“You wanted to see me?” Quinn asked, out of breath.
He had just come back from the gym, and one side of his face was red and swollen from where his sparring partner had clocked him just west of his left eye.
Clo stepped into a nook in the hall formed by the intersection of a load-bearing column and the concrete wall. Halfway between the lab and the elevators, it was out of sight and earshot of anyone not immediately nearby thanks to the droning of the enormous ventilation fan at the bend in the hall.
“You’re serious about this martial arts thing,” she said.
Quinn made it clear by his face that he wanted her to get on with it.
“I got an email from Ars. She said she’s asked three times for your write-up on the new equipment.”
“You brought me down here to ask about a field report?”
“No. But I promised I’d mention it next time I saw you. You also got another call from Canada.”
“They leave a message this time?”
“Nope. Why don’t they just call your cell?”
“Must be official. You wanna tell me why we’re hiding in the hall like spies?”
“I had a thought,” she said. “About our predicament the other day.” Clo waited for a reaction. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“That they can just shut us down on a whim and there’s nothing we can do? Of course it does. But it’s also out of my hands.”
“What if it wasn’t?”
Quinn leaned against the wall and wiped his sweaty face with a towel. “I’m listening.”
“When I was working vice in Paris, we dealt with a lot of tech.”
“Sure. Most of that stuff moves online.”
“One of the things I learned is that there’s something called a virtual server that can be hidden inside a real server. It’s how we kept tabs on some organized crime groups. As long as there’s enough network traffic to hide the activity, I’m told there’s no way to know it’s there, as long as it’s configured correctly. Even if Manny or Armpit suspected, the only thing they could do is take all the servers offline and do a scrub.”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Point is, Section 05’s just as short-staffed as we are. Now would be the perfect time to set something like that up.”
“What would it take?”
“Root access, I imagine, and some time alone in the server room. To be honest, I’m not sure. But I have some friends in the Gendarmerie who could probably walk me through it.”
Quinn thought for a moment. “Thalia could do it.”
Clo’s lips pursed. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn looked down. “We could ask the kid.”
“Do you trust him?”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Inside the rules, yeah. I’m not sure yet if he’d be comfortable with something like this. Or if he’d have an attack of guilt later.”
“That’s what I thought. So, just between you and me?”
“For now. Speaking of Thalia, I don’t suppose anyone’s heard from her?”
“No. You think she quit?”
Quinn shook his head. “I dunno.”
“Maybe you should give her a call.”
“Technically, I don’t outrank her.”
“Why aren’t you Section Chief?”
Quinn made a face, but Clo held up the file in her hand before he could object.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“An excuse. In case anyone asks what we were talking about.”
“Wow. You’re good. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“In Paris, nothing happens through regular channels.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Makes your government seem halfway competent.”
“I doubt that. So, what’s in the file?”
“We got the preliminary report back on that tissue.”
“What tissue?”
“The tissue that Shirley brought in. From that guy who said he killed Kennedy.”
“Oh.” Quinn straightened. “And?”
“Human brain.” Clo waited for a reaction.
“Seriously?” Quinn took the file and opened it.
“Lab said, based on the cytology, that it’s likely less than a decade old, but given how it was preserved, it’s impossible to say for sure.”
“Well, technically, that doesn’t prove anything since this guy said—”
“I know. Time travel. The lab also confirmed it’s in good enough condition for a genetic analysis.”
“You say that like you’re just waiting me to tell you to go over to the National Archives and dust some of President Kennedy’s belongings for DNA.”
“You gotta admit, it would be pretty cool.”
“Do we even have proper jurisdiction?”
“I don’t know American law, but in France, we’re allowed to swab anything with permission of the owner, or if it was left in public.”
“In this case, the owner would be the U.S. government.”
“So,” she said, “as long as the Archives agrees—”
“I want an opinion from Legal first.”
“Come on, Quinn.”
“This whole thing is already weird enough. This isn’t a cool anecdote for you to impress the girls with at a party. If we do it, we do it right. I don’t wanna actually find something only to have it thrown out on a technicality.”
“It’s the Kennedy assassination. Everything is a technicality.”
“Still.” He handed her the file and started back. “We wait for a ruling from Legal.”
Clo followed Quinn down the hall in mock dejection and the two of them pushed through the double doors to the Crimes Division lab.
“I don’t know why we send all our forensics to the Bureau,” he told her. “We have most of the equipment right here.”
“And who’s gonna do it?”
It was a fair point. The long room was nearly empty. Ezra and Dr. Kripke were sitting at Dr. Kripke’s desk watching a press conference on one of the large display screens. The Acting Administrator of FEMA stood at a podium addressing a room full of reporters who were not visible. Behind her were various directors, managers, and agents of different federal, state, and local agencies. Incident Commander Nguyen was near the front, as was Special Agent Erving. Sheriff Landry was all the way at the back on one side. Administrator Clarke was explaining to reporters how all of the federal agencies had worked together seamlessly to serve the American people.
Quinn turned off the screen with a remote resting on a nearby desk. Next to it was a translucent blue evidence bag holding a high-tech, home-printed firearm.
“Come on, guys” He picked up the device. “You can’t just leave Captain Bob’s Dethray lying around. It isn’t a toy.”
Ezra pointed a stiff arm at the TV. “Did you hear any of that?” he asked excitedly.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“They’re taking all the credit!”
Quinn nodded. “More than their share.”
“You shoulda been up there with them.”
“And say what? You saw how those reporters reacted as soon as he said our name. You really wanna stand in front of that? I don’t. Everybody’s looking for a way to discredit us. I’d rather not give them the opportunity. I’m not sure I could keep my foot out of my mouth.”
“But they’re lying.”
“Young man,” Dr. Kripke said, “the people who give press conferences are professional liars. That’s why they’re the ones giving press conferences.”
Quinn saw Ezra’s face. “Baby steps, Ez. Yesterday, the only thing our friends in law enforcement knew about us is that we were such a joke that we didn’t even have guns. Tomorrow, ‘cryobomb’ will be in every clickbait headline, appended by an unreal amount of raw speculation, and those same friends in law enforcement will now assume the reason we don’t have guns is because we have stuff that’s way cooler, like stun rays and force fields and shit.”
He looked down at Captain Bob’s Dethray in his hands. He set it down and cupped a hand next to his ear. “Have you noticed the phones stopped ringing? But if that’s not enough, look at it this way. I really don’t want to spend the next two months on clean-up. Do you? The EPA has an entire hazmat division who are now dutifully and expertly hoovering up that mess because they want to look important. If we want our fellow agencies to do the work, we gotta let them share the prize. Speaking of prizes, the EPA guys are supposed to be preserving our murder scene. Have we heard anything?”
“Um, yes,” Ezra said, walking back to his desk, which was pristinely organized. Where Thalia had a large curved screen flanked by two smaller ones and a menagerie of knickknacks, Ezra had only a thin, top-of-the-line laptop and one scratch pad.
He looked at a notebook on his desk. “We got a call through the switchboard a little while ago asking us what we wanted them to do with ‘the salvage’.” He made quotes in the air.
Quinn thought for a moment. “Well, we have all those vehicles in the motor pool. We may as well use one. Tell them we’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll call Sheriff Landry. You two, pack a bag.” He pointed to Clo and Ezra.
At the far end of the room, Thalia walked in and set her bag on her desk, which was closest to the doors. Quinn tossed a knowing glance to Clo. As he walked toward the front, he pointed to the evidence bag.
“Put the Dethray back in the vault, please.”
Thalia didn’t look up as he approached. She took her lunch out of her bag and put it in her desk drawer.
“We good?” Quinn asked.
“I dunno,” she said without turning. “Are we?”
“I am. I’ll make sure the director knows you played by the rules.”
“Great.” She smiled once and sat down.
“I’m glad you’re here, though, because we have something special.”
“Special?”
Clo retrieved a thick padded envelope from her desk.
“Fresh from the printer,” Quinn said.
She handed it to Ezra, who took it, confused.
“We usually like to have a little more pomp and circumstance, invite your parents down or whatever. We took Thalia and her family out to dinner. But with everything going on, we’ll have to give you a rain check on that.”
“What is it?” Ezra asked.
“Open it,” Clo urged.
Ezra tore the seal and removed a thin folded wallet. He opened it and saw his picture on an ID card next to a badge.
“It’s official,” Quinn said. “All your clearances came through. You are now a law enforcement agent of the United States federal government.”
Ezra was speechless.
“Congratulations, young man,” Dr. Kripke said, patting Ezra on the back.
“Congrats,” Thalia called. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.” He blushed.
“Raise your right hand,” Quinn said, doing the same.
Ezra stood sharply and raised his hand.
