LITMIR.BIZ

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“Okay, well, you know that big white building in Washington? You know—the one with the big pillars in front?”

      Higgs stared at Schwarz a moment and then mumbled, “I see.”

      “Actually, you don’t see,” Lyons said. “If you get my meaning?”

      “I get you,” Higgs replied.

      Lyons said, “As to the reason for our visit, let’s just say we’re after the same thing the NSA boys are after. Only fact is we already know what information was contained in that data vault. We’re way more interested in finding out who wanted that information and why.”

      “And if I cooperate and help you find them, I’ll close my case, as well.”

      “That’s the general idea, yeah.”

      “Okay, then I guess there’s no harm in telling you what we know so far. Especially since it isn’t a hell of a lot.”

      Blancanales folded his arms. “We’re all ears.”

      * * *

      Washington, D.C.

      DAVID ERNEST STEINHAM stared out the vast array of windows from the fifteenth story of his office building. He smiled at the breathtaking view of the Potomac, and with good reason—he’d paid a small fortune for it.

      But Steinham also knew he’d earned every penny of the millions of dollars his company had made. Steinham had started Dynamic Core Defense Industries in the late eighties, not too long after the Reagan presidency started granting massive contracts for companies willing to perform the latest in military R and D. Steinham, an eager young college graduate, had jumped at the opportunity and built his empire from the ground up.

      Year after year, DCDI would innovate new defense solutions and, year after year, the government would renew with the company under an even more lucrative contract. Over the nearly past thirty years, Steinham’s company had made billions and managed to remain privately owned. They also had the dubious reputation of being one of the largest government-contracted employers in North America.

      Steinham turned at the sound of his office door opening. The two men who entered looked stressed and weary, despite the fact they both wore pressed suits and were clean-shaved.

      “Gentlemen,” Steinham said, waving them to leather chairs and love seats arranged in a hexagonal shape around a low, lead-crystal coffee table. “Please sit down. I’m sure you’re tired.”

      “That would be an understatement, sir,” Jack Cyrus replied.

      Steinham waited to take his seat until after Cyrus and Riley Braden were comfortable. “Can I get you anything?”

      The men shook their heads.

      Steinham crossed his legs, tugged at the crease line of one pant leg and said, “I’ve reviewed your report very carefully, Colonel Cyrus. I’m terribly sorry for the loss of some of your men.”

      Cyrus cleared his throat before replying, “Thank you, sir.”

      “Have you managed to contact the others who survived?”

      “We have, sir. They’re all fine, no injuries.”

      “And you’re certain every one of those you were forced to leave behind was dead?”

      Steinham could see the flush of embarrassment mixed with anger on Cyrus’s face. He’d probably not appreciated the way Steinham had phrased that particular question, but then, Steinham didn’t give a good damn. Cyrus understood quite well who paid the bills, and Steinham had been quite clear in his expectations before ever agreeing to hire the mercenary leader.

      “All those of my men who were left behind are confirmed KIAs, sir. You have no reason to be concerned about security.”

      “And I assume no reason to believe they will manage to trace any of those men back here.”

      It was Braden who spoke up. “Begging your pardon, Colonel?”

      Cyrus nodded and Braden looked at Steinham. “Sir, I was the one who personally vetted every one of the men on our team. I can assure you that nothing in their identities or covers could be traced back to you, DCDI or any of your affiliated holdings.”

      “Thank you, Major Braden. I’ll take you at your word. With that matter dispensed, the only thing left to discuss is your failure to retrieve the information on the most probable entities responsible for Oleg Dratshev’s disappearance.” Steinham looked Cyrus in the eye. “You understand, Colonel, the very seriousness this failure on your part to accomplish the mission objectives?”

      “I do understand,” Cyrus said, obviously trying to remain calm. “But you must realize that the reason we failed is the same reason I lost a half dozen of my men. We were set up.”

      “And you have proof of this?”

      “He has me, sir,” Braden said. “And again, begging your pardon, Colonel? I was there, Mr. Steinham. Our failure to accomplish mission objectives had nothing to do with incompetence. We executed the plan exactly as we told you we would. Security forces there had been beefed up and they were actually waiting inside the data vault.”

      “Yes, that’s exactly what Colonel Cyrus’s report indicates,” Steinham said. “But that’s not enough to prove you were set up.”

      “I would tend to agree with you, sir,” Cyrus replied. “But it does indicate they knew we were coming. And they specifically waited until we were well inside the perimeter to engage us. Had this been a legitimate federal op, they would’ve hit before we ever got the chance to get inside.”

      Steinham shook his head. “What’s your point exactly, Colonel?”

      “My point, sir, is that they seemed fully intent on destroying our entire team. I think they wanted to make sure none of us got out alive. Had we not been split into two teams, they might well have gotten away with it.”

      Steinham considered this and finally nodded. He had to admit there was significant merit to what Cyrus and Braden had told him. “I’ll agree someone or something definitely wanted to keep the incident on the QT. But it’s still disturbing because in any case, it would indicate we have a security leak inside DCDI. We can’t have that. Ever. So, gentlemen, I will leave it up to you to find the leak and plug it.”

      “And how do you suggest we plug it?” Cyrus asked. The hard, level gaze Steinham made Cyrus reply, “I see.”

      “Now since we weren’t able to obtain the information I’d hoped from the data vault, I was forced to pursue a secondary line of inquiry. I got a very interesting response.”

      Steinham rose and poured himself a drink from the fully-stocked wet bar. He didn’t offer either of his guests anything. They were technically on duty and would’ve refused, so Steinham figured why bother.

      Ice clinked in the tumbler as Steinham continued. “I would doubt either of you is familiar with electromagnetics beyond the most rudimentary facts, so you’ll indulge me while I elaborate.

      “DCDI got involved in the physics of EMP weapons about ten years ago. In fact, I funded an entire department devoted solely to such research. But after three years and employing some of the best minds, we weren’t making enough headway so I shut the project down.”

      Steinham poured his brandy and then returned to his seat before continuing. “Then we got wind through our connections inside the intelligence community of back-channel talk regarding Dr. Oleg Dratshev. They were mostly rumors, but they were enough to get my attention and, based on what I knew from our time of research here, those rumblings sounded very promising.

      “I tried every way I knew to persuade Dratshev to come work for me but he is a staunch socialist and a man of—how can I say this?—eclectic tastes.”

      “It would seem somebody beat you to the punch,” Cyrus said.

      Steinham gave the remark serious

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