A Secret Chill

By Kevin A. Carey-Infante

After years of preparation and training, Geoffrey Brooks in thrown into his first assignment with the NSA. Geoffrey, a closeted gay man, must combat an unforgiving society, love lost and betrayal. He must battle twin demons of overpowering fear and guilt in his personal life. If he wants to be a star in the NSA, he must keep his sexuality a secret, especially from his partner, Jennifer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin A. Carey-Infante
• Release date: Nov 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452441054

Kevin A. Carey-Infante

Mr. Carey-Infante was born and raised in suburban Philadelphia. He graduated from Millersville University of Pennsylvania in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Mr. Carey-Infante currently resides in the Bronx, New York, living with and married to the love of his life, Walter Infante. He writes what he likes to call realistic thriller fiction. The work that Mr. Carey-Infante is most proud of is his award winning short story TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL, A 9/11 SHORT STORY. It's an inspirational story born out of the ashes of the tragedy of the World Trade Center disaster in New York City on September 11, 2001.Mr. Carey-Infante, who was abused and bullied as a child, is now an avid child abuse and LGBTQ anti-bullying advocate. He has made it his mission to end bullying of all kinds, and to make it better right now. What a better way to do that than to write about true-life experiences of abused and bullied teens and how they confront, over-come and even, in some cases, embrace their abusers and bulliers. You can follow Mr. Carey-Infante's LGBTQ teen stories through his Bani Chamberlain series of novelettes. The first two novelettes, BANI'S DILEMMA and BANI FINDS HER SOMETHING are now available for your enjoyment.Mr. Carey-Infante has extensively traveled the world and experienced life from a perspective not afforded many. Geoffrey S. Brooks, the protagonist in his novels OUR LITTLE SECRET and A SECRET CHILL, has been touted as the gay Jack Ryan, made famous by award-winning author Tom Clancy. Follow Geoffrey Brooks as he quietly captures image after image of his childhood, piecing together for us a tale of rape, murder and the loss of childhood innocence to the realization of a dream as an operative for the National Security Agency.For those of you into m/m erotica, Mr. Carey-Infante has written his first gay erotic thriller, titled ANATOMY OF AN INTERNET DECEPTION. It's an adults only erotic tale of love and deception taken from actual e-mail exchanges, really love letters, between two men who are unwittingly falling in love with each other. Both of them, however, have their own agendas...and love isn't one of them.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Do it, Geoffrey! Do it, and don’t stop until it is finished! Coach yelled at me. Kenny has been a very bad little boy and he needs to be punished."

My young mind careened out of control. I knew I had no choice. I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t let Kenny, one of the biggest tattletales in the entire sixth grade, tell anyone what had been going on here.

"Do it, Geoffrey!" Coach yelled yet again.

I slowly lifted high above my head the heavy sword that Coach had placed in the palms of my hands only moments earlier and froze.

"Do it, Geoffrey! Do it and don’t stop until it’s finished!"

Everything began to move in slow motion as I swung the sword down towards Kenny. The dull thud of it hitting his body sent shock waves of terror through my body, but I didn’t stop. I knew I had no choice. I took several more random swings at him. Blood and guts flew in all directions. Oh God, it hurts so badly. I closed my eyes and began yelling. No, stop! I know I’m going to die. Please God, don’t let me die. I don’t want to die.

Amid the chaos, I suddenly heard a woman’s voice off in the distance.

Geoffrey, stop. It’s okay, she pleaded.

I refused to open my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see the carnage I had just wrought.

Geoffrey, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe, the distant voice reassured me.

I finally recognized that voice and knew that I was indeed safe. I opened my eyes. Kenny’s body parts were not strewn all over the room. I was not in Coach’s bedroom. It was not 1969. I was not a scared, ten-year old boy anymore. It was 1982. I was in my own bedroom in my own house in Chevy Chase, Maryland and Jennifer, my wife of less than two months, was next to me, trying to console me while I tried to catch my breath. I was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

You had another one of those awful nightmares again, she whispered. She looked at me intently, checking to see if I were really with her, or still back in the nightmare.

I’d hoped that once we were settled in our own place and our assignment was behind us, they would go away, but they seem only to have gotten worse. She was tender, and leaned over to get the glass of water on my side of the bed that she had placed there before retiring for the evening. She opened the small medicine bottle sitting next to the glass of water and measured out two tablets. Dr. Bernhardt, the shrink in Bethesda that I was going to to help me deal with the increasing frequency of these nightmares, had prescribed the pills.