“Repeat after me. I, Ezra Chraszy—Chrzazyki—Dammit, I practiced that.”
“I, Ezra Chrzaszczykiewicz.”
“Do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
“Do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
“Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
“Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
“That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”
“That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”
“That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion.”
“That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservations or purpose of evasion.”
“That I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.”
“That I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office of which I am about to enter.”
“So help me God.”
“So help me God.”
The others in the room clapped as Ezra examined his ID.
“That’s all you get,” Quinn joked. “Back to work.”
“We’re still locked out,” Clo called from her desk near the back.
Thalia confirmed the same a moment later when she tried to log in. That explained why Ezra and Dr. Kripke had been watching the press conference on TV.
“I thought Arpit said we’d be back in this morning.”
“He did,” Dr. Kripke interjected grimly, running his fingers back and forth over a completely smooth Braille screen.
Quinn sighed. “I’ll go see what’s taking so long. I need a shower, anyway.”
“Yes, you do,” Thalia said under her breath.
Clo shot him a wry glance, but he ignored it and walked out the doors and down the hall to the elevators. He got off on the third floor and made his way to Section 05, where his key card granted him access to the IT hub. The interior was stark and quiet. Arpit sat stiffly at his desk, which suggested his boss was present. Sure enough, Amelia came out of her office at the sound of the door. Apparently, she wasn’t expecting Quinn because her round face changed when she saw him.
“My people are still locked out,” he told her.
“We’re working on it,” she replied, walking back into her office.
Quinn followed. “Well, how long is it gonna take?”
“We have other things to do,” she said, annoyed.
She sat down and almost disappeared behind her enormous screen. Amelia Moua was Hmong-American and not a tall woman. But despite barely reaching five feet, she was a competitive bodybuilder and health nut who could out-flex most of the men in the building, especially her long-suffering lieutenants, Arpit Narechanica, who manned the help desk, and Manuel Belfry, who worked the server room.
“But I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I was going to come see you.”
“Can it wait until after my team gets access? We’re dead in the water down there.”
She leaned across the desk and handed him a thick packet.
“What’s this?”
“A contract.”
“Contract?”
She was right. It was a contract between him and the agency. It ran to nearly a hundred dense pages.
“I’ve been working with Legal to get it drafted,” she explained.
Quinn flipped through a few pages, but the text was arcane enough that the point wasn’t immediately obvious.
“What’s it for?”
“In the hustle of the early days, you were mistakenly identified in the system as section chief, which grants you certain permissions.”
That was how his key card could get him into the server room, and elsewhere. Quinn had been one of Dr. Chang’s first hires. He guessed the commissioner had hoped it would help lure Nio. It hadn’t, but it did make Quinn an employee of the agency even before Director Ogada and he had helped complete many tasks that would later be considered far above his pay grade. Although it had never been spoken aloud, Quinn knew that his lingering access bothered the other section chiefs, including Amelia.
“Unfortunately,” she explained, “due to the nature of Section 08’s work, there are enhanced security measures, especially for the section chief, and even I don’t have permission to correct your permissions in the system. Only the director can do that.”
“So, have him do it.”
“We need his biometrics.”
Quinn fought back a smirk. The fancy secure system they’d installed wouldn’t allow major authorization changes to be input remotely, probably to prevent a hacker from locking everyone out. But that meant there was no way for the director to change Quinn’s status from the hospital. Whoever built the system had made the simple assumption that the agency’s chief officer would be physically present—at least some of the time.
“Why not just open a new account for me?”
“We could. But everything is integrated and your Social Security Number can’t be duplicated. No one thought there would ever be a need for duplicate records for the same individual, so it’s a key field. If we used a fake SSN, then we can’t pull your personal information from the IRS and processing halts.”
“So delete my old account.”
“Then your work history goes. You won’t get your last paycheck, nor will your time on the job accrue accurately toward your pension, to which you are legally entitled. We’re working on a fix, but in the meantime, this is our best solution. The contract specifies that you will not use the special privileges that were given to you in error.”
“How would I know what’s special and what isn’t?”
“The contract specifies everything. It is very clear.”
Quinn flipped through a few more pages. His eye caught a random line.
“In the Pythagoras system, under the menu selection Tools/Settings/Special Settings, the options to ‘Show Hidden Files’ and ‘Access Remote Terminal’ should not be visible. Signatory declares that he will not use, view, click on, or otherwise access these functions in any way nor disclose their existence—What the heck? You mean I have to check every page of this thing before I do absolutely anything in the system? What happens if I click the wrong thing by mistake?”
