Play the Red Queen by Juris Jurjevics

Author:Juris Jurjevics [Jurjevics, Juris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2019-11-03T18:47:10+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mrs. Lacey called early to say the intel reports and classified traffic the ambassador had requested were waiting for us at the embassy. I kissed Nadja goodbye and fetched Robeson. When we arrived, Mrs. Lacey said a room had been set aside for us on the Agency’s floor.

“Take the stairs,” she said. “Don’t let the innocuous signs fool you.” She reminded us nothing classified was to leave the building.

I impressed on her that a Mr. Fred Tuttle needed to get airborne immediately. Mrs. Lacey posed no questions, simply jotted down his information as I spoke. “I’ll see to it, Sergeant Miser.” I loved this woman.

After the yokel on reception duty checked our IDs and found us on the authorized list, a Southern belle came out and escorted us to a bare office. The only decoration was a newly printed poster of Nhu in his uniform as Supreme Leader of his pistol-packing boy scouts, the Republican Guard. Had the Agency guys hung it up as a joke, or a prediction? A mountain of classified paper weighed down the lone steel table and two credenzas behind it, with more piles growing like termite mounds up from the floor.

“We don’t need everything from the beginning of time,” I said to her.

Eyes sparkling, she replied in Southern singsong, “This output is just October, and the month isn’t even done yet.”

“What’s with the barrels?” Robeson asked, pointing to a pair of metal drums stenciled with skull and crossbones.

“You mustn’t touch those,” she said. “They’re full of chemicals for destroyin’ classified papers in the event of a hostile intrusion, or an emergency evacuation of the chancery.” Her blue eyes circled the room, taking in the surfaces and the wooden floor laden with stacked paper. “It might be quicker just to strike a match. This raggedy buildin’s a firetrap. Consider yourselves lucky all this isn’t for y’all. Come this way.” She took us into an adjoining room.

Lodge had okayed our seeing all traffic and intelligence reports related to the Red Queen. Which turned out to be nearly nothing: a thin file consisting of a silly survey put out by General Harkins’s headquarters, full of malarkey about precautions to take against further attacks by Unit Eight. And a skimpy alert from Air Force intelligence reporting rumors of an “unidentified VC female” thought to be targeting American advisors in Saigon.

“Damn, Sarge,” Robeson said, “CIA’s keeping close enough tabs on the Red Queen to know how she did in General Lang, but somehow with all their fancy deception and gadgets, they still haven’t come up with anything we can use to locate her.”

“Or anything they’re willing to share.” I tossed both files aside. “We don’t know how long before she aligns on her big target, and what’ve we got? These bullshit intel alerts, some itty-bitty bones, and a corner of an astrological chart Miss Blue’s poking at?”

“There’s her calling cards,” Robeson said. “Find the printer, maybe he tells us who ordered them. Gets us a little closer to finding someone on her team.

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