There must be something causing these nightmares. You know you can tell me. I just want to help, Jennifer said, almost in tears herself.

Her desperation left me numb. Dr. Bernhardt had begged me to tell Jennifer about my sexually and physically abusive childhood, and that the nightmares were a result of posttraumatic stress disorder. He believed that once I told her, the nightmares would subside. I, however, just couldn’t do it. Telling her what had happened to me so long ago would only spark numerous questions and issues that I was not ready to deal with. I especially feared that if she knew about the abuse, she would eventually put two and two together and figure out that I was gay. Jennifer was too good a person to be burdened with that information, and I wasn’t ready to face crucial facts that would break up our marriage. I needed her.

No, honey. It’s nothing, really. I’m fine, I insisted, the shakes subsiding as the fast-acting drug took effect.

Everything, however, was obviously not fine. I woke up almost every morning this way. The arc of my life was dipping in the wrong direction, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing I could do about it. I got up and took a shower. I felt so dirty. I could still feel Kenny’s guts dripping down my naked body. Although that terrifying night had happened some thirteen years earlier, I continued to relive it in my nightmares as if it were happening for the first time. Jennifer was right: Since completing our assignment and our return from Europe, the nightmares were escalating.

After every bout with these memories, I asked myself the same questions. Was I going to have to go through the rest of my life always afraid to close my eyes? Would I always be afraid to go to sleep, never knowing when Coach would creep into my subconscious and haunt me? If the nightmares got too violent, would Jennifer be in danger of getting hurt?

I just wished to God that I could make the damned things stop. Coach was dead after all; he had died in a plane crash long ago. The sad reality was that no matter what, I still feared the man. The scars of years of rape and abuse continued to fester in my psyche. For me, Coach would never die, no matter how hard I tried to exorcise him from my memory.

This night’s nightmare was much more intense than usual. I knew why, of course. The secrets I had been keeping from Jennifer and the lies I had been telling myself for so long were getting to be much too much for me to bear. This just had to stop! I was so miserable, and poor Jennifer, I felt so sorry for her. Our entire relationship, much like the work we were so intimately involved with, was one big lie, and sadly, she didn’t even know it.

I finished drying myself off, climbed back into bed and pretended to go back to sleep, doing my best to hide the tears from her. At that moment, I knew that it was time. I knew exactly what I needed to do. A smile spread across my face as I drifted off into a sound, nightmare less sleep, feeling at peace with the world, and myself, for the first time in a very long time.

CHAPTER 2

Morning arrived and I still felt tranquil and serene, confirmation that I had indeed made the right decision, the only decision that made any sense. It was a gray, gloomy, cold November morning. Winter was right around the corner. It had begun to rain during the night and it had not let up. Now that the op was over, Jennifer and I were given a much-deserved thirty days’ leave. Jennifer had decided the day before to spend this day with her mother down in Georgetown. She was gracious enough to let me sleep in, knowing how much I needed it. Next to a fresh glass of orange juice, she left me a note on the night table letting me know that she would be back in time to prepare dinner. She was a good, caring woman. She even addressed the note To My Hero. If she only knew, I thought to myself. If she only knew.

The house was quiet except for beads of rain relentlessly pounding against the windowpanes, and random claps of thunder. I sat on the familiar navy cushion in the bedroom bay window seat and smiled—something I hadn’t done for as long as I could remember. Up until last night, after I had made this decision. God, it felt so good to smile again!

I peered down at the night table where the anti-anxiety pills had sat hours before, now replaced by me by a full bottle of sleeping pills the doctor had given me. I was no stranger to death. It had stalked me many times before. This time, however, would be different. This time I was the stalker. It was time to arrest the pain, not only mine but that of everyone with whom I came in contact.

Christ, I thought, staring down at the open bottle of pills, how did things spin out of control so fast? Had only sixteen months elapsed since the biggest day of my professional life, my induction into the National Security Agency? Sure, my career was taking off. I had proven myself and gained the respect of all of my colleagues. Nevertheless, the price I was paying was way too high.

If only I could go back in time and right all of the wrongs I had committed along the way, including this sham of a marriage I was in. I can still remember when it all started. It was a wonderful time in my life. I had it all. I was getting ready to embark on my new career that I had worked so hard to attain, and I had David. David and I were the two happiest people in the world. I could have challenged anybody on the planet to prove they were happier than we were.

