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going to shoot you, Jaxx. Get over yourself.

He went to his email. His nephew, Drew Avera, on his mind.

Of all the people in the world who could help him out with information, it might be Drew. And he could trust the kid. He was a twenty-two year old genius, graduating high school and college before he was eighteen years old. The good news was that he worked for WNN—the World News Network—as an up and coming news reporter, out there digging for the truth, just like Jaxx, though in separate fields. Drew had a fascination with finding facts, piecing together complex puzzles, noodling out the stories, and reporting them. The kid already had connections that went deep, and he had a way of discovering information that others were too scared to dig for or just not patient enough to cultivate. Drew allowed informational treasure to surface, with insistent but gentle prodding.

The problem was that Drew was green, a rookie. He might be able to solve quadratic equations standing on his head, but he was the kind of kid who might forget to tie his shoelaces, or not eat for three days, or seem entirely baffled that he was supposed to report to work every day. Like, every day?

Jaxx hadn’t seen his nephew for a while, but if he could get Drew to find information on the GSA or Slade, then all the better. It would either calm Jaxx’s conscience or scare the shit out of him. He hoped the former.

He pulled up Drew’s email, crossing his fingers that Drew still used the same address.

Subject: Drew Avera, I’m screwed!

That ought to get Drew’s attention.

Hey buddy,

To authenticate this email so you know I’m not some prince in Africa trying to take your money, I’m going to use your nickname; Werd! Yep! Your name backwards. Werd.

Sorry for the email’s subject line, but I had to get your attention.

About four or five days ago I was doing field research in Peru. To make a long story short, I was picked up by the military. They flew me to an island in the Caribbean.

Grenada.

They offered me a shit ton of money to work for them, translating glyphs and symbols, plus some other top secret shit. They are hush-hush, so do me a favor and keep this on the down low.

I can’t go into too much detail as to what I’m being asked to do, but I’m a little nervous and suspiciou

A sound of metal, this time against wood, erupted in the room. Jaxx turned the screen off and hid under the desk. He reached out and pulled a chair close. The more cover, the better—if he hadn’t already been spotted.

The office door opened and a beam of light swept across the room.

A flashlight.

“Anyone in here?” Fox, his voice an annoying combo of authoritative and whiny.

Jaxx squeezed his eyes shut. Not the best position if found. Fox was suspicious of Jaxx already, and this would be the icing on the cake. Would Fox handcuff him and throw behind bars? Would Fox eliminate him somehow? That guy should never have been given a gun. Jaxx could tell he had a short fuse. But it was deeper than that. Not only could he tell, deep now he knew, down to his marrow, do not piss this one off. Trigger-happy was the phrase that came to mind. Maybe a shot to the back of the head wasn’t a paranoid thought.

A beam of light swept around the room once more, grazing Jaxx’s shoe but continuing on. There was no way out of this. What excuse would Jaxx use? Could he say he thought it would be easier to sleep under a desk? Like back in Grad School? Would Fox buy that?

The footsteps—booted, heavy, without hesitation—came toward him.

“I asked politely. It would be best if you showed yourself now. If you do, then do so slowly. I’m pointing a gun. Any surprise and this thing goes off.”

The footsteps halted and Jaxx could see Fox’s black, shiny boots. He could smell the polish coming off them.

“Last warning. If I find you, you might not like what I do to you. Come out.”

The door opened. “What’s the commotion?”

Fox stiffened. “Slade, it’s me. Richard.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I thought I saw a computer screen on when I walked by here a couple of minutes ago. I thought I better take a look and doubled back.”

“The screens are like ghosts sometimes. They go on and off every so often. Don’t pay it any attention.”

“I’ve walked by this door hundreds of times. Never seen a computer screen turned on after hours.”

“Well, it happens. It’s past your work time, buddy. Come have a late night snifter with me?”

“Sure, but keep an eye on that Jaxx fellow. I caught him snooping around ten minutes ago.”

“In here?”

“No, walking around the hallways. He said he couldn’t sleep.”

Slade cackled. “The guy is probably shitting his pants. Let him roam for a while. Come on, let’s get that drink.”

Fox walked forward. Jaxx relaxed and eased his arms around his knees. His foot slipped and nudged a leg on the chair. Fox stopped.

“Ya’ hear that?”

A pause. “I heard that.”

“I told you. Someone’s here.”

A screen turned on across the room.

“Yep, there one goes. Like I said, ghosts,” Slade moaned. “Turn that off and I’ll pour us both a decent shot of Glenlivet. Meet you in my quarters.”

Fox strode to the computer and leaned on the desk, palms down.

Jaxx knew what he’d see. Glossy pictures littered beard-face’s desk.

Fox lifted one of the glossies to the screen’s light. A pyramid. Fox put it back on the desk and looked at another picture. A shot of Callisto, though zoomed in close enough to show structures on the moon.

Fox sighed, dropping the picture on the keyboard. “Way to hide these in plain sight, guys.” He turned off the computer and exited the room.

Jaxx remained frozen. Should he get up? He thought otherwise and hunkered down for ten minutes. He dared not move.

I have to finish the letter.

He

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