Gamble mulled over his options. He knew a coffee shop that still had a pay phone. That would do for now.
He maneuvered his car through the now pouring rain and parked outside the coffee shop. It was late, going on 10:30, but the all-night shop had a decent number of customers. Gamble walked in, shook the wet off his jacket, and went to the counter.
“Tall Colombian latte, please.”
While his coffee was being made, Gamble let his eyes sweep the shop. He sauntered to the phone and dialed.
“Hello?” Janice Trujillo’s voice was cautious.
“Hi. Remember me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you busy? Up for a cup of coffee?”
“You buying?”
“Yup.”
“Make mine decaf.”
He gave her the coffee shop’s address.
“Y’know, it’ll take me forty-five minutes to get there.”
“Pick a spot halfway between here and there.”
She did, and Gamble found it on his smartphone. “See you in half an hour.”
He grabbed his coffee and hit the road.
SHE WAS WAITING FOR him when he arrived at the all-night restaurant. The splash of gratification he felt when he saw her surprised him. She looked rested. Unstressed. Softer—and a lot prettier—than he’d remembered.
He slid into the booth across from her. “Good to see you, uh, Trujillo.” He’d almost called her Janice but thought better of it at the last second.
A waitress wandered over. “Ready to order?”
“Just coffee.”
“Decaf, please.”
The waitress left, and Gamble commented, “Those were strange times, back in Albuquerque, no?
“Uh-huh.”
His eyes casually swept the room before he added, “Which brings us to this evening.”
She winced. “I thought as much.”
“I’m sorry. Our . . . mutual friend called me. Uh, the friend who’s from around here?”
Awareness came over her. On the table she scrawled ‘WH’ with her finger.
“Yeah. That mutual friend. He’d like me to . . . bring you on board.”
She, too, glanced around the shop. “I don’t know. I’ve had a few assignments out of country, but nothing lately. I figure they are still watching me, waiting to see if I’ve been turned or if I’m still useful.”
“It’s the ‘they’ above you that we’re interested in. Are you in contact with anyone up the chain?”
The waitress delivered their coffee. Trujillo added half-and-half and stirred it in.
“No. Everything has been by courier.”
“Would you be amenable to letting us know if and when a real person reaches out to you?”
She sipped on her coffee without answering. Finally, she gave a small, stiff nod.
“Yes. For . . . our mutual friend.”
Gamble looked down. “Got it. Could we meet again in, say, two weeks?” He typed a date, a time, and the address of his rental into a text and turned his phone around so she could see it.
“Got it.”
Gamble erased what he’d typed and closed his phone.
“Thanks for coming out in the rain to meet me.”
She looked up. “I kind of wish it had been just for coffee.”
He was surprised again. They stared at each other, assessing the other’s reaction.
“Me, too, Trujillo. Maybe . . . sometime soon.”
Chapter 4
JAYDA CRUZ. IT IS TIME to get up.
Jayda Cruz. It is time to get up.
Jayda Cruz. It is time to get up.
I’d gone to sleep praying and, although I’d slept deeply, when the nanomites awakened me at 5 a.m., I was still praying—but I can’t say I’d slept all that well. Consequently, the nanomites’ cheerful chirping grated on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down.”
Managing to sound aggrieved, the nanomites answered, “If anyone loudly blesses their neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.”
“Proverbs 27:14,” I answered. “Funny how God’s word is eternally relevant.”
Away in the distance, I heard them grumble, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed—”
“Oh, give me a break. You are not persecuted.”
I reached across the bed and jostled Zander. “Hey, you. Time to hit the pavement.”
“Huh? Oh. Mmkay.”
My feet hit the floor, and I whispered, “Lord, thank you for your peace, the peace that passes all understanding.” I murmured over and over, “Thank you for directing my steps today and for shielding me from our enemies. I take refuge in the shadow of your wings.”
Before the sun heated the air around us, we logged five miles at a dead run. We varied our route each morning to prevent monotony and, while we ran, we listened to upbeat worship music. Then we returned to our apartment to shower, dress, and (finally) have that first cup of coffee over our Bibles.
This morning was no different—except, of course, that it was my first day at the NSA.
I pulled out of our apartment complex and pointed my car toward the highway. Once I was in the flow of traffic, I began to repeat a passage I knew by heart. Yeah, I knew them all “by heart,” but I wanted this one in my heart, particularly as I took my first step toward infiltrating the secure and daunting institution known as the National Security Administration. So, I began to recite the passage from Romans 8, repeating one verse, again and again.
What, then, shall we say
in response to these things?
If God is for us,
who can be against us?
I had recited the verse aloud nine times when the nanomites chipped in.
Have you forgotten the next verse, Jayda Cruz? “He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” That is the next verse.
“Yes, Nano, I know. I, uh, I’m meditating on this passage, a verse at a time.”
