Chimera Read Online Free PDF Page B

pair of tiny wire-rimmed glasses. He smiled warmly as
Chapel stared at him.
    â€œYou’re wondering where you are, of course,” the
man said. He held out a hand and Chapel shook it. “This whole level was supposed
to be a private fallout shelter for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I doubt it will
surprise you to know they demanded it have a pleasant little tavern. The other
rooms on this level aren’t like this, sadly. Mostly they’re full of metal cots
and preserved food from the 1960s. This room is my favorite.”
    â€œIt’s . . . nice,” Chapel offered. Maybe
a little stuffy for his taste, but it definitely beat his cubicle back at Fort
Belvoir.
    â€œRupert Hollingshead,” the man said, and let go of
Chapel’s hand. “I’m the one who sent you all those pesky text messages. I am
also, despite appearances, a member of the DIA directorate, though not of DX,
I’m afraid.”
    â€œCaptain James Chapel, sir, reporting,” Chapel
said, and gave Hollingshead a salute. If Hollingshead was DIA, then he had to be
military, either a full bird colonel or a brigadier general. The fact that he
was out of uniform didn’t matter one whit.
    Hollingshead returned the salute. “Oh, do be at
ease, Captain. As I was saying . . . fallout shelter, yes. Never used
for that purpose, of course, and abandoned for years. When I needed a quiet
little place to set up shop, I figured it would do. The walls are concrete six
feet thick and it’s swept for listening devices every day. Can’t be too careful.
I do apologize, Captain, but will you allow me to show you a seat? Time is
rather . . . ah. Short.”
    â€œDamn straight,” someone else said.
    Chapel hadn’t noticed the bar’s only other occupant
until he stood up from his chair. This one was much more what Chapel thought of
when he imagined a high-ranking intelligence official. He wore the customary
black suit, power tie, and flag pin. He had heavy jowls that made him look a
little like Richard Nixon, and he stood a little hunched forward as if his
posture had been wrecked by years of whispering into important ears.
    The two of them, Hollingshead and this man,
couldn’t have been less alike. But Chapel could tell right away they had the
same job. Spymasters—the kind of men who were always behind the scenes pulling
strings and counting coup. The kind of men who could start wars with carefully
worded position papers. The kind of men who briefed the president daily, but who
never let their faces show up on the evening news.
    Chapel had been in intelligence long enough to know
that you never, ever questioned or messed with men like that. You saluted and
you said sir, yes, sir and you did what they said and you never asked why.
    You couldn’t keep yourself from wondering,
though.
    â€œThat’s Thomas Banks,” Hollingshead said. “CIA,
though—shh! Don’t tell anyone I told you that.”
    He gave that warm smile again and Chapel couldn’t
help but return it. He found himself liking Hollingshead already.
    Banks, on the other hand, was going to be a hard
man to love—that was evident from his whole manner. “We need to get this
started,” he growled. “We’ve already lost five hours. Five hours we’ll never get
back.”
    â€œOf course,” Hollingshead said. “As for your friend
here, will he be staying?”
    Chapel and both officials turned to look at
Laughing Boy, who had taken up a position just to one side of the door. Laughing
Boy didn’t so much as squirm under the scrutiny.
    â€œHe’s been cleared. Your man is, too, I assume,”
Banks said. “What are his qualifications? Doesn’t look like much.”
    â€œCaptain Chapel’s a war hero, actually,”
Hollingshead said. He went over to the bar and poured himself a glass of water.
He raised one eyebrow at Chapel, but Chapel shook his head to