Novo Cetus

Chapter 16

  

Brasco searched military archives for the location of James Tillman. Tillman's military contract ended years ago, but because of his work on several sensitive projects, he'd been tagged a person of interest. Tillman's file was easy to find and totally empty. The discovery of washed or cleaned files was a common occurrence in this line of work, but an empty file was a rarity. He rechecked the information on the file, and the security tag assigned to Tillman caught Brasco off guard. The additional three numbers attached to the researcher's social security number indicated that file information was accessible through the president of the United States solely. This is, like, 007 clearance. Why give it to just a researcher? He didn't waste time thinking about that; secondary team members were gathered in Colorado and he still needed Tillman.

Brasco returned to his red SUV and punched a code into his military issue "Com-Sis" or communications system. Luckily Brasco also sported the additional three numbers attached to his social and within minutes of making the phone call, had secured a noon meeting with President William Leslie.

This type of meeting does not take place in the oval office and parking is a bitch when you are not on any official entry list, Brasco lamented. He drove into the neighborhood near the White House where he'd have to park his SUV. It was a rough community; hijackings and hold-up were an ongoing problem. He parked several blocks away and walked. He entered the White House through the visitors entrance, paid his money and walked through to the Lincoln Bedroom. There, he studied a holographic image of the Gettysburg address displayed on a Victorian-style desk and waited for a secret service agent to retrieve him.

Right on time the agent appeared and escorted Brasco to a mid-sized conference room in the West Wing where he continued to wait for the president.

President William Leslie walked along a walled off hallway toward the secured conference room, his face barely concealed his disdain for this particular meeting. Never fond of Brasco or his type, Leslie thought Brasco and his covert projects were relics, vestiges of a clandestine operation he wanted retired; however he'd inherited the program and didn't engage in battles with his chiefs of staff over their inevitability.

Leslie entered the room and without preamble asked, "Why do you want to know where James Tillman is?"

Okay, no polite banter, thought Brasco. "The unidentified craft in the Pacific is a result of his failed Nano Project," he explained. "We need his expertise."

Brasco wondered if Leslie knew the craft was biological. Titan should be top-secret. This was a good opportunity to see if the security restrictions he put in place included the White House.

President Leslie sat at the conference table. He put a file folder in front of him and placed his hand over it. "James is needed on the Titan project?" Leslie's intense brown eyes looked for a hint of surprise from the spy. Brasco remained poker faced.

The president continued, "Why wasn't James your first call? He was the lead researcher on that project, after all." The president tapped his fingers on the file on the table. "James is significantly ill," he said. "He has been teaching at a small research outpost on a mountain in the Andes Mountains. His illness a direct result of military exposure. From what I understand, he won't survive for long in any climate in this hemisphere."

Brasco was unmoved. "Hardin developed an inhaler that should keep Tillman alive while he is working with us. Mr. President, I wouldn't be asking for him unless he was vital to this project. I, as well as anyone, know what this level of clearance means. Tillman is under your protection. If what we think is happening in the Pacific is true, our country needs your protection from Titan."

"You don't get the folder, Brasco, but you get Tillman." The president ripped the closure flap off the folder, hand-wrote the location of the research facility on it, and got up to leave.

"Look it Brasco, I don't trust you or your undercover operations," Leslie said, with no attempt to hide his contempt, " and I would like nothing better than to see you and your type held to the same standard of appropriateness that our traditional military is held to each and every day. However, something always comes up, and this week it is this . . . anthropogenic catastrophe." He tossed the scribbled note of Tillman's whereabouts on the conference table. "And yes, James is under my protection. Remember that."

"Thank you, Mr. President." Brasco remained standing and waited for the president to leave.

"Don't mention it, and I mean don't mention me or my complicity in hooking up James Tillman and Hank Hardin."

Brasco walked out of the White House with Tillman's location in his breast pocket. That went well, he thought facetiously. The former administration regarded Brasco and his type as heroes. Meetings with that particular president started with an expensive, hand-rolled, Gukha cigar, and ended with a hearty handshake and a heartfelt "Thank you for your service.

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