PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#702b
Warren strolled into the one on one meeting with the only man in the agency that Clora mentioned was clean.
"Boss," Warren was respectful but not a toady. "I've got a bit of news I think you should know about. First of all, what are the chances your office is bugged?"
"Never thought about it, why?"
"How about you, are you wearing a wire?" Warren ignored his boss man's strange look. "Could I take a look at your hands?"
Steve's hands were as old and knotted as Warrens, and one side held the cyanide capsule and the other side had the smaller bump, like had been in Warren's hand.
Warren reached in his pocket for the plastic sack that held his recently removed transmitter and laid it carefully on the desk top. "Take a look at that," he invited.
"Where did this come from?" Steve had no trouble seeing that the lump was a miniature transmitter.
"The back of my hand, the one that looks exactly like yours." Warren pointed to the smaller bump on Steve's left hand.
"When it was installed, I was told it was a more potent form of cyanide, so it didn't need to be as big as the previous ones."
"Same here, I think what it is, is a lousy experiment to see if our thoughts could be controlled." Warren got up to walk around the room, when in fact he had stopped down in "gadgets" and checked out a very new and expensive listening bug locater and was checking out the interior. He found two of them, picked them up and threw them on the desk. "Your's?" he said in a chilling tone.
Steve reached for Warren's hand, inspected it and asked in a low tone, "how did you find out about this?"
"From my son," and that really brought Steve's astonished head up quickly.
"Son," he dumbly repeated, "you have a kid?"
"I do, and I evidently have a low down, cheating brother that works here. None of which I knew anything about until recently." Warren was carefully watching Steve's face for signs of compromise. The man worked in the office because he was a brilliant statistician, but a horrible liar and wasn't fit for field work.
"Are you sure?" Steve looked at Warren like he had gone over the edge and wanted his friend along for the ride.
"Positive." Warren tried a different tactic. "Have you ever wondered the why and the how of certain ...conditions, around here. Such as, perhaps we were out of the loop on most projects? But perhaps we didn't notice because we had so much busy work to accomplish, we didn't think about it?"
Owlishly, Steve pondered what Warren had just said. "I have been swamped with work," he mentioned, "They just brought me another stack of print outs to correlate by tomorrow."
"Has it ever occurred to you that we have computers that do that kind of stuff in minutes?"
"Well yes, it has. I asked and was told they need human interpretation, so to just keep busy." Steve rubbed his thumb and forefinger together nervously, his unconscious habit. "This seems highly irregular," he remarked.
"I'll tell you what's highly irregular, it's planning an assault and raid to kill your own son, coordinated by your brother. Steve, he looks just like me, both of them do, so someone in the organization had to have been aware."
The door opened to Steve's office and a pair of stern faced men beckoned to the two friends to follow.
"Zinger," thought Warren, "I hit a nerve somewhere."
Ben sat and listened to Pa Daniels talk about fishing. The old man and his cronies were out on the river at every opportunity, puttering around on the docks hoping to catch a fish or two for supper. Ben didn't feel the notion become embedded in his mind, but it was there, and growing.
Mark, Clora, Stephan and Olga made it home before the bus was due, and Clora went for a nap. Mark went to work, catching up on his now official 'paper pushing duties.'
Warren strolled into the one on one meeting with the only man in the agency that Clora mentioned was clean.
"Boss," Warren was respectful but not a toady. "I've got a bit of news I think you should know about. First of all, what are the chances your office is bugged?"
"Never thought about it, why?"
"How about you, are you wearing a wire?" Warren ignored his boss man's strange look. "Could I take a look at your hands?"
Steve's hands were as old and knotted as Warrens, and one side held the cyanide capsule and the other side had the smaller bump, like had been in Warren's hand.
Warren reached in his pocket for the plastic sack that held his recently removed transmitter and laid it carefully on the desk top. "Take a look at that," he invited.
"Where did this come from?" Steve had no trouble seeing that the lump was a miniature transmitter.
"The back of my hand, the one that looks exactly like yours." Warren pointed to the smaller bump on Steve's left hand.
"When it was installed, I was told it was a more potent form of cyanide, so it didn't need to be as big as the previous ones."
"Same here, I think what it is, is a lousy experiment to see if our thoughts could be controlled." Warren got up to walk around the room, when in fact he had stopped down in "gadgets" and checked out a very new and expensive listening bug locater and was checking out the interior. He found two of them, picked them up and threw them on the desk. "Your's?" he said in a chilling tone.
Steve reached for Warren's hand, inspected it and asked in a low tone, "how did you find out about this?"
"From my son," and that really brought Steve's astonished head up quickly.
"Son," he dumbly repeated, "you have a kid?"
"I do, and I evidently have a low down, cheating brother that works here. None of which I knew anything about until recently." Warren was carefully watching Steve's face for signs of compromise. The man worked in the office because he was a brilliant statistician, but a horrible liar and wasn't fit for field work.
"Are you sure?" Steve looked at Warren like he had gone over the edge and wanted his friend along for the ride.
"Positive." Warren tried a different tactic. "Have you ever wondered the why and the how of certain ...conditions, around here. Such as, perhaps we were out of the loop on most projects? But perhaps we didn't notice because we had so much busy work to accomplish, we didn't think about it?"
Owlishly, Steve pondered what Warren had just said. "I have been swamped with work," he mentioned, "They just brought me another stack of print outs to correlate by tomorrow."
"Has it ever occurred to you that we have computers that do that kind of stuff in minutes?"
"Well yes, it has. I asked and was told they need human interpretation, so to just keep busy." Steve rubbed his thumb and forefinger together nervously, his unconscious habit. "This seems highly irregular," he remarked.
"I'll tell you what's highly irregular, it's planning an assault and raid to kill your own son, coordinated by your brother. Steve, he looks just like me, both of them do, so someone in the organization had to have been aware."
The door opened to Steve's office and a pair of stern faced men beckoned to the two friends to follow.
"Zinger," thought Warren, "I hit a nerve somewhere."
Ben sat and listened to Pa Daniels talk about fishing. The old man and his cronies were out on the river at every opportunity, puttering around on the docks hoping to catch a fish or two for supper. Ben didn't feel the notion become embedded in his mind, but it was there, and growing.
Mark, Clora, Stephan and Olga made it home before the bus was due, and Clora went for a nap. Mark went to work, catching up on his now official 'paper pushing duties.'
, another good read this morning (as usual). Oh gads Mr. Pac is a real card. I know it's sad but he sounds like the total cowboy lol. Nosebag indeed!