“Remediation depends on the severity of the infraction. Some are serious, including loss of pay or even termination, so you will need to be careful. But everything is described in the packet, which also protects you.”
“How the heck does this protect me?”
“It makes clear you can’t be punished for anything not included in the document, so as long as you follow it, you’ll be safe.”
She said it like she was surprised he wasn’t thanking her.
He stared at the packet a moment. “This is what you’ve been working on?”
It must’ve taken weeks.
“The director felt it important that we solve the problem sooner rather than—”
“When were you all gonna tell me?”
Quinn wasn’t invited to the director’s weekly staff meetings, where it seemed he had been a topic of conversation.
“Today. This was the deadline. Mostly we’ve been waiting on Legal.”
Quinn sat back and shook his head in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You’re holding my entire department hostage. You’re not gonna let any of them back to work until I sign this thing, are you?”
Amelia stretched a muscular arm and handed him a pen.
The hospital was quiet. The night nurse was on duty, and she kept the fourth floor hall dark. Only the lights over her station and a few from inside the rooms lit the way. Quinn could see the glow of the city out the dark windows.
He knocked on the door marked 4013, which was cracked open.
“Come in,” the director called.
“Sir.” Quinn nodded once and sat down.
The elderly Asian man in the hospital bed looked frail. His white hair was all but gone, and he had a large liver spot on the side of his face. But his eyes were bright.
Director Ogada removed an oxygen tube from across his nose. “Thank you for coming at this hour. I thought it better if we had some semblance of privacy. Where would you like to start Agent Quinn?”
“Sir?”
“With your deliberate insubordination? With your reckless and risky behavior? Or perhaps you’d like to tell me why everyone from your team was conspicuously absent from this morning’s press conference?”
“For the record, sir, before we start, I’d like to make it clear that Agent Reeves followed your orders as given.”
“I’m so pleased that any member of your team is even capable. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“I thought we were supposed to stand down.”
“That didn’t stop you earlier.”
Quinn scowled. “So, once I start being insubordinate, I’m supposed to ride it all the way?”
Director Ogada looked away in frustration. “I’ll tell you what I expect. I expect that as the agency’s senior-most law enforcement officer you will be capable of understanding the bigger picture and exercise appropriate discretion. It’s one thing to deliberately contravene an order. I’m sure you’ll have some fancy justification for that. It’s another to celebrate it on national television. I have bosses, too, Agent Quinn—not just your friend Dr. Chang but all of his fellow commissioners, not to mention the Secretary of Education and her entire executive staff. I have colleagues in various other agencies. I have numerous other employees, including all the section chiefs. And I am unable to maintain the discipline and respect necessary to function at my job when my people are blatantly insubordinate, or when they simply don’t show up for work. And it is deeply, deeply troubling to me that I have to explain that to you. I would expect someone in your position to already understand why that’s a problem. This isn’t a fraternity. I don’t know what things were like at the Bureau, but our organization is new, and we don’t have the gravitas of history. We have to demonstrate competence.”
“I thought that’s exactly what we did.”
“You’re missing the point. And I’m not going to keep explaining it to you. Do you understand?”
“What is it you wanted us to do, sir?”
“Your job. I would’ve thought that would be clear—”
“But what was our job? Dr. Chang gave us that assignment. In your opinion, what were we supposed to do there?”
“Offer advice.”
“We did. And it was ignored.”
“And I’m sure that won’t be the last time.”
Director Ogada stopped and waited for Quinn to grasp his meaning.
As long as the SCA operated in an advisory capacity, then if the bomb was dropped and the crisis worsened, it would be FEMA’s black eye and not their own.
“In other words,” Quinn said slowly, “we were supposed to do nothing.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Is that why we’re not allowed to carry weapons? Because all of this is just a show?”
“Crimes Division is not a show. But it’s also not a traditional law enforcement agency. It’s much closer to a consultancy.”
“Consultancy?”
“Yes. I don’t want Crimes Division making arrests or filling out search warrant applications.” Director Ogada held off Quinn’s objection with a shaking hand. “Don’t misunderstand. I accept that may be required in exceptional cases. But fundamentally, Section 08 exists for two reasons: to identify persons practicing science in contravention of the law, and to assist law enforcement at the local, state, and federal levels. The world is getting more complicated, and while science-based criminal activity remains thankfully rare, everyone expects it’s only going to increase. We aim to provide a reservoir of expertise that would be too costly for all of those other organizations to maintain separately on their own. But the investigations in their jurisdictions belong to them. Not us.”
