The Cyclops Initiative by David Wellington Read Free Book Online Page B

good arm. “If you’ll just come this way. All three of you. We have a special detector suite warmed up. Don’t worry, Director Hollingshead, we know about your pacemaker as well, there’s no danger.”
    Chapel gave the director a glance, but Hollingshead simply favored him with a tiny sympathetic shake of his head. Together the three of them passed into a series of gray felt-­covered partition walls at one end of the security station. Chapel was certain he was being scanned as he walked through, but he had no idea what kind of detectors they used. At the far end they were given blue security badges embedded with tiny RFID chips embedded in the plastic. “Don’t worry about getting lost,” the woman explained. “If you end up someplace you’re not supposed to, those chips will sound an alarm and somebody will come to collect you. If you tamper with the chips, that’ll set off the alarm, too, so try not to touch them too much.” She gave them a big, warm smile. “Welcome to the Puzzle Palace!”
    â€œThank you, my dear,” Hollingshead said. His genial professor act was back in place. “If you could, ah, be so kind as to direct us . . .”
    â€œNo need,” she said, bobbing her head. “Just go over there to elevator bank two.”
    Chapel frowned. There really should have been someone to meet them and take them to—­well, wherever they were headed. When they arrived at the elevator bank, though, he saw why that wasn’t necessary. With a pleasant little chime the nearest elevator opened its doors. Stepping inside, he saw that one of the floor buttons was already lit. Obviously the floor they wanted.
    Wilkes leaned over toward Chapel’s ear. “You know that feeling, when you’re being watched? You can feel it on the back of your neck?”
    â€œYeah,” Chapel said.
    â€œRight now I got that feeling on the front of my neck, too.”
    Hollingshead cleared his throat. “Boys, I’d appreciate it if you could try to remember that everything you say and do inside this building is being written down somewhere. Logged, as they say, for posterity.”
    The elevator opened again on a broad lobby full of potted plants. No one was there to meet them, but at the far side of the lobby a green light appeared over a door. They headed through into a cavernous room Chapel thought looked like nothing so much as a deserted casino.
    The lighting was subdued and mostly blue. The thick carpet under his feet was red with an abstract pattern of yellow lines. On the walls, massive display screens showed a rotating NSA logo. The ceiling was studded with black glass domes that he was certain hid cameras that tracked his every move. Instead of slot machines, however, the room contained dozens of gleaming workstations, each with a padded chair and a high-­end laptop.
    Two ­people waited for them at the far end of the huge room. One was a woman dressed in an air force uniform, while the other was a civilian in a sweater vest and khaki pants. At first Chapel thought the woman was very short, but as they approached he realized that it was just that although the civilian wasn’t very tall—­probably six and a half feet—­he was so thin; Chapel found himself thinking this was the tallest little guy he’d ever met. His hair was short but somehow messy, which just added to the impression. He didn’t make eye contact as the two groups came together.
    The woman was perhaps sixty years old, with short, curly hair and warm eyes. She gave them a high-­wattage smile and reached out with both hands for Hollingshead. “Rupert!” she exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again.” And then she actually pecked him on the cheek.
    The director squirmed away as if a boa constrictor was trying to wrap itself around his throat. “Good morning, Charlotte,” he said. He turned and looked back at Chapel