramid clock hung above the exit to the elevator banks. Seven forty-five? It didn’t seem possible. She’d been at her desk since meeting with Lime, putting together a timeline of the investigation all the way from Nora’s initial call to her conversation with Sheriff Watts that morning. Wherever she could, she cross-referenced the details with database links to photographs, digital DNA samples, measurements for the facial reconstructions, ballistic tests, and all the other flotsam and jetsam that attached themselves to an investigation like iron filings to a magnet. She’d felt oddly satisfied upon completion: despite what was almost certainly lost in the fire, and no matter where the case led from here, she felt she’d outlined a solid foundation for Lime of the investigation to date.
Equally satisfying—and unexpected—was the number of people who had come up to her over the course of the afternoon to express their sympathy and support. Most were junior agents—including, surprisingly, a couple of the macho types who’d been standoffish when she first arrived. A few senior agents, who wouldn’t normally have given her the time of day, had also paused at her cubicle to casually nod or greet her. Although no specifics were mentioned, Corrie understood: word of Lathrop’s accusation had gotten around, and the consensus seemed to be that the man was full of shit. Corrie knew the forensic pathologist wasn’t popular; perhaps that was influencing people’s opinions. One thing, however, she wouldn’t forget: Lime, her new mentor, had been the first to voice uncompromising support for her.