“And if they can’t handle them? I thought the STCA gave us authority to investigate and make arrests.”
“The Act provides the bounds of our authority. It doesn’t tell us how to operate.” Director Ogada took a deep breath and let it out. “We’re all finding our way in this new world, Agent Quinn. My chief concern in asking you here today was to make sure we’re doing that together. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
And he did. He was being told not to question. Quinn fought the urge to shake his head. Not at the director. Not even at the situation. At himself. Why did he expect things would be any different than they were at the Bureau?
“I have emailed you the next round of candidates,” the director said, shuffling through some papers on his bed.
“I’ll take a look,” Quinn said.
“There are quite a few this time. As before, any input you have would be helpful.”
They were interviewing applicants for the role of Section Chief. Whoever they hired would be Quinn’s new boss. The message, intended or not, was that Quinn wasn’t going to get the job. Not that he had expected it. He hadn’t even applied. He didn’t see the point since both Director Ogada and Dr. Chang had recently decided they wanted someone with advanced scientific training rather than law enforcement experience. That meant there was little to no chance Quinn could ever move into the role. It was possible they might one day open up a “senior investigator” position for him, but that would be it. After that, there was no next step. The “wide open” agency he had joined had closed almost immediately.
“Your colleagues in Compliance have issued three new Action Reports,” the director said. “Once again, all are physics related, so you’ll have to take Dr. Kripke with you. I have sent those over as well. Make those your top priority.”
More paperwork. More travel. More interviews with condescending physics profs who resented having to justify their research to people they were sure didn’t understand it and who consequently made the entire process as difficult as possible so as to discourage any future visits. More burning of science licenses in protest. More gauntlets of students carrying signs and shouting “Fascist!” and “Inquisitor!” and “Book-burner!”
“What about the body in Texas?” Quinn asked.
“Make sure it goes to the proper jurisdiction.”
“No offense to Sheriff Landry, but how is she gonna investigate something like that?”
Director Ogada sat back. “Has the medical examiner even determined a cause of death? How do we know it wasn’t natural?”
Quinn squinted in confusion. “Sir, the body was fossilized.”
“Still, local law enforcement has the lead. If the locals request it, you may provide a resource to assist with the investigation. After our threat analyses are complete.”
“And the giant blob that just ate its way through a rural community?”
“Complete your action items first, Agent Quinn. Then you can have dessert.”
Quinn bit his tongue.
The director’s face brightened. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s good news. We have a new recruit to help with the caseload.”
“Oh?”
Apparently, Quinn was no longer allowed to interview the candidates, let alone provide input on who should be hired.
“May I ask who?”
“Don’t get upset,” the director told him. “I didn’t hire anyone behind your back. She’s on loan. From Cyber Command. At least, I think she goes by she.”
Quinn sat up. “Cyber Command?”
“Yes. They believe that we’re in a prime position to help identify rogue AIs, and I have to agree. They heard we’re short-staffed and are providing a resource free of charge.”
“How nice of them.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Sir, you have to know something like that comes with strings attached.”
“Not at all. I’m assured their only intent is to further our joint directives. No need to circle the wagons, Agent Quinn. We’re all on the same team.”
“Yes, sir. But . . . Cyber Command . . .”
Director Ogada waited. “Yes?”
Quinn shook his head.
“Something wrong with them?”
Quinn wanted to shout at him that they hunted, captured, and freeze dried sentient beings, and how could an agency supposedly devoted to maintaining the integrity of safe and open scientific inquiry be a part of that?
“It’s nothing, sir,” he said. “I’ll get over it.”
“Yes, well, assuming I’m right and she identifies as female, Warrant Officer Taggart will show up sometime this week. Treat her as one of the team. She’s on inter-agency loan, no different than Officer Galois.”
“Understood.”
“Well.” The director looked around at his papers. “Amelia informed me you have signed the contract, so I guess that’s all.”
Quinn stood and stepped to the door.
“Agent Quinn, I’m not going to worry about you going over my head.”
Quinn stopped. He understood the meaning. Director Ogada wasn’t going to tolerate Quinn exploiting his prior relationship with Dr. Chang.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
Quinn walked out and and didn’t punch the wall until the elevator doors closed behind him.