Linda Evans - Time Scout 5 - License Invoked.pdf

(999 KB) Pobierz
387029525 UNPDF
Chapter 1
"Damn it to Hell anyway!"
Hearing the utterance of these words by the head of the United States
Secret Service, his aide materialized in his office like a genie
answering a magical summoning.
In actuality, the simile was not that far from the truth. The men had
been together for years (a professional, working relationship, of
course. It's not that kind of a book!) and the aide had long since
learned that on the rare occasions his chief resorted to swearing, it
was best to stand by even before being called. Even then it would
sometimes be too late.
"Trouble, sir?" he said.
"Where have you been?" the chief snarled.
(See what we mean?)
"Sorry, sir. It won't happen again," the aide replied, deliberately
bland of countenance.
Washington, D.C., was a city of power, both built on and undermined by
petty tyrants and obscure pecking orders. One did not survive there
being thin-skinned.
"I can't believe we're getting this dumped on us!" the chief raved.
"And in an election year, too!"
The aide waited patiently. Eventually the vital points of information
would be forthcoming. Trying to rush it would only focus attention on
himself.
"Every no-name power monger in Washington up for re-election bugging us
for protection . . . not to mention the 'equal treatment' demands from
their opponents . . . and now we're supposed to provide protection for
some foreign nut touring the U.S. And with our limited budget, we can
barely -- "
"Excuse me, sir, but providing protection for foreign dignitaries is a
normal part of our department's function."
"Dignitaries, yes," the chief said. "Ambassadors, royalty. But this
falls well outside that description. Did you ever hear of a rock group
called Green Fire?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have?" For the first time in the conversation, the chief abandoned
his mad long enough to look directly at his aide.
"You forget, sir, I have two teenagers at home," the aide said with a
smile. "Green Fire is currently all the rage in the younger set. An
Irish group, I believe."
"Well, those are the 'dignitaries' we're supposed to be providing
protection for," the chief said, returning to his tirade. "At least for
their lead singer. What's her name . . . ?"
"Fionna Kenmare," the aide supplied.
"That's the one. Anyway, the group's about to start a performing tour
of the U.S., except the lead singer has been getting threats and had a
couple unverified attacks on her. Normally, I'd try to dodge it, but
the Brits are taking it seriously and sending along a protective escort
of their own. That means we're stuck. There's no way we're going to let
someone from a foreign agency wander around over here without someone
from our side tagging along."
"Excuse me, sir," the aide said with a frown. "Did I understand you to
say 'unverified attacks'?"
"That's the kicker." The chief nodded. "It seems the threats she's been
getting, as well as the unconfirmed attacks, have been of a psychic
nature. In short, magic. Real bibbity-bobbity-boo stuff. Just what we
need to help us with our leisure time problem. We're already spreading
our manpower dangerously thin and -- at are you smiling at? Did I say
something funny?"
"As a matter of fact, sir, you've already solved your own problem."
"I have?"
"Yes, sir. You have. As soon as you mentioned 'bibbity-bobbity-boo.' It
reminded me that there happens to be another department you can
delegate this whole problem to."
The chief began to smile, too.
* * *
No one could remember exactly how Department BBB got its designation or
what BBB was originally supposed to stand for. It might as well have
stood for "Bibbity-bobbity-boo," however, because that's how everyone
referred to it. That is, everyone who knew of its existence . . . or
remembered it at all.
Department BBB got its start back in the '60s, roughly about the same
time the CIA was conducting its clandestine experiments on the possible
military uses of LSD. "Red phobia" was rampant, and all one needed to
do to get funding for a department or project was to report (or
speculate out loud) that Russia was already channeling resources into
research of a similar vein. The thought that the U.S. might drop behind
the Russians in yet another field (people were still wincing over
Sputnik) loosened governmental purse strings on countless strange and
dead-end endeavors, most of which, thankfully, the voting, tax-paying
public remained blissfully ignorant of. Department BBB was one such
project.
Anything weird and not already nailed down by another department (like
Telepathy and Telekinesis) got delegated to them for investigation or
experimentation. Everything from crystal power to totem animals, secret
names to ethereal spirits, came across their desks or ended up in their
voluminous files. They imported "experts" from every accredited earth
religion (and from most that were deemed "crackpot" even by the loosely
wrapped) to assist them in their quest. All in all, a good time was had
by everyone concerned.
In the '70s and '80s, however, the Department fell on hard times.
Waning interest in the supernatural, as well as countless exposes and
investigations into needless government spending, forced major cutbacks
in the program, until its survival seemed to hinge almost entirely on
its anonymity.
