by Justin Bell
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Two days ago. Day nine of the Strickland experiment.
The phone finally rang mid-morning as Grace finished his morning briefing. He scooped up the handset and nestled it in the crook of his shoulder and neck.
"This is Grace."
"Richard, this is Dave McKie. I've delayed them as long as I can. We need you here."
Grace closed his eyes. He'd hoped maybe things had moved past this. Apparently not. "Director, things are in motion. I am concerned that leaving my post right now could jeopardize many of our moving parts."
"We're on the same side, son. Not everyone is seeing it that way. Get on a flight soon as you can."
The phone clicked silent in his ear. Grace frowned, but held his composure. Washington, DC was nice this time of year, though he could already sense the political machinations at work here. Tristan Davies was sure to be the one behind this. He'd get even with him soon enough.
He pressed the handset down, then lifted it up again and dialed again. A voice barked briefly on the other end of the phone.
"Burndock, this is Grace."
"What do you need, sir? I'm on watch rotation."
"Let Halifax and Mathis handle it. I'm being called back to Washington. Need to meet with you an Irizarry within the hour."
"I'll make it happen."
"Coffee shop. Main Street. Sooner the better."
"We'll be there."
Grace hung up the phone, then pushed back his chair and brought himself to a standing position, then moved across the floor of his office and slipped out the door. As the front door slid shut behind him, the phone on the desk began ringing, echoing to no one in particular.