David was amazing. It sounds crazy, but he was able to make all of my dreams come true. I had longed to go to Cannes on the French Riviera ever since I could remember, and David made it happen. The trip was a surprise to celebrate my promotion at work, even though he was in the dark as to where I worked and what I really did for a living. Since I spoke several languages, it was decided the Peace Corps would be used as my cover. I told David, and anyone else who asked, that I worked in an international consulting capacity for the Peace Corps. Because my job would involve a lot of traveling and long stints away from home, the Peace Corps made for a realistic cover. Of course, I didn’t believe for a moment that David believed a bit of it. He was no fool, after all. He had grown up with me since the ninth grade. He knew my family. He knew my grandfather. He knew that when I’d firmly stated, barely a week after we had met, that I wanted to be just like my grandfather, that I was not a simple consultant for the Peace Corps. He never questioned me though. As long as I was happy, he was happy, and that was all that mattered. Both of us truly and honestly believed that love could, and would, conquer all. How naive we were.

CHAPTER 3

The trip to Cannes started out like a fairytale. We were Cinderella and Prince Charming. We danced the nights away at the Disco de Sept, walked hand-in-hand along the rue Rouguière and sunned ourselves on the Plage de la Croise, one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The best part was that we were far from home where nobody knew who we were or even cared. We were free to be ourselves, to be who we were without fear of reprisal or recrimination.

A few days before we were scheduled to return home, everything changed in an instant. It was such a beautiful, crystal clear day. David and I were lounging on the gorgeous white sands, people-watching and just enjoying each other’s company. As we lay next to each other, David turned slightly and looked at me with a glint in his deep, glowing blue eyes. Softly, in his inviting baritone I so longed to hear all the time, he said, Geoffrey, you have made me the happiest man on earth.

I could hardly contain my smile. That makes two of us, I blushed. I wanted to soar. I had earned it. I deserved to be happy. Without warning, I leaned in and planted a kiss on David’s sweet lips. It was a long, sweet, electric kiss, the kind that generates swirling deep pinks behind one’s closed eyes. It was an intense eternal kiss, the memory of which will never leave me.

Our lips parted slowly and David said with a joyful tear in his eye, My one wish is that we never have to wake up from this Utopia.

Man! I exclaimed as the waves peacefully crashed against the shoreline scant feet from where we lay. I still can’t believe we’re here. Thank you, David. I love you so much.

Had it really been eight years since David and I had first met? I remembered that day as if it were yesterday. It was late August 1973. The first half of the day had already qualified as one of the greatest in my young life. What was left of the man most people referred to as Coach was finally buried. He, however, was no coach; at least not to me. No one knew him like I did. He was an evil man who had brought deep, stark pain and suffering into the lives of many, mine included. The scars he had inflicted, mentally, emotionally and physically, would always be a part of me. The only bit of satisfaction I was able to hold on to was that Coach’s life was brought to a spectacularly violent end, an end he richly deserved.

Jay, Coach’s son, was my best friend at the time, and had borne the brunt of the abuse and anguish. Jay had become an alcoholic before he’d turned fifteen. Shortly after his father’s death, he’d shot and killed his mother and then turned the gun on himself, senselessly snuffing out two wonderful lives. Then, there was the Masterson family. They would never be the same again after the brutal murder of their only child, ten-year old Kenny. Although Coach was never a suspect, he was the person who had murdered Kenny in cold blood. That was one secret I, unfortunately, was going to have to keep for the rest of my life, because if I did come forward, I would also be implicated for my part in his murder.

With Coach finally dead and gone, it was time for me to try to get on with my life. Little did I know that it would happen so rapidly. That very afternoon, after Coach’s burial, although I didn’t quite understand what was happening inside of my body, the man of my dreams walked into my life. I was only 14, but there was no denying my raging hormones.

As I lay on the chaise lounge in the backyard, reading and daydreaming of traveling to far away places and seeing all the exotic marvels of the world, I watched new neighbors who were moving in next door—a single mother raising six kids all by herself, I would later learn. As I watched the chaos of moving into a new home I spied one of the guys whom I guessed was about my age—or should I say, he spied me. He ambled over to the four-foot high trimmed hedges that acted as a natural fence between the two properties.

Hi, my name is David, David Foster, he said.

I got up from the chaise and went over to David. I extended my hand over the hedge. Geoffrey, Geoffrey Brooks, I returned simply.

