The topic that never came up was work.
When we finished our meals, although we had another fifteen minutes left, most of the group headed to our department. I hung back and said to Macy, “You go on ahead. I think I’ll take a quick walk outside. Stretch my legs.”
“In this heat? Girl, are you crazy?”
“Well, I don’t recommend that you come with me,” I laughed. “That twin juggling act you’re lugging around might just fall out—and I am not prepared to handle that.”
Macy cracked up. “Oh, my word! Jayda, I didn’t think you had much of a sense of humor, but that is about the funniest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
She was still giggling when she wobbled away.
“I can’t believe I just resorted to a prego joke,” I muttered to her back, “but I have got to retrieve the nanomites.”
I turned the corner to the nearest restroom. The restroom didn’t have a swinging door on its entrance but had, instead, a hairpin turn where you walk around a wall into the restroom proper. As I made the turn out of camera range, the nanomites dropped their invisibility on me. I spun around, jogged out of the restroom, to the IT Department, collected the nanomites I’d left there, and reversed the process to shed the nanomites’ invisibility. The trip took me a whopping six minutes.
I grinned and patted myself on the back as I exited the restroom and returned to work.
“Pretty slick, if I do say so myself. Nothing to it. I can use these restroom entrances like Superman uses a phone booth.”
I had to laugh. Who, born after the turn of the century, even knew what a phone booth was?
ZANDER PARKED HIS RENTAL car outside the offices of Columbia’s Grace Chapel and stepped through the office doors. A welcome blast of AC struck him in the face.
“Ahhh . . .”
“I hear that more times than you would believe. The heat out there is just this side of Hades.”
Zander laughed. “I’ll bet you do, and it sure is.” He stepped to the church secretary’s window. “Hi. I’m Zander Cruz. I have an appointment with Pastor Lucklow.”
“I’m Christine. Right this way, Mr. Cruz.”
Zander followed the woman to the senior pastor’s office.
“Pastor? Mr. Cruz to see you.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Christine. Come in, Mr. Cruz, come in. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. And thank you for seeing me.”
They sat at a small table in the corner of the pastor’s office sipping the cold beverages Christine brought them.
“I’m glad to have the opportunity to get to know you better, Mr. Cruz.”
“Please call me Zander. My wife and I have attended Sunday services at Grace three times now. We wanted to let you know that we are making Grace Chapel our home church.”
“That’s wonderful news. We welcome you both. Would you tell me something about yourselves?”
“Sure. Jayda, my bride—we’re newlyweds—is a project manager. She started her new job on Monday. As for myself, until we left New Mexico for Jayda’s new job, I was the assistant pastor at Downtown Community Church, Albuquerque, where I led the young adult and visitation programs.”
“You don’t say.” Pastor Lucklow studied Zander. “If you don’t mind me asking, I’d appreciate hearing your testimony and call to ministry.”
“Of course, sir. Well, I’m grateful to the Lord for saving me out of a pretty rough life. For several years out of high school, I ran with a gang in my hometown of Las Cruces and, later, Phoenix. Drugs, alcohol, violence.” Zander cleared his throat. “Sex. Pimping.”
Zander swallowed again as Pastor Lucklow’s eyes bored into his. “The name of this church is significant to me, Pastor: Grace Chapel. If not for the grace of God and the courage of a certain street preacher, I believe I would be dead right now.”
Pastor Lucklow’s expression did not change. “Tell me more.”
“Yes, sir. As I said, a street preacher, a rugged and worn old guy, approached me one night. I was dealing, and I thought he was going to buy. Instead he told me that Jesus wanted to set me free from the trap I was in. Told me that Jesus loved me, that the Gospel was about transformation, a new life. Asked me, ‘Do you like this life? Or do you want a new one?’
“For reasons I couldn’t fathom at the time, I just up and left the corner I was working. Got into the old dude’s car, and we drove away. I dumped the drugs I was holding out the window. He knew the gang would hunt me down if I stayed in Phoenix—they don’t let you leave alive, you know—so he pointed the car toward Albuquerque.
“The whole time he drove, he shared Jesus with me, quoted entire passages of the Bible until my whole being was saturated with God’s word. By the time we drove through Grants, I was ready.”
Zander’s throat tightened. “He pulled over to the side of the road and we prayed. He told me to call upon the Lord and beg Jesus to forgive me. I did. I bawled like a baby as my chains dropped away and the Lord washed me clean. Jesus saved me on I-40 at mile marker 86. That encounter with God is as vivid in my mind and heart today as it was seven years ago.”
“Fascinating,” Pastor Lucklow murmured. “What happened then?”
“Well, I followed that old man for months. He preached wherever the Lord led him, and we slept wherever we found ourselves. I learned a lot from him about sharing Jesus. Learned how to study the Scriptures, how to pray, how to confess my mistakes and failings daily and receive forgiveness. How to walk in the Spirit and follow his guidance.
“Then, one day, my old friend says, ‘Kid, you need to go to Bible school.’ Long story short, I spent two years working my way through Bible college. Before I graduated, I called my parents. They hadn’t heard from me in close to three years. I asked them to come see me. We talked for a long time, and I apologized for all the grief I’d put them through. I told them about Jesus and how he’d saved me. The Lord blessed that time of reconciliation. My family forgave me, and my relationship with them has been restored.
“After a summer internship at DCC, the church hired me. I served there for two more years—until five weeks ago, when, as I said, we moved here because of the job offer Jayda received. Now I’m wondering what the Lord has for me. I’m looking for work, but I’d love if the Lord opened a door of ministry, too.”
Pastor Lucklow leaned back in his chair and considered Zander. Zander endured the examination with calm patience.
I am, after all, a complete stranger to this man. Zander didn’t know what God had in mind, but he felt something momentous at work.
That feeling only increased when, after a long moment of deliberation, Pastor Lucklow said, “Pastor Cruz, are you familiar with Celebrate Recovery?”
“Yes, I am, sir. I belonged to a CR group during Bible college.”
“Oh? Interesting. In a curious turn of events, our Celebrate Recovery group has just lost its directors. Lovely married couple. They were called to a church in Ohio.”
“I see.”
“Our CR group is a thriving, growing arm of our church, a vital part of our ministry to the community. Your background . . .”
“Is in line with your group’s needs?”
“Yes. Just so. At present, the CR assistant directors are leading the group but, in addition to having four children to care for, they have expressed that their desire is to support whomever God chooses to place in leadership rather than be the leaders.”
Zander nodded, and Pastor Lucklow continued to study him.
“Pastor Cruz, our CR group meets every Thursday evening, 6:30-8:30, in the fellowship hall. What would you say to visiting a time or two? Check out what God is doing.”
“I would be glad to, Pastor.”
“Very well. I will be praying, asking the Lord for guidance.”
“I will do the same.”
Pastor Lucklow stood and ushered Zander to the hallway. “Would you please leave your contact information with Christine? And welcome to Grace Chapel. My wife and I already have
lunch plans this Sunday, but we would be delighted to have lunch with you and your bride after service the following Sunday. We’d like to get to know you better.”
“It would be our pleasure, Pastor.”
Zander whistled a little tune on the way to his car.
Lord, thank you for this encouraging meeting. All your ways are wonderful.
“I’M HOME!” I CALLED.
“About time. I’m starving. Chinese buffet?”
That empty cavern within roared its approval.
We drove to what was already our favorite Chinese place, The Great Wall. After we’d each filled two plates and sat down with them, I leaned toward Zander.
“Had a good day,” I mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.
“I take it we have homework this evening?”
I was occupied with stuffing my face, so I nodded.
“I had a good day, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
We smiled with contentment at each other and dug deeper into our food. I couldn’t say more about my day until we returned to our apartment, but Zander could. When the rumbles from our stomachs started to die down, he elaborated.
“I met with Pastor Lucklow this morning.”
“Did you tell him we’re putting down roots at Grace Chapel?”
“Yup. By the way, he invited us to have lunch with him and his wife after church next Sunday.”
“That’s great.”
“Our meeting was kind of fascinating. He asked me to share my testimony with him. You know, I learned something, watching him watch me.”
“Oh?”
“The man knows how to listen. He gave me his full attention and interest. Really wanted to know how the Lord had worked in my life. And . . . he didn’t flinch when I told him what I was like . . . before. In fact . . .”
I glanced up. “Yes?”
“He asked me if I was familiar with Celebrate Recovery.”
“Celebrate Recovery?”
“It’s a Christian program that uses biblical truths and principles to help people overcome drug and alcohol addiction and their underlying roots. Lots of wounded unbelievers find Jesus through CR. I belonged to a CR group when I was in Bible college, so I’m acquainted with the program. Pastor Lucklow invited me to sit in on the meetings.”
Zander poured more tea for both of us. “He said that the leaders of the group were recently called to another church.”
I arched my brows. “And?”
“And we agreed to pray and ask for the Lord’s guidance. If I were to take on the group’s leadership—and that’s entirely up to the Lord—I’m sure Pastor would need to know me better, first. Could take a while.”
“Pastor McFee will give you a good reference.”
“I’m sure he will. He might even tell Pastor Lucklow that CR is a good fit for me.”
Zander smiled. “It’s up to the Lord. I’m happy to wait on his timing.”
Our hunger pangs at abeyance, we drove home. On the way, I caught Zander up on my day.
“I dropped some nanomites at IT today, and they downloaded the schematics of the NSA complex. I’ve asked them to render a 3D model from the schematics, so we can explore the place and memorize the layout.”
“Good idea. If you ever need me, I’ll want to already know the ins and outs.”
“Learning the layout is the first step in tracking Wayne Overman. I also asked the nanomites to download Overman’s badging history. He disappeared about two months ago. I want to follow his last few weeks of movements.”
“Okay. And what about . . . looking at the movements of others around him?”
“Yes. That’s the next piece. If we see anything curious, particularly around the time of his disappearance, then we home in on those individuals.”
Armed with a pot of decaf, Zander and I sat at our little dinette set and went together into the nanomites’ “warehouse.” They were ready for us with more than a 3D model of the NSA facilities. They had created a VR environment where we could travel through the NSA complex as though we were there.