Currently, Department BBB consisted entirely of only two full-time
employees: Sherry Meyers, a middle-aged woman who used to be the
mistress of a senator until he bought her silence by appointing her to
the chairmanship of Department BBB; and Don Winslow, her male secretary
and occasional lover. (We aren't going to try to kid you that nobody in
Washington, D.C., has lovers!) These were the administrators, whose
main function was to answer the phone and deal with the endless
paperwork associated with running a government office. Any actual
assignments were delegated to a handful of "agents" they kept on
retainer.
Even though romantically involved in a haphazard, casual sort of way,
the administrators were not so engaged when their phone rang. To be
specific, Don was reading a current bestseller while Sherry was
updating her address book.
Neither looked up when the phone rang.
It rang again.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Sherry said.
"You're closer," Don replied from the depths of his novel.
"Yes, but you're the secretary and I'm the boss -- "
Don looked at her over the top of the book.
" -- the boss who signs your pay vouchers and approves your raises,"
Sherry continued pointedly.
The secretary heaved a sigh of martyrdom and rose from the sofa where
he was comfortably reclined.
"It's probably a wrong number, anyway," he said darkly, timing his
comment so it would be over before he lifted the phone from its cradle.
"Department BBB. Can I help you?"
He listened for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
"May I say who's calling, please?" Sherry looked up at the tone of his
voice.
His other eyebrow elevated to join the first.
"Just a moment, I'll see if she's available."
He artfully punched the "hold" button and turned to Sherry who was
already on the alert, having tracked the progression of his expression
during the exchange.
"It's for you," he said, needlessly. "The Secret Service, no less."
"No fooling?" Sherry asked.
The question was rhetorical. Even though Don had a bent for practical
jokes, he never sounded a false alarm when it came to the working of
the department. If nothing else, he felt that to do that would be so
easy it would be beneath him. He shook his head. Sherry's eyes widened.
"Sherry Meyers here," she said, punching in on the call. "Yes, sir. I
see . . ."
She began to quickly scribble some notes on the legal pad on her desk.
"And when will they be arriving?"
More notes.
"Do you have a description on the agent who will be with them?"
A few more notations and the pencil was cast aside.
"Very well, we'll get on it right away . . . Don't mention it. That's
what we're here for . . . Thank you. Good-bye."
She replaced the phone on its cradle and sat staring at her note pad.
"I take it we have something other than a senator's wife seeing a ghost
or having a dream that needs to be interpreted?" her secretary said,
urging her gently.
"Here's where we justify our budget for the year," Sherry responded,
snapping out of her trance. "It looks like we have a full-blown
assignment for a change, Donald. There's an Irish rock group, Green
Fire, that's about to start a tour of the U.S. It seems one of their
members has been getting threats and even suffered a couple attacks.
The rat in the woodpile is that the threats and attacks have been of a
psychic nature. That makes it our problem."
Don began to smile. "The kind we can solve without leaving the office?
Good. Who's the target?"
"Fionna Kenmare."
"Fionna Kenmare? Their lead singer? Isn't she the one with the green
hair?"
"I guess." Sherry shrugged. "I don't keep up with that world much."
"What kind of attacks are we talking about here?"
"Mysterious illnesses, disembodied voices, and cuts appearing on her
arms when there's no one around."
"All of which could be staged for publicity," the secretary said with a
frown. "The Secret Service is taking it seriously, though?"
"The Brits are," Sherry said through tight lips. "They sent someone to
check it out, and that person is out of the running with a mental
breakdown. Because of that, they're sending along an agent of their own
to watch over Ms. Kenmare while she's on tour."
" . . . And if there's one of theirs tagging along, there has to be one
of ours tagging along as well, right?"
"You got it in one." The department head grimaced. "Run a quick check
for me, will you? Have we got anyone in New Orleans, or do we have to
air-drop someone in?"
"I think . . . Let me check."
The secretary ran his finger quickly through the Rolodex on his desk.
"Here we go . . . Oh boy!" Don said, dismayed.
"What is it?" Sherry was suddenly concerned by the change in his voice.
"If you're ready for this, our agent in the New Orleans area is none
other than one Beauray Boudreau."
"Beauray . . . Oh God! You mean Boo-Boo?"
Chapter 2
"Mayfield!" Ringwall shouted.
Elizabeth put down her copy of Paranormal magazine. "Sir?" she said,
springing to her feet. Director Ringwall peered out of his office at
her, his plump-cheeked face glowing pink. He was beaming.
"In here, please, Mayfield," he said.
"Yes, sir," she said, keenly aware of the curious glances shot her way
by the other agents of the Office of Paranormal Sightings Investigation
branch of MI-5 as she scurried in.
Ringwall gestured to her to shut the door. Elizabeth stood, breathless,
on the threadbare rag rug in front of his desk. What was so exciting
that it could make her notoriously moody boss smile?

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin