Sigma Division

by Steve Richer

  “We’re developing a high-frequency emission system like the world has never seen.” They reached a younger man of about 30 who was tightening screws on a machine. “How’s it working, David?”

  “It’s gonna be okay.” He spoke with a deep Southern drawl. “I just need to replace the regulator.”

  “Great. These guys are from the Foundation, checking up on how we’re doing.” The professor turned to Spicer. “David Weller second-chairs me.”

  The guy was twitchy, his eyes darting from Ned to Spicer. “Hi.”

  Spicer extended his hand for a shake. “Spicer.”

  Weller wiped his hand on his already dirty Ralph Lauren shirt and took the hand. He then turned to his boss. “I’ll go get me a new regulator,” he said before walking away.

  “That’s a very bright kid. Hell, he enrolled in this university at fifteen. Don’t mind his appearance, he’s under a lot of stress.”

  Meanwhile, Ned examined a fridge-size machine and the professor noticed.

  “That’s one of the things I’ve designed here. NASA’s interested.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “They’re thinking about sending it to Mars to help probe the underground. Here, I’ll show you how it works.”

  They all approached the machine even though Spicer wasn’t interested. What mattered was appearing to be.

  * * *

  Even using premium government transportation, the CIA men were getting tired of the traveling. It was especially hard on Spicer who was definitely feeling his age. Now they were back at Langley and it was already late afternoon.

  “Jetlagged? Ned asked.

  “I’ve never really liked flying so much in so little time. Law of probability scares the shit out of me.”

  “Probability? When you’re over the Sahara and you have three Migs on your six and they got you locked on, and that you’re the only one who makes it out alive… I say fuck probability.”

  Spicer’s phone vibrated and he answered. “Yes? We just got in. Okay, I’m coming up.”

  He headed for the elevators.

  * * *

  Houseman and Michaels were comfortably sitting in the lounge section of the office. If this were Saturday they’d surely have a glass of brandy and a cigar.

  Dr. Michaels shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to follow you on that one.”

  “I assure you it’s wonderful. It’s a thrill, something so very beautiful. Helping the elderly is the quintessence of good. I know I’m not getting any younger myself but I feel it’s my duty to help while I still can.”

  “I’ve never really felt the calling.”

  Houseman shrugged. “At first it’s a bit odd, I’ll grant you that, but then you realize how fulfilling it is. Everything you put in you get back tenfold. They look at you with such delight, their eyes filled with happiness. They’re at your mercy, they depend on you. It’s an empowering sensation.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  “I love candy-striping,” Houseman said as Spicer walked in and closed the door behind him.

  “Is there something you want me to do?”

  Dr. Michaels nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

  “We’ve gone over your expense account, Mr. Spicer.”

  This made Spicer’s eyes narrow. What was happening?

  “We feel you’ve been spending inappropriately.”

  “Inappropriately? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Travel fees Mr. Spicer, those nasty travel fees.”

  “Okay, hold the horses over here,” Spicer said, putting a hand on his hip, ready for a fight. “Isn’t it my assignment to track down that newspaper article?”

  “Of course it is,” Michaels replied. “But do you have to go there in person? We’ve had similar situations in the past and all were resolved over the phone.”

  “Is that what I am, a goddamn phone operator?”

  Houseman stood and went to him. He was trying to be friendly, smiling broadly, but Spicer wasn’t buying it.

  “Look, we don’t want you to feel constricted by this position, we really don’t. It isn’t our agenda.”

  “Should I dance now?”

  If Michaels had had .50 caliber machine guns instead of eyes, there would have been nothing left of Spicer but a bloody mess. He clearly didn’t enjoy the retort and that almost made Spicer grin. Houseman tried to be more diplomatic.

  “Our budget is limited.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Spicer took a step back and spun a little which had the desired effect of fending off Houseman whom had been about to pat him on the shoulder.

  “Did you ever see me drive up to the office?” Michaels asked. “What do I drive? You think I like driving around in a fucking Honda?”

  “The bulk of our budget is spent on the research. Dr. Michaels and I have long reduced our salaries to accommodate things like your expenses.”

  “But now we’re running dry.”

  Houseman put up both his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “Maybe the trips you took so far were necessary, I won’t judge. But do try to keep your expenses down.”

  He smiled. A warm, grandfather-type smile. Spicer had never wanted to hit someone in the face so much as he did now.

  * * *

  A text message instructed him to head down to the second floor, in a section allocated to the Directorate of Science and Technology. The place looked like any other business with rows and rows of cubicles under artificial lighting. After going through a checkpoint, he spotted Ned who was waving him over.

  When he got to the cubicle, messy under layers of candy wrappers and Star Wars figurines, he noticed there was a young man in his 20s sitting at a computer. He was Middle Eastern, probably Lebanese from the looks of him, and his mustache was styled in flourishing curls. Fucking hipsters, Spicer thought.

  “Old Spice, my man! I want you to meet Naaj, he’s Sigma’s computer guy.”

  “Hi,” the kid said sheepishly.

  “He tracked the money down.”

  “The article?” Spicer asked.

  “What else is there? Come on, tell him, Naaj.”

  “Okay, first I located the Express-Ledger’s incoming funds. That was a bitch ‘cause I had to find their budget first by spoofing access through their remote…”

  Spicer sighed. “Could you skip a few tracks?”

  “Oh, okay, sure. The money came from a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. It belongs to Stellar Oceans Corporation. Their offices are in Biloxi, Mississippi.”

  Ned was beaming. “We got our man.”

  * * *

  In Spicer’s office, Ned closed the door while the other man punched the code on the keypad to unlock the file cabinet. He navigated through the files and pulled one out. He brought it to his desk and sat down while his partner did the same.

  Spicer scanned the document, flipping through the pages. All the while he was shaking his head because, as he figured, this didn’t make any sense.

  “We have no project research going on in Mississippi, or the entire Gulf sector for that matter.”

  “Christ,” Ned muttered. “The guy thought this through.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Looks like we’re gonna have to go to Mississippi.”

  “Yeah.”

  Exhausted, Spicer rubbed his face and eyes as he reclined. He had basically been told by his bosses to drop this investigation but he knew he wouldn’t do it. This in itself contributed to his fatigue.

  “I’m… I’m beginning to feel sorry for the CIA, you know. I keep wondering why I took this job. They expect me to be fucking Columbo but…”

  “You really didn’t run background checks before, did you?”

  Spicer looked up at his associate and hesitated. “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Custodial work.”

  “Ha ha, real funny. Come on, what did you do?”

&nbs
p; Spicer got up and put the file back into the safe.

  “Just drop it, okay?”

  The edginess in his voice made Ned keep quite.

  Chapter 12

  Quitting would be so easy.

  As days went by Spicer made time more bearable by trying to act like a regular American. He got himself a new lamp and a coffee table from Pottery Barn. He was actually kind of surprised when he didn’t feel ecstatic afterwards. He knew there was a void in his life and furniture hadn’t filled it.

  He tried playing it cool with Esther. On the one hand, he didn’t want to appear desperate for companionship, which he wasn’t, and on the other hand he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be in a relationship. People around him eventually became miserable and there was no sense inflicting this on others. Besides, she was busy with the upcoming elections.

  So while he still deluded himself about his work being essential for the country, for the world, he’d been spending his evenings watching TV, drinking soda, and eating potato chips. The life out of the covert world had its disadvantage: the ordinary.

  It was true that he was sick and tired of his old life but this new one looked just as bad. It was as if he had lived for so long at 100mph that slowing down just a little bit was like coming to a screeching halt.

  Flipping through channels – hundreds of them and nothing worth watching – he decided to stick it out for a little bit longer.

  In the morning, he flew out of Andrews again and went to Mississippi. Biloxi was known as the Playground of the South but it had lost a chunk of its population since Hurricane Katrina. The temperature was a muggy 75 but it was raining by the time the taxi dropped him and Ned off outside of a small supermarket.

  “I can’t believe Google Earth was right. This can’t be it.”

  For this part, Spicer looked at the address on his phone. It read 1276b. The civic number on the grocery store was 1276. The online research had been correct.

  “Come on,” he said.

  A few minutes later, the two CIA men were following the store manager up rickety stairs next to the dumpsters. The rain let up just enough for the stench to be fully appreciated.

  “I’ve never seen the guy who rented this place,” the woman said. “I bought this store three months ago with my husband and the office was already leased for six months. I reckon there’s still two months to go.”

  They stopped at a door labeled 1276b.

  “Here you go, Stellar Oceans Corporation. Sounds impressive, don’t it?”

  “That it?” Ned asked.

  “More like an oversize closet than an office but I hear that’s their international headquarters.”

  She chuckled and Spicer smiled politely.

  “Okay, thank you. We’ll handle it from here on end.”

  The woman hesitated. All she knew was that these men were with the FBI. They had badges and everything. One thing you learned down south was to respect authority and don’t ask questions. She looked at the men, still perplexed, but eventually retreated downstairs.

  When he was sure that she was out of sight, Spicer pulled out lock-picking instruments from inside his blazer. He went to work on the door and within 20 seconds it was unlocked. He pushed on the door and it creaked open.

  Ned produced a flashlight and they went in. Spicer wished he was armed and held his breath as he followed the beam of light around the small room. The place was completely empty, a single dusty room with peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. Spicer felt the wall for a light switch and turned on the naked bulb on the ceiling.

  “Jesus,” Ned whispered. “This place is the size of my dick.”

  “That small, uh?”

  The younger man made a jerk-off gesture with his hand which made Spicer grin. Still, he couldn’t deny the truth, it was tiny. There wasn’t even a chair.

  Then, Ned kneeled in the corner as he found an old 1500 telephone, a touch tone model. There was a faded label indicating the phone number.

  “At least there’s a phone.” Ned put the receiver to his ear. “Works too.”

  Spicer pulled out his own phone and dialed the number on the label. The loud bell began to ring instantly.

  “Want me to take a message?” his partner asked with a wink.

  Spicer ignored him while he paced around the room, waiting to see what would happen. Finally, voicemail kicked in. The voice was obviously computer-generated.

  “You have reached Stellar Oceans Corporation. It is presently impossible to take this call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

  The beep manifested itself. Spicer and Ned stared at each other in silence while the former assassin thought about his options. Then he audibly cleared his throat so it would be recorded and hung up.

  “Now the game begins.”

  * * *

  Ned stared at the fishing-themed slot machine and pulled the lever. The wheels spun madly for a few seconds before settling on a couple of treasures, a couple of starfish, and a mermaid. He won nothing.

  The Margaritaville Casino was neither man’s first choice to wait things out but the ambience was better than your average fast food joint. Spicer was leaning against another machine while sipping a rum punch, all in an effort to get into the spirit of things.

  Ned lost a fifth dollar in a row on his next play and he glanced at his partner over his shoulder, a dubious frown on his face. “You know, I think you’re bringing me bad luck. I’m usually very lucky at this.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. You’re a millionaire.”

  “Shut up.”

  He closed his eyes and did a few deep breathing exercises, his hands clutched together in prayer.

  “Please, baby. Be the second honeymoon my wife’s been nagging me about. Please, please, please.”

  He blew a kiss to the machine and hit the Max Bet button. He won three coins back.

  “You’re definitely not my lucky charm, man.”

  He bet more money and this time pulled the lever.

  “There’s a trick so you don’t lose, you know,” Spicer said.

  Ned twisted back toward him, very interested. “Really?”

  “Yeah, stay out of casinos.”

  This time the wager was entirely lost. All Ned’s credits were gone and he decided it was enough. He missed the good old days when there were coins and plastic buckets; they were useful to throw away in frustration. Instead he guided his frustration on his partner.

  “I think I know what your problem is.”

  “What’s that?” Spicer asked.

  “You like gambling. You love gambling! Only you don’t do it in casinos, you do it with your career.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Every day we’re learning stuff we were never meant to know. That puts us on the fast track to unemployment.”

  “Prison too.”

  “Yeah, well I can’t risk that. I got a family, I got a career in the Navy I’d like to get back to. Fucked if I’m gonna lose either of them.”

  Spicer had enough of the banter. “Don’t you find it odd that two people who most likely don’t know each other would try to denounce the project, on the same day? Don’t you find it even weirder that Houseman is treating this like it’s the worst thing since the Cuban missile crisis? Something’s definitely not right here.”

  “Look, I know that at your age you stop giving a shit about everything and that you don’t care how this affects your life. But I do, okay? I’m too young to jeopardize it all. It’s just too much to risk, man.”

  He stared at his boss for long seconds, almost apologetically, and then walked away. Spicer was about to go after him when he decided to give them some space.

  As he calmly returned to sipping his drink, he noticed a little old lady playing a machine by herself a few yards away. Most astonishing was the credit count display. Even though it was a penny machine she had to be up several hundreds of dollars. He went to her.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked up and smiled broadly, displayi
ng her lack of dentures and excitement at having a younger man addressing her.

  “Yes?”

  “I couldn’t help noticing you’re doing well. I was wondering what your secret is.”

  She smiled even broader and motioned for him to come closer. She whispered, “I confuse the machine.”

  “You confuse the machine. How do you do that?”

  She looked left and right to make sure nobody was within earshot. “I start with three bets, then the next game I put two. The next one I put three again but on the next I put only one penny. Sometimes, I pretend I’m gonna put two when in fact I just punch one bet in.”

  She grinned at her evil genius and tapped her temple to show how smart she was. For the hell of it, Spicer tried the method but the only thing he managed to achieve was lose $20.

  Then again, maybe it influenced his luck because his big break was about to happen.

  Chapter 13

  It was late and Spicer was again on a quest to find something good on TV aside from election coverage. The Chinese takeout he’d had for dinner was also keeping him awake. Game show. Sitcom. Talk show. Some old movie he had once vowed to never watch again.

  And now his phone was ringing.

  Finding something worth watching was becoming an obsession and before he even reached for his phone he continued flipping through channels. Hockey game. Basketball game. Naked girls. He lifted his eyebrows with curiosity and appreciation and muted the sound as he finally answered the phone.

  “What is it?” he spoke while keeping his eyes on the screen. It was some sort of Cinemax show and although it looked stupid he wouldn’t have minded being on the set for this scene.

  “Gene Spicer?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Yeah, who’re you?”

  “I hear you were looking for me in Biloxi today.”

  She had his undivided attention now. He straightened up and turned the TV off.

  “You’re Stellar Oceans Corporation?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at his phone’s display and it showed as a blocked number.

  “You paid for the ad in the New York Express-Ledger?”

  “Yes. I want to meet to you.”