Dark Secret (DARC Ops Book 1) (6 page)

O
ne of the
perks of working on Capitol Hill was its close proximity to a variety of interesting lunch break locations. Even on shorter "coffee breaks", Mira could circle the Capitol Building, the Supreme Court, and the Library of Congress, all in a 15 minute walk. In nice weather, she'd eat lunch on a concrete barrier in front of the gleaming white dome of the Capitol, or on the wide steps of the Thomas Jefferson Building, home to the second largest library in the world. It was also home, for the better part of most weekdays, to Mira's friend, Lashay.

One of the perks of knowing an archivist at the Library of Congress was the occasional access to a variety of otherwise restricted areas. This time it was the scan room, where Lashay had been digitizing old posters with an oversized scanner.

“Just a little personal project,” said Lashay, her gloved hands flattening a weathered sheet of canvas on the scan bed. “I'm actually supposed to be scanning some phone book from 1932. But this is so much more important. It actually says something about us as a culture.”

As the machine began to scan its document with a low buzzing sound, Lashay held up the next poster in line so Mira could see the print. Backgrounded in white was a small black silhouette of a bomb. Circling it was a red circle with a cross through the middle. Next to that was a circled “A” with no cross.

“I found these on eBay,” Lashay said, smiling like a child who with a new toy. “They're from the mid-seventies when some members of the Clamshell Alliance spoke at Berkeley. Anti-nuclear stuff, obviously.”

Lashay had been on an anarchist kick ever since Mira had first met her, which was back in their slightly pot-hazed undergrad days at GWU. She remembered it was Lashay's anarchy "A" wrist tattoo that first caught her attention during an elective Hegelian philosophy class. A few days later, Mira would watch her future anarchist friend climb up the campus statue of George Washington, bull-horn in hand, to give an impassioned speech against paternalism from her seat on the first president's shoulders. She found it amusing that her friend went from an undergrad of rebellion and pot smoke to a job of name badges and security clearances.

“I thought you were trying to take a break from all that,” Mira said as she flipped idly through a small stack of already-scanned artwork.

“From what? Collecting posters?” Lashay switched out a new poster and began the process all over again – aligning the document, pressing through various settings on the touch-display, and then watching her digitized image arrive in vertical bars on a nearby computer monitor. “I'm scanning them for inclusion in the archive as important cultural artifacts. It's a vital service to the country.”

“Scanning is
one
thing,” said Mira. “Printing and distributing is another.”

“And that's what I'm taking a break from,” said Lashay, who had a habit of using government resources to print and circulate anti-establishment manifestos. “But I'll always be an anarchist.”

“An anarchist archivist,” said Mira as she pulled her hand out of the poster pile. “Will you always be an oxymoron?”

“Will you always be a faceless bureaucratic stooge? A translator of terror for an imperialist senator?”

“Maybe not for much longer.” Mira walked away from the stack of posters, no longer interested in their political messages. She had enough injustice to worry about.

“You're quitting?” asked Lashay.

“Or getting fired, because I just can't…I can't do the work anymore.” Mira collapsed into a leather office chair which faced an over-sized computer monitor. Sick of looking at monitors, she swiveled the chair away. “So, I guess s
omething
has to give.”

It had only been two days since her discovery. The first day she went home "sick." And today she was taking an extra long lunch break, which at this rate might be her last.

Lashay walked to a set of metal drawers on the other side of the small room. “I found some reading material for you,” she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a thin paperback. “In case you suddenly have a lot of free time on your hands.” She handed the book to Mira.

Triumphant Gamble: My Early Politics.

The book had a solid green cover with no images. Although its aesthetics dated the book at least 30 years, it looked brand new. No dog ears. No spine crease. No signs of it being read.

“It's by your favorite author,” said Lashay.

Mira's eyes traveled to the text at the bottom edge of the book.

William D. Langhorne.

It sparked pain in Mira's chest.

“I can loan it out for you if you want.”

Another perk of knowing a Library of Congress librarian.

Mira turned the book over, finding that it only contained two things: a barcode and a black and white photo of the Senator on safari to some vast African grassland. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, baggy khakis, and the beady-eyed smile of a degenerate who'd just killed something. A shotgun rested in his hands. A dead buffalo slumped at his feet. “What the hell is this?”

“A memoir,” said Lashay. “From 1986.”

Mira opened the book and flipped through the first few pages.

“I read through a little of it.” Lashay returned to her scanner and prepared the next document, her practiced hands moving without her breaking eye contact with Mira. “It's pretty embarrassing. Like a big pat on the back. He talks about the family business, too. One of the early chapters. I thought it might be useful, or at least interesting.”

“Lashay, it's both. Thank you so much.”

“Wait till you see chapter six.”

Mira scanned the table of contents.

“
W
hat the fuck
...” Mira said under her breath.

“Exactly. WTF. I had the same reaction.”

“So fucking bizarre...” Mira closed the book and gave her friend a wide-eyed stare. “How'd you find this?”

“I just did exactly what I tell everyone else to do, when they're looking for something in here.” Lashay pressed the "scan" button and the machine hummed to life. “I typed in his name in the search bar.”

Mira sighed as she plopped the book down at her table. “I already met with DARC Ops.”

Lashay looked up from the screen.

“With Jackson.” Mira couldn’t keep the frown off her face. “He thinks I'm nuts.”

“You
are
nuts. So what?”

“So then he won't touch this with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what he said?”

“No.” Mira swiveled around in her chair. “He said he'd look into it.”

“Then he'll look into it. That's good. Wasn't that the point of going there?”

“Yeah, but...” Mira trailed off. She could feel herself getting a little too... girly?

“But what?”

“I wanted him to believe me.”

Lashay laughed. “From what I've heard, he's too smart for that.”

“What have you heard?”

“That he's smart enough to be suspicious of you. He probably thinks you're some kind of agent. From the government or otherwise. He can be difficult to, um... get close to.”

“Oh. Do you know that from experience?”

“No,” said Lashay. She looked a little annoyed. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. So what else do you know about him?”

“Hold up. Did you just ask if I tried to get with him?”

Mira laughed nervously. “Maybe?”

“Hell no. It's a little hard to hit on someone you've never met,” she grinned. “But I probably would if I could, that man in a tux, and that was just the photo. Did
you
?”

Mira could feel her face reddening.
Did
she flirt with Jackson?

“Damn, girl. You
hit
on him.”

Mira laughed. “No, no...”

“You hit on him
bad
.”

“
No
. No way. I was too nervous for that.”

“Right.” Lashay pushed some buttons on the scanner.

“So what else do you know about him? I mean, his business. Let's stay on topic here.”

“Just stuff through Matthias. He practically worshiped Jackson when we were dating. I thought it was cute at first, like a younger and older brother thing. But then it just seemed kinda annoying.” She switched out another poster. “He's rich. A billionaire. Used to be a Navy SEAL but something went wrong with his ear.”

“His ear?”

“And he has all these big clients. He's even worked for foreign governments. Mercenary hacking. And, uh... What else... Oh, he's... you know... He's really hot.” Lashay took a quick peek at Mira, and then went back to calibrating the scanner. “But that's only from seeing his photos. Was he as good-looking in real life?”

Hell yeah, he was.

“Totally,” Mira said.

Totally...

“Okay.” Lashay sounded disappointed. “I knew it. So did he offer you a price?”

A price? The thought never occurred to her. Mira knew he wouldn’t work for free, but... She suddenly felt like an idiot.

“I'm guessing no?” Lashay said.

“We didn’t talk money,” Mira said casually, as if the topic was unimportant.

“That's good.”

Was it? The last thing Mira could handle was a budgetary surprise.

“Well, keep hitting on him,” Lashay said. “He might do it pro bono.”

Mira liked the idea. She liked any sentence about Jackson that contained the words pro and bone.

Lashay burst into laughter. “You should see the look on your face. He might even do
you
pro bono.”

“For God's sake, Lashay!” Mira pretended to be offended but it was the best idea she'd heard all year. It had been a
long
time between drinks.

Lashay was still laughing. “Come on, don't even act.”

“Shh...
You
come on. We're in the Library of Congress...”

“So what?” Lashay smirked and then shook her head slowly from side to side. “You don't know how it is, Mira. You don't know us librarians. We get freaky up in here.”