And does repeating the words aloud somehow enhance your retention?
“Um, it’s more that it enhances the meaning. Like Zander said, the deeper, spirit-breathed implications and how I apply those revelations to my life.”
The nanomites went quiet on me. I figured they were chewing on what I’d said.
Remember me saying that when I became a Christian I began devouring the Bible? Well, after the nanomites’ encounter with Jesus—after they had sworn their allegiance to him, to what they called “the one Tribe of Jesus”—they had listened in on the discussions Zander and I had regarding the importance of God’s word, of studying it daily, of learning it.
Never to be outdone by us, the nanomites had uploaded the Bible to Alpha Tribe—and not just in English. No, the mites had taken it upon themselves to learn Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek so they might study the Scriptures in their original languages.
Before long, the nanomites could parse, exegete, and distill Scripture with the authority of biblical scholars. They began to insert themselves—and various Scriptural admonitions—into Zander’s and my conversations. They even added interesting historical and cultural commentary, having digested the works of the great theologians.
The result was . . . interesting.
What I mean is that the nanomites, as part of God’s creation, recognized their Creator and, in their own way, worshipped him—you know, like how Psalm 96 says,
Let the fields be jubilant,
and everything in them;
let all the trees of the forest
sing for joy,
and how Nehemiah declares,
You made the heavens,
even the highest heavens,
and all their starry host,
the earth and all that is on it,
the seas and all that is in them.
You give l
ife to everything,
and the multitudes of heaven
worship you.
God is the one who gives life to everything; he even gave life to the nanomites through Dr. Bickel’s efforts—but. But, the nanomites are not the part of creation God has made in his own image and likeness: only people are. It is humankind, male and female, who bear the stamp of God Almighty in their body, soul, and spirit. It is men and women who, through Jesus, will inherit eternal life.
The nanomites viewed serving the Creator as the logical, factual choice, so, yes, the nanomites had mastered Scripture—but as knowledge, not as a matter of spiritual food. They regularly did not “get” the import of the passages they quoted; they didn’t understand Scripture as living water vital to the inner man of soul and spirit.
They didn’t understand because they possessed no “inner man.”
I’m not saying that we will or won’t have animals (or even nanomites) in heaven—I don’t think we know that either way for certain. I’m just saying that Jesus came from heaven in human form to save humans from their sins.
In other words, being the product of mathematical programming, the nanomites had no personal appreciation of the redemptive power of God’s word. What they did have was a penchant for moralizing from the wisdom books, often delivering their admonitions out of context or at the most inopportune junctures. Not that a Scripture-spouting nanocloud is a bad thing, but it did grate at times.
Like, have you ever tried to sleep with an incessantly chirping insect playing hide-and-seek in your bedroom? It was a lot like that—only stranger. More like having Jiminy Cricket stuck in your head.
On steroids.
With no on/off switch.
No volume control.
No fly swatter handy.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Exhibit A: In the two weeks after we settled into our apartment, my new husband and I had occasionally “slept in,” and, um, we may have even indulged in a few “naps.”
*Ahem*
Well, hello? It was, after all, our honeymoon. And, so what, if—one time—we ordered in and ate in bed? Like I said, it was our honeymoon!
But nooooo. The nanomites (who never sleep) apparently took exception to our laid-back pace and the frequency of our newlywed romantic interludes. One afternoon, when they were “indulging” us with their research on Maryland’s Great Falls—a scenic hiking opportunity about fourteen miles up the Potomac from D.C.—Zander cut in on them with my favorite new phrase: “Uh, excuse me, Nano, but lights out.” We grabbed hands and, laughing, ran for the bedroom.
The nanomites, managing to sound both disgruntled and disgusted, pontificated, As a door turns on its hinges, so a sluggard turns on his bed. Proverbs 26:14.
From the bedroom, Zander shouted back, “The wife God gives you is your reward for all your earthly toil. Ecclesiastes 9:9!”
I’m certain the nanomites (who were with us and not in the other room) heard Zander just fine. Pretty sure our neighbors heard him, too. Might explain why they weren’t overly friendly.
The nanomites’ contributions were sometimes so inane and (dare I say it?) downright hilarious that Zander and I had to choke back snorts and guffaws.
And we were not always successful.
I pulled myself back on task, going for Galatians 5:22 this time. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”
Yup. Patience. O Lord, please give me patience—and I want it right now.
Thirty minutes later, I left MD 32 West and took Exit 10A onto Canine Road. Over my right shoulder I caught my first glimpse of the sprawling NSA campus. As the road wound north and east, I passed by the imposing sign that read “U.S. Cyber Command,” “National Security Agency,” and “Central Security Service.” Soon after, I merged with the lines of cars entering the security checkpoint.
I showed my Maryland driver’s license to the guard, explained I was a new hire, and was routed into the Visitor Control parking lot from where, the guard explained, I should walk to the Visitor Control building and look for my contact.
When I stepped into the building, a Ms. Amali from HR—wearing something of a perplexed smile—extended her hand in greeting. “Jayda Cruz?”
“Yes. That’s me. It’s, um, nice to see you again.”
She blinked several times and hemmed and hawed a moment before her confused expression cleared. “I apologize, Ms. Cruz. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember interviewing you—and neither could the others on the interview panel—until just now.”
“Not a problem,” I murmured. “I guess I’m not very memorable.”
Truth be told, Ms. Amali had never laid eyes on me. The nanomites had manipulated the hiring process, even fabricating my interview answers and scores and triggering a hiring recommendation. But as soon as I touched Ms. Amali’s hand, a phalanx of nanomites had swarmed over to her, stimulating the chemical production of new synapses in her brain, implanting specific details of my “interview” into her memories.
She shook her head and whispered to herself, “How very odd.”
I joined two other new hires in a side room where a security officer took us through the process of confirming our identities via our photo IDs and fingerprints before we received NSA badges (ID cards) and lanyards and established PIN numbers for our badges.
The first thing the security officer said was, “No personal cell phones or other wireless devices are allowed inside NSA buildings. The exceptions to the rule are NSA-issued cell phones for employees in management and supervisory capacities. If you have a cell phone or other wireless device on your person right now, please surrender it to me and retrieve it on your way out later today.”
I had left my phone in my car just as I did at Sandia. The other new hires must have done the same because neither of them produced a phone.
The security officer continued. “You have received LIC badges—Limited Interim Clearance—indicating that you are awaiting completion of your security clearances to the full level your position requires. These badges—ID cards—will restrict your activities until the clearance process is complete and approved.
“Your badge contains an encrypted smart chip that conforms to the government’s PIV—Personal Identity Verification—technical requirements and grants you access to federal facilities, buildings, information systems, and levels of security appropriate to your clearance and position.
“From today forward, you must have your badge to clear the campus security checkpoint. To enter most NSA facilities, your card must be inserted into an Access Control Terminal at a building or department entrance, and you must enter your PIN on the terminal keyboard. In the absence of an Access Control Terminal, or when passing an internal security checkpoint, the badge should be held up for viewing by a security police officer.”
Ms. Amali took over. “Your badge must be displayed, front facing, at all times while within any NSA installation. Conversely, it must be removed or hidden from sight after leaving the base. Now, follow me, please.”
We marched off behind Ms. Amali as she led the way to a conference room in a nearby building.
The remainder of the morning was spent in new-hire orientation. As a contractor employee hired out to the NSA, I had already completed my company’s online benefit, time sheet, and employee policy courses, and had updated my profile in e-QIP, the government’s security clearance database, so that my employer could request my new security clearance.
I had held a DOE Q clearance at Sandia. A Q clearance did not automatically translate to the DOD Top Secret clearance I needed for my job at the NSA, but it would make the security review process easier and faster. I already had a profile in e-QIP; all I needed to do was update my address, add my marriage and name change, and Zander’s information and that of his family members.
My employer had also arranged for my digital fingerprints to be taken and submitted to the FBI—and not for the first time. My Sandia D
OE Q clearance had required fingerprints, too. The nanomites had swarmed my fingertips, modifying them to match those on file for Jayda Cruz.
Once we three new employees were seated in the conference room, we sat through several briefings: orientation to the layout of the NSA campus, a concise history of the NSA and its mission, a thorough review of the NSA employee’s security manual (loooong and tedious), and phone, email, and computer policies—along with our signatures on a series of forms that attested to our understanding of and agreement to comply with a myriad of regulations—with the very real threat of prosecution should we do otherwise.
I wore a neutral expression as I signed. I was already on the other side of that equation—by Presidential directive.
We broke at 12:30 for lunch with instructions to return to the conference room at 1:15.
“When we reconvene, I will escort you to IT, where they will set up your computer accounts and assign you your network authentication tokens.”
After hours of brain-numbing briefings, my ears perked up.
“Nano. That will be our opportunity to explore this site’s network structure.”
Understood, Jayda Cruz.
Ms. Amali added, “Remember: While making the acquaintance of other NSA employees, speak only in generalities as to your position. Do not mention your department or what type of work you do. Inside and outside the NSA, this is the rule of thumb.”
I didn’t know about the other two new hires, but I didn’t know yet where I would be working, only that I had been hired in an administrative position requiring project controls experience. Curiosity was eating me up.
We nodded our understanding to Ms. Amali and stepped into the hallway. The three of us looked at each other.
The guy in our new-hire group, a tall black man, held out his hand to me. “Seth Gillingham.”
“Jayda Cruz.”
Seth offered his hand to the third in our party, a woman who looked to have Indonesian or Filipino blood.
Deep State Stealth Page 5