David looked down at the book I was holding in my left hand. Looks like a great book.

Yeah, I replied. "It’s one of my favorites. It’s about the French Riviera. I especially like the chapter on the Cannes Film Festival."

David appeared to show a genuine interest. Perhaps he was just trying to be polite, but he certainly was making a great first impression. That’s so cool! he said enthusiastically. Have you ever been there? he asked.

No, I answered, But mark my words, some day, some day.

I know you will, David said, impressed by my obvious confidence and resolve.

We peered into each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments. His large royal sky blue eyes sparkled like stars against his tanned temples. At that moment I had known that David was going to be a very special person in my life.

Now, lying on the beach in Cannes, again peering into each other’s eyes, I laughed out loud. David, do you remember our first kiss?

How could I forget? he admonished, his shoulders, however, jiggling in delight. You were such an animal, wrestling me to the floor the way you did, showing me that famous half-nelson move of yours. I bet the only reason you took up wrestling in high school was so that you could show all the guys your moves.

Not quite, I said, smiling at the memory. "I believe it was you who were putting the moves on me and you who literally swept me off my feet. You made my knees go numb and I went crashing to the floor. You just happened to still be in my arms. I felt so stupid yet so wonderful."

Yeah, so did I, David reflected. It was sheer magic. Believe it or not, lying on the floor in your arms, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.

I gave David a playful little nudge. Well, it certainly took you long enough to tell me.

"Excuse me, Mr. Brooks. I do believe that it was you who was always running from me, and, for that matter, from yourself. I’m the one who had to wait for you to come to your senses. I even followed you all the way to Washington and you still almost didn’t get it."

Now wait a minute, I protested. You had a boyfriend at the time if I’m not mistaken.

"Geoffrey fucking Brooks! I told you way back in New York, the night I opened in A Chorus Line that it wasn’t serious. But did you take the hint? No. I did everything that weekend but jump your bones hoping you would get it, but you were too wrapped-up in becoming some kind of a big shot."

Yeah, yeah. So you’ve told me at least a million times, I said, knowing full well that he was right. I did finally figure it out though, and in case I haven’t told you lately, I love you, David Foster.

I love you too. And don’t you dare try to run away from me ever again, because I will come after your ass. You can be certain of that.

I laughed, and he smiled that devilishly penetrating little smile of his that I couldn’t resist, ever. I put my arms around him; and we promised never to let each other go, no matter what.

CHAPTER 4

That day, lying on that beach, I meant it. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep anyone from taking David away from me. However, as is the story of my life, everything changed in an instant. I didn’t recognize the forest for the trees, but the one thing that always got in the way of my relationship with David was the one thing that I wanted more than anything in the world—my career.

*****

Pardon me. Mr. Brooks? A voice came from directly behind us.

David and I both jerked our heads back, startled to see a handsome young man in uniform. We were so absorbed in our own little world that we didn’t hear this Adonis sneak up behind us.

Yes, I’m Mr. Brooks, I answered quizzically, letting go of David and quickly standing up.

Sir, the young man said nervously, "I am Airman 1st Class Avery Benson from the 726th Air Mobil Squadron, Rhine-Main Air Base in the Federal Republic of Germany. I have been sent here to escort you to Frankfurt for your flight back to Washington this evening at 2100 hours."

I hesitated. This had to be a joke.

You’re kidding, right? I smiled. Then suddenly I found that I couldn’t stop laughing.

Both David and the stranger who had identified himself with the crazy long-ass title stared at me.

What? I asked. I know this is one of your practical jokes, David. You got me good this time. Is this Airman 1st Class blah, blah, blah going to do a strip tease right here on the beach?

David looked at me with a tight-lipped frown, shaking his head back and forth.

Mr. Brooks, Airman Benson interrupted with an air of authority, "This is not a joke. A bird is standing by at Mandelieu Airport waiting to fly us to Germany." His disgust was barely masked.

Everybody was being way too serious for my liking.

Come on guys, really, what’s this shit all about? I asked, trying my best to keep the mood light.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but this is not shit. There’s an emergency situation that has arisen at your office, and your services are required. I have been ordered to return you to Washington immediately," Benson curtly replied.

Humor me for just a moment, I bantered back. Could you perhaps enlighten me as to who issued these so-called orders, Airman?

This ought to be good, I thought to myself. If he really is who he says he is, he won’t be revealing such information in the presence of an outsider. The response I got was not the one I was expecting.