“This way,” I motioned to Zander.
I led him first toward the Repository, which, I was beginning to realize, sat far away from a lot of the other departments on campus. Waving at the cubicle farm in the large room, I said, “My team sits way over there. All the workstations in here have access to the NSA’s intel taxonomy. The role of the Repository Department is to catalog and index the intel so it can be retrieved and then fulfill retrieval requests.
“One team here manages the catalog itself. Another team in the department is staffed with classification experts who determine the intel’s classification levels and markings. Yet another team studies the metadata and decides where in the catalog the files go. Every file is named using code words for date, location, and content and is cross-indexed with related files.”
“Quite an undertaking.”
“It is. Can you imagine managing these files without computers?”
“Impossible.”
“Yeah. Then there’s our team. We answer the retrieval requests. A lot of data requests as well as new intelligence flow into the Repository every day. Our team also tracks the department’s progress against the traffic we receive. That’s my job. I enter tasks and resources in the project software.
“From our workstations, we can view the catalog and its files but cannot open the files. Every scrap of data requires both an encryption key and encryption software.”
“That doesn’t stop the nanomites, right?”
“Right. However, the amount of data in the Repository is hard to fathom. We’re talking xenottabytes. It will take them a few days to sort it all.”
I hesitated. “The nanomites have asked me to spend a couple of days at the safe house. With the printer. They want to upgrade the nanocloud’s storage capacity.”
“It would have to be a weekend, then.”
“Well, I’m not looking forward to spending a weekend there and sleeping on a couch.”
We left the Repository and crossed over to the adjoining building. I showed Zander the cafeteria, then the HR Department, Safety and Security, and IT. We walked back into the IT server farm and studied the racks and racks of blade server enclosures.
“Their hardware must be specially made for the NSA,” I observed.
Jayda Cruz, we were able to reproduce the exact layout of this server farm and download a precise network configuration for your perusal.
“Good work, Nano. Zander and I will finish our tour and then we’ll get back to you.”
Would you care for us to guide your tour? We have studied the facility diagrams and can identify most areas in the complex.
“Most?”
A few rooms are unlabeled, Jayda Cruz. We may be able to deduce their use as we overlay the badging software on the complex layout.
“Zander?”
“Yeah. Go ahead, Nano. Lead on.”
In response, the nanomites plotted a course before us using pale lights that led away from general employee access to a bank of elevators. Zander took my hand and, in our kitchen, at our dinette, he did the same. We entered the virtual elevator. I liked how my hand felt in his, how his fingers stroked mine. That warm, possessive sense felt good. Right. There was nothing controlling about Zander’s touch. He was kind. Respectful.
I sighed with contentment. I’m a married woman—
“Earth to Jayda?”
“Hmm?”
“Time to get off.”
The elevator had stopped and opened. Zander tugged gently at my hand, and we stepped into a foyer that spoke “power” with a capital “P.”
U.S. and NSA flags bookended the seals of U.S. Cyber Command, the National Security Agency, and the Central Security Service. Large portraits of President Jackson and NSA Director Willem Bradshaw, both strong examples to the country’s African American community, hung in prominent honor.
Jayda and Zander Cruz, this is the executive suite.
“I think we
figured that out,” Zander answered.
“How did you know to furnish this foyer in such detail, Nano?”
The network contains many photos, Jayda Cruz. This location is used to present awards and recognition.
“Got it.” We wandered through the floor, noting the suites for the Director and Deputy Director, conference rooms, and so on—none of which were rendered in the complete detail the foyer had been.
We spent another hour walking NSA halls, entering offices and departments, noting the vaults and SCIFs, committing them to memory—particularly the exits and where they led. I knew the nanomites could direct me in a situation where (God forbid) I was being pursued, but the recollection of that dim place where the nanomites did not answer my frantic cries for help was never far from my thoughts. I needed to know the layout of the campus for myself.
Just in case.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, Nano.”
“I agree. I’m anxious to get to Overman’s movements.”
We are ready to project Mr. Overman’s badge movements onto the 3D rendering, Zander Cruz. We will begin four weeks prior to his disappearance at your command.
“Uh, make it so, Nano.”
The delight Zander felt in his Picard imitation was infectious, and I giggled my appreciation—only to choke on my half-uttered laugh when the rendering of the NSA complex . . . dropped out from under us.
Perhaps we rocketed UP, rather than the building plummeting DOWN. I couldn’t tell which, but it didn’t much matter, because the rapid, ongoing shift in perspective propelled my stomach to places it did not belong.
The complex zoomed OUT, then it zoomed IN.
Our view resolved to the main entrance of the multi-storied building. Ground floor.
“Whoa,” Zander gasped, gripping my fingers like a lifeline.
“Oh, yeah. I need a warning for that.”
“And I’ll need a barf bag if you pull that stunt again, Nano,” Zander growled.
Noted, Zander Cruz. Ordering barf bags now.
“No! Wait—argh. Never mind.”
Shall we cancel the order, Zander Cruz?
“You know what, Nano? At times you are worse than clueless.”
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