dinner?” he asked.
Her hand stroked the top of his thigh. “I’d love to.” They conferred over the menu like conspirators before going into the dining room. As expected, the food was excellent and, much to his surprise, Shari carried on a sparkling conversation. It all made for a delightful meal. They lingered over the last of the wine and then ordered coffee. “Does lawyer sex always start like this?” she asked.
He had never heard of the term but liked where it was leading, even if he suspected Shari was on the make, looking for a career jump into the D.A.’s office. Her hand moved along the inside of his thigh and he felt the stirrings of an erection. It had been a long time. “Hopefully, lawyer sex is more than just professional courtesy,” he replied. “Or a cynical career thing.”
“Does it matter?” she murmured, moistening her lips.
It didn’t.
3
7:30 A.M. , Wednesday, April 7,
The Farm, Western Virginia
The sprawling complex in western Virginia was anything but a farm. Its Colonial-style redbrick buildings, covered walkways, and gently rolling lawns against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains were more reminiscent of an Ivy League college than the headquarters of Century Communications, one of the world’s most sophisticated research and development centers. But it was a topsy-turvy world. The scientific staff, a young and eager bunch commonly referred to as the whiz kids, looked like students while the much more numerous, older, and sedate technicians resembled professors. As a result, not one of the small group who escorted Nelson Durant and Art Rios into the Project appeared to be over the age of twenty-five.
They were standing on a small balcony lounge overlooking a conventional control center. “Our studies,” a trim young woman explained, “confirm that a traditional control room reinforces expectations.”
“It gives visiting congressmen something they can hang their hats on,” an equally young man added. “But this is the heart of the system.” He gestured at two TV monitors sitting on a simple work table in front of them. “We show ’em the main floor and that keeps them happy.” Durant smiled at the pointed barb about the mind-set of politicians and sat down in a comfortable chair that swiveled in front of two TV screens. “Meet Agnes, Mr. Durant. Agnes, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Durant.”
The screen on the right monitor came to life at the sound of the name “Agnes.” The image of a pleasant-looking woman in her mid-thirties appeared and the camera built into the monitor swept the room, matching the movement of her eyes. It briefly paused on Rios before focusing on Durant. “Hello, Mr. Durant,” the image said. “I am so pleased to meet you.” The image and the voice were computer generated and designed to be friendly.
“Well, Agnes,” Durant replied, “I’m glad to meet you too. The whiz kids tell me you can do some pretty amazing things.”
The image actually blushed. “Not really, Mr. Durant. All you do is give me a few key words so I can focus on a subject. Then I search existing libraries, files, and governmental sources for information to create an intelligence brief.” The image looked embarrassed and the voice became confidential. “I have access to the secret files of every government that uses computers to store information. Any information.”
Durant was enjoying the interplay. “Agnes, I’m shocked.”
“Well,” Agnes replied, “sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.”
“Is that all you do?”
“Oh, no. I can target specific communications through satellites and things like that. For example, say you wanted to know what the German government was doing about Poland.”
“Are they doing anything about Poland?”
“I don’t know. But I could build an intelligence brief to find out. Then I would monitor, decrypt, and translate their communications to learn what was currently happening. Would you