Benson glanced over at David and answered matter-of-factly, "General Malcolm Hanson, the Director of International Operations for the Peace Corps."

I felt my whole body tense up. Malcolm Hanson was only a code name. His real name was General Charles Griggs, the DIRNSA, the Director of the National Security Agency.

My heart was exploding with anxiety.

Oh for Christ’s sake. How urgent can it be? Hanson knows I’m on my honeymoon, I growled.

I’m afraid I don’t understand. Benson’s face compressed into a look of complete confusion.

Forget it. You wouldn’t, I snorted.

The sand and sea disappeared from my view. I knew that no matter how hard I fought, I had no choice. Okay, Benson, I finally relented. Give us thirty minutes to pack.

I felt terrible. I couldn’t look at David. I turned to him with downcast eyes and said, I am so sorry, my love. We have to go home right away. Duty calls. But look on the bright side. We have our whole lives to be together. We can always come back to this paradise.

Benson interjected, any bit of politeness now completely gone, Brooks, my orders are to escort you and you alone back to Washington. He added under his breath, Not that freak.

Did this asshole think we wouldn’t hear him? David knew that I was ready to go off and quickly grabbed my arm. Let it go, Geoffrey, he whispered into my ear. He’s nothing but pond scum. We were going to be leaving in a few days anyway. Now go, you obviously have a job to do. You’ve worked too hard and too long to fuck it up now. Then as an aside, and with that irresistible grin, David added, At least I don’t have to worry about you being alone with this homophobic asshole.

I exploded with laughter and couldn’t stop. Thank God for David. He could always make me feel better. I took him into my arms and gave him a kiss he would not quickly forget. I love you, David.

The noise that came from somewhere within Benson was way too funny for words. That is so gross! he eked out between his clenched teeth. Both of you are sick bastards. Brooks, you are a disgrace to the— His hesitation was just enough for David to raise an eyebrow. "—Peace Corps!"

He turned to head back up the beach, and murmured in a stage whisper, I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby of your hotel. Be there in 30 minutes.

Yes, sir! I half-saluted, mocking him.

As he stormed off, he tossed me a copy of the international edition of The New York Times that he had tucked under his arm. He hissed, Since I’m sure you don’t have a clue what’s going on in the world—

I rolled my eyes. Turning to David, I said, That was way too bizarre.

David just laughed. Everything about the man is bizarre. Everything about your so-called career is bizarre. All I’ve got to say is, you must have one hell of a job for the Peace Corps to send someone halfway around the world to find you. Now get the fuck outta here Mr. Big Stuff, before I take you right here on the beach.

Although David was trying to make the best of a bad situation, I knew he was hurt. He tried very hard to hide a trace of tears starting to well up in his eyes. I couldn’t stand it any more. I love you, David. I’ll make this up to you. I promise.

I love you too, Geoffrey. Now go, go on.

I walked backwards in the sand and waved, throwing him kisses, and in return he winked and said with a knowing smirk, "Peace Corps my ass."

There was nothing more I could do but shake my head and skulk away. Newspaper in hand, I finally made my way back up to one of the most beautiful, most frequently photographed buildings on earth, the Carlton International Hotel. Un-fucking-believable, I muttered.

CHAPTER 5

I sat on the bench in the bay window watching the rain fall, tears rolling down my face. Until Benson had shown up that day, I was the happiest man on earth. For the briefest of moments I had had it all, and on my terms. I should have known that, just as predicted, it was all just a fairytale.

The only person I had to blame this time was myself, especially after I had refused to heed my grandfather’s sage advice shortly before he died. The day of his death was one of the most heart-wrenching days of my entire life. The man I admired and loved so much was suddenly gone. He was my rock, and as long as I had him nearby, he would protect me and guide me in the right direction. He died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 76, two weeks after my induction into the NSA. Up until then he had appeared to be in good health, but, unbeknownst to any of us, he was suffering from an inoperable form of cancer. Somehow he had managed to hide it from all of us, even my grandmother. His last words to me before he died will be forever emblazoned on my psyche.

Geoffrey, he said weakly yet with conviction, Thank you for carrying on my legacy; you’ve made me very proud. I know you’ll be the best this country, which I so dearly love, has known. But please, always remember, you are only one person. You can’t do it all. Serving in silence is not easy. I can’t emphasize enough to you that you must be respectful and humble to everyone, including your informants. Above all else, you must put your family, and that includes David, ahead of your own wants and needs. You must protect them and love them as you would yourself. Put aside that huge ego of yours. I love you, son.

Then he squeezed my hand with as much strength as his failing body could muster, and whispered, Take care of David. He’s a good boy and he loves you very much.

*****

I am so sorry, Grand pop, I thought as I wept in my empty bedroom. I tried, I really did, but I failed. I failed my family. I failed David. I failed you.

CHAPTER 6

I realize now, looking back, that no matter how shrewd I was, there were a hell of a lot of people who were far more cunning than I could ever be. However, back then, my young, cocky self truly believed that I was the most devious, the slyest, smartest agent to ever hit the NSA. I believed it from day one despite the stern warning from Grand pop on his deathbed. My out-of-control ego took over the moment Benson challenged my sexuality on the beach that day in Cannes.

After I left David alone on the beach, I went back to the hotel room and angrily threw my clothes into my suitcase, disregarding my usual obsession with neatness. Before I closed it, I jammed the New York Times Benson had flung at me inside, and locked it. I was in no mood to read a newspaper.

Half an hour later, I was on a Boeing Chinook helicopter bound for Frankfurt, with Airman Benson at my side. From Frankfurt, we flew via military transport to Andrews Air Force Base outside of Washington, D.C. Benson and I sat several rows apart so that we didn’t have to interact with each other the whole way home.

In the seat pocket in front of me was another copy of the New York Times. As much as I wanted to tell Benson to shove it up his ass, I took the hint and opened it up. The feature story on the front page at once explained why my vacation was being cut short. An inside source had learned that three Central Intelligence Agency agents posing as Christian missionaries had been gunned down, execution style, in a suburb of Bogotá, Colombia. According to the article, the agents had been involved in some kind of covert buy and bust op. The article drove home the point, to those of us in the know, how dangerous intelligence gathering could be.

I finished reading the article, rolled up the paper and shoved it back in the seat pocket in front of me. I had seen enough. My first op, classified by the agency as a training op, completed several months earlier, had dealt with collecting intelligence domestically in order to find out how cocaine was getting into the United States, and who was responsible for importing it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why I was being called in on this op. I had done my job so well during that assignment that I was the natural choice. My narcissistic self knew that I was the only choice really. I was the best, after all.

For just the briefest of moments, David was only a distant thought.

CHAPTER 7

The drive from Andrews Air Force Base to Fort Meade was made in total silence. Benson apparently was so afraid that I was somehow going to make him gay that he sat pressed up against the door of the car. I wanted so badly to get up into his face, but thought better of it.

Fort Meade, the National Security Agency’s headquarters, actually had a couple of nicknames. They included SIGINT City, which was an acronym for "Signal Intercept City, and, to the people who lived and worked there, it was affectionately known as Crypto City." I was so relieved when the car pulled into the southbound lane of the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. We were almost there, and Benson’s job as my babysitter was almost over.

We exited onto the restricted exit ramp. The ramp was hidden so well by tall berms and thick trees that if you didn’t know it were there, you would drive right past it. We left the highway and made our way through the labyrinth of barbed-wire fences, giant boulders, motion detectors, hydraulic anti-truck devices and huge cement barriers. Finally we turned onto Savage Road and I caught my first glimpse of the ugly, institutionalesque, nine-story tower surrounded by a green, three-story A-shaped building. We had finally arrived at NSA headquarters. The sprawling one thousand acre-plus complex was more secure than Fort Knox. It was protected by three separate cyclone type fences, each with barbed wire, high-voltage electrified wire, closed circuit television cameras with telephoto lenses; and the perimeter was patrolled by armed guards known as The Men in Black, many of them with mean-looking attack dogs.

The driver pulled up to Gatehouse #1 and Benson and I got out of the car. Benson ran ahead, flashed a color-coated security badge, and was waved through the first checkpoint. To my surprise, he quickly turned the corner without looking back, and was gone. Although I couldn’t see what color his badge was, all kinds of alarm bells went off inside my head. What was he doing with a badge at all? And, boy, he certainly seemed to know his way around.

I, on the other hand, had to wait, even though all of the guards knew me. Since we had come directly from Andrews, I didn’t have my color-coated badge with me. It took twenty agonizing minutes to have my picture taken and finally to be issued a one-day pass. The color of my badge was green, signifying that I was fully cleared with access to all but specially restricted areas. Benson, a mere corpsman, could have nothing more than a blue or yellