“We just have a few principals in the office today. People who already know what you look like. Matthew is waiting for you in his office. You’re the first of the assets to arrive. Follow me, please.”
With that, Court shrugged, took off his helmet, and carried it under his arm as he was led into the building by Childers.
Almost instantly, Court saw that there wasn’t much to TerreCom’s physical office. A plastic fiddle-leaf fig tree covered in Christmas lights in the corner of a little lobby with old furniture, a reception desk behind glass, as if this were a bank or the DMV, the chair behind it unoccupied. Low ceilings, fluorescent lights that were mostly off.
And a door with a keypad lock.
Childers tapped in a code—Court didn’t catch the numbers—and then they began walking down another hall, this one much more brightly lit.
Looking around, he realized this place clearly had been some sort of medical suite before Hanley had rented it. He wondered now if he was here to meet with his boss in an off-book spy shop or if he was here for a colonoscopy.
And he wondered if he’d really notice a difference.
A door opened at the end of the hallway, and then Matt Hanley emerged, wearing a blue sport coat, khakis, and black tennis shoes. Childers passed Court off to him, then disappeared up yet another hallway.
“Hey, Six,” Hanley said. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Court looked towards the office behind Hanley. It was small and simple. A desk with two chairs in front of it, a couple of monitors on the desk. Paperwork in front of them.
Then he glanced back up the unadorned hall. Almost to himself, he said, “This is it?”
“This iswhat?” Hanley asked.
“I feel like I should get my teeth cleaned while I’m here.”
Hanley chuckled. “Close. It’s been dormant a couple of years, but it was actually a podiatry office before that.”
Court nodded. Again, almost to himself, he said, “This is a small operation.”
“Said the singleton,” Hanley quipped. Court had begun his career in the CIA as a member of their Autonomous Asset Program, much of the time working completely alone.
Court took Hanley’s meaning but said, “Yeah, but the intel, logistics, all that, it was done by others. I was just the dumbass on the pointy tip.”
Hanley motioned for Court to step back into the office, but they didn’t sit down. He said, “Same deal here. Agency directives come down to us, we evaluate and execute.”
“How do they come down to us?”
“Watkins himself makes decisions on what we do.”
“You trust him?”
“Not particularly.” After a pause, he said, “You know suits.”
To this, Court laughed. “Said the stiffest suit of them all.”
“Maybe once upon a time. But would you just look at me now?” He waved a hand around, indicating the spartan offices of TerreCom Industrial Consulting.
Court gazed around the room he stood in. “It’s a shitty office, yes, but itisan office. You’re making it out as if you’re manning a fucking pillbox on a beachhead.”
Hanley shrugged his big shoulders again. “Anyway, that’s the job. I’d say take it or leave it, but it’s not like I’d let you leave it.”
“I’m on board, Matt. I’m just whining.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “Wish I had someone to whine to.”
The intercom on his desk beeped, and Erin Childers’s voice came over the speaker. “Lyle is at the door.”
Hanley looked to Court. “Zack’s alias.”
