Blinding Fear by Bruce Roland Read Free Book Online Page A

carefully to the posted 10 miles per hour speed limit. He knew from the point he first approached the main gate, every step he took would be watched with extreme diligence by multiple personnel. He also knew that circling relentlessly 5,000 feet above, unseen and unheard, a Predator drone armed with Hellfire missiles was also watching.
    He had to admit the facility was an engineering and technological marvel. When first revealed, the NSA had stated simply that the Data Center was nothing more than a very large complex of buildings housing giant, sophisticated, very powerful computers whose sole function was to do nothing more than what the name implied: store data—albeit it in very, very large amounts. They said there would be no “Big Brother” residing within its walls who would spy on average citizens, trying its best to invade privacy and destroy personal liberties. “Trust us,” they said.
    Nobody believed them for a second.
    Gnash walked through the large parking lot filled with cars toward the four-story, all-glass main entrance. He couldn’t understand how or why the architects had decided on the upward curving, convex design for the facade. He preferred useful, unadorned simplicity in building architecture.
    Inside the lobby there was no obvious security presence although Gnash knew there were unseen cameras and other security devices everywhere. Posted on a wall, signage with arrows provided rudimentary instructions on how to get to various offices, departments and sub-entities. On another wall was the official seal and motto of the agency: “Defending Our Nation. Securing the Future.”
    He walked down the long main corridor off the lobby, his handmade $1,200 Tanino Crisci shoes providing an easy, almost melodic counterpoint to his long stride. He had debated with himself—since there was nobody else in his life to debate—long and hard about his appetite for the finer things in life. But since he was single and from time to time found himself in the position to “acquire” additional “compensation” for his diligence and hard work, he’d thought, “Why not!”
    His more modestly priced, fine-leather briefcase swung easily in rhythm to his steps. He ignored the numerous individuals, both uniformed and civilian, going to and from the myriad of places within the complex. And since his demeanor and deadly serious facial expression virtually shouted “Trouble!” they ignored him as well.
    After a nearly 100 yard walk he came to a set of double doors set on the left bearing no markings. To the doors’ right was an ID badge security scanner. He put his up to it and was gratified to hear a click from the locking mechanism. He opened the door and stepped inside.
    He was immediately greeted by armed guards who again checked his IDs and briefcase. They had him sign in on a touch-screen monitor, walk through a metal detector and finally was sniffed over by an explosives-detecting German Shepherd. Next was the retinal scanner which completed the check-in procedures with a soft beep and slowly flashing green light. He knew if his signature wasn’t recognized, if he failed the scan, or the dog sat down and stared at him or his briefcase, he would find himself in handcuffs, face-down on the highly polished floor within seconds.
    One of the guards looked at an iPad he held as security procedures were completed. “Mr. Javad is already in conference room six, Agent Gnash.”
    Again Gnash provided no response. Over the years he’d decided that social pleasantries were generally annoying, worthless and sometimes interfered with his ability to efficiently complete many of his unpleasant tasks. He simply nodded and headed off down the brightly lit corridor. Photographs of the many NSA buildings and facilities around the world adorned the walls. After a short distance he came to another unmarked door, which he opened without additional procedures.
    Inside was a windowless, plushly carpeted room approximately 20 by