Mira wanted to laugh more. But when she'd absent-mindedly glanced at the book laying in front of her, and read the Senator's name on its spine, a familiar tightness returned in her chest. As did the knowledge that her return to work was long overdue. She then thought of the horrific photo of Langhorne posing over a dead water-buffalo. Had that poor creature been added to the current collection "decorating" his office? A part of her didn’t ever want to return there to find out.

“
C
an
I see you in my office for a minute?” were the exact words she'd been dreading to hear since her return from lunch. But that was how Langhorne's phone call had ended.

When she entered his office, Mira made a conscious effort to keep her eyes off the walls. But was his face any nicer to look at? He had the pinkish hue of a pig, or someone who had ingested way too much pork, bourbon, cigarette smoke, and enriched white four.

“Mira, I'm concerned that you came back to work too early.”

Her sentiments exactly. Although it was still a little unsettling to agree with him on something.

“You're sick,” he said. “I
know
that. I can tell just by looking at your face. It's like you're just not there. Your work also says that. It
screams
it to me. How many jobs have you done today?”

“Uh... Two?”

“Two? It's well past lunch, Mira.”

She made a pained expression and nodded. Yes, yes, she knew how shitty it was. She definitely knew that.

“Which ones?” he asked, frowning. He put his hand in a bowl of paperclips, his fingers stirring and clinking them around mindlessly.

“Uh... Johnson-Tilly-Harriman... And the UNESCO...”

“No. That won't do.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm sorry. I think you're right about coming back too early.”

“Hell yes, I'm right. Mira, if you need some time,
take
it. How many sick days do you have built up?”

“Not many.”

“Well, I'm sorry, but you'd be more productive if you stayed home and recuperated. What is it, by the way? If you don't mind me asking... Is it stress?”

“Stress, yes.” Her brain was suddenly flooded with the image of a wooden crate being filled with machine guns. “But I'm also fighting a flu, I think.”

His eyes widened. “Mira, get that flu outta here.” He drew his hand from the paperclips.

“I know, I'm trying.”

“I mean out of this office. I can't have you spread that around.”

“It's at the tail end, sir.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“I mean the flu. I'm almost over it.”

“Well, good.” Senator Langhorne sighed, brushed some donuts crumbs off his suit, and stood up with the soft groan of a geriatric. “You need to take better care of yourself, Mira. You're way too valuable to let yourself run ragged like this.
Eat
something. You're so thin.” He started strolling around the room, still brushing a few crumbs off his rotund body. “Something healthy. Go get yourself some matzo ball soup or something. And
sleep
for God's sake.”

Just nod. Just keep nodding until it goes away.

“I'll give you more days if you need them,” the senator said as he positioned himself in front of a mirror. “And when is your vacation?”

“I haven’t set it yet. But I'm thinking sometime in the next few weeks?” Mira could see his sun-hardened face cracking a smile in the mirror. “What's so funny?” she asked.

“You don't want to take it tomorrow instead?”

“Not really.”

“Well, be sure to schedule it,” he said to the mirror. “Maybe talk with Chuckie about it.”

Mira turned away to save herself the view of the Senator picking food from his teeth. The window was a better alternative. It offered hope.

“Oh, I forgot to ask about your event last week.”

What event?

Oh fuck... He was asking about her cancer charity, Swanson's Hope.

“How'd it go?” The senator returned to his chair. “Sorry I had to miss your speech. Chuck tells me it was very moving.”

Through the emotional chaos of the last two days, Mira had forgotten her duties as the director of a cancer fund named after her mother, Hope Swanson.

He smiled at her. “I might have some good news for Swanson's Hope.”

Mira felt the urge to purge. Maybe she really did have the flu?

“I had a lucky week in the stock market,” he chuckled. “Very, very lucky.”

She saw the crates again. Crates upon crates...

“You wouldn’t mind if I stuck some of it in Hope's fund, would you?”

She tried to force a smile and then panicked when it didn’t work, her face twitching under the strain. “I don't know what to say,” she finally garbled before thanking him in a strange cackle of a laugh. It was either laugh, or her head would explode.

“You're welcome, Mira. It's a great cause.” His hand was back in the paperclips. “So that's one less thing for you to worry about, huh? You running around fundraising?” he chuckled repugnantly. “Now you go take care of yourself.”