Page 4 of Dangerous Protocol

And Maya hadn’t been there to protect her.

CHAPTER TWO

Jeffrey navigated his SUVaround the potholes marring the alley behind the Georgetown three-story brownstone that housed one of the National Security Agency’s field offices. As the director of the NSA, he split his time between their main headquarters in Maryland, the Pentagon, the Capitol, and the White House. This location was critical to his ability to be where he was needed, when he was needed.

He was old-school, liked to have his meetings in person, face-to-face. Nothing like looking at someone across a table and being able to read their body language to know whether or not they’re bullshitting you. And in his business, detecting the veracity of a person’s statements, promises, and character was critical.

He turned in to the small parking lot and backed into the spot next to the rear entrance. He cut the engine and checked his surroundings. There was only one other car in the parking lot, and he knew who it belonged to. He swung open the door, climbed out, and took the threesteps up to the back door. He glanced up at the camera, swiped his badge over the panel, and leaned down for the retinal scanner.Ka-clunk. The heavy-duty, magnetic lock disengaged, and he stepped into a small, mudroom-like foyer with hooks on the wall for coats.

Straight ahead was a long hallway that led directly to the front door. In addition to the kitchen, this floor consisted of a supply room with a fancy copier, a small office, a private meeting room, and a bathroom. What was once a dining room at the front of the structure was now a strategy room with a conference table, chairs, and three large, rolling white boards. Casey’s climate-controlled lair, as he called it, was located on the second floor, along with Jeffrey’s office and another bathroom. The third floor was currently being used for storage.

The smell of popcorn wafted his direction just before Casey Mattox popped his head out of the kitchen and breakroom area on the left. “Hey, boss.”

“Good morning.” Jeffrey dragged his scarf from his neck, slipped off his coat, and hung them together on a hook.

Casey was a brilliant, twenty-seven-year-old cybersecurity expert who kept the bad guys in check. He lived on root beer and microwave popcorn and might or might not have a serious girlfriend. It was hard to know for sure, since they seemed to split up and get back together every other month.

Working for the NSA was hell on relationships.

Jeffrey stepped into the combination kitchen and breakroom area as Casey was retrieving a large bottle of root beer from the fridge.

“Maria is on surveillance and won’t be in until later.” Casey twisted the top off the bottle.

Maria Giordano, an intelligence collection specialist, was the only other person who worked at this location. She was a tough, street-savvy Jersey girl from a big, Italian family. Her grandparents immigrated to the States when they were newlyweds, and three generations lived side by side on a quiet street in Union City, the embroidery capital of the world. A little factoid Maria was very proud of. She grew up hearing how lucky they were to be citizens of such a great country, and they instilled in their granddaughter a deep love and sense of patriotism for America.

Maria had a gift for persuasion, strong negotiation skills, and the ability to work in ambiguous and unstructured situations. In other words, she was a kick-ass, quick-thinking undercover operative who could sell ice to Eskimos in the middle of a blizzard.

Her current assignment was surveilling the Chinese embassy, specifically, the ambassador’s rebellious son. The kid decided to pursue his entrepreneurial interests, which did not align with the laws of the United States. They were certain he was running a human trafficking operation butneeded to gather enough evidence to, at least, have him expelled from the country.

Jeffrey had specifically chosen Casey and Maria to work for him because they were the best the NSA had to offer. They also understood that working slightly outside the lines was necessary sometimes, and they had no problem with it. And that was why they reported directly to him and no one else.

“Have you ever thought about drinking water?” Jeffrey grabbed the pot off the burner and poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup.

“Water?” Casey’s face scrunched up like he’d been asked if he ever drank out of a toilet. “Why would I do that?”

Jeffrey shook his head and risked a sip of coffee. Now he was the one making a face. None of them knew how to make a decent pot of coffee, yet he remained ever hopeful.

“You talk about me drinking root beer.” Casey tipped his chin toward the hand holding the coffee cup. “That stuff is just this side of toxic waste.” Ice dropped out of the dispenser and clinked and clanked into his stainless-steel tumbler. “I put those reports on your desk.” He grabbed the edge of the bag of popcorn and gave it a good shake. “I’m working on cleaning up Maria’s most recent surveillance video and should have that to you by the end of the day.”

“Good work.” Jeffrey dumped one creamer and a heaping spoonful of sugar into his coffee, took a tentative sip,and gave up. He dumped it down the sink and ran the faucet to wash it away.

“See what I mean?” Casey started toward the hall.

“Beck and Jonathan O’Halleran will be here in about an hour.” Jeffrey crumpled up the cup, tossed it into the garbage, and followed Casey.

“Caleb not coming with them?” Casey liked hanging out with Caleb O’Halleran for two reasons—he was a genius who created a lot of the technology used to secure this very facility, and he usually brought his K9 partner, Jake. The Czech shepherd was an extension of Caleb, and you rarely saw one without the other.

“Not this time,” Jeffrey said as he headed toward the front room.

“Bummer. I had a couple of questions about that bio-patch Luna invented.” Casey had the highest level of clearance, so he knew about the patch the OSI operators wore.

Luna was Caleb’s sister-in-law. She was only nineteen when she invented a tiny, adhesive patch worn by covert operators in the field. Their physical location and vital signs were sent back to the command center, where they were monitored by a tech specialist twenty-four hours a day whenever they were on an op.

“Back to work.” Casey’s footsteps thumped up the wooden stairs, then his office door closed with a solidthump.

This location didn’t have a reception area because they never got any visitors. The O’Hallerans were an exception.

Beck O’Halleran was the founder of O’Halleran Security International. Jonathan, one of his brothers, ran their Pacific Northwest facility. Their three brothers and younger sister, along with their significant others, all worked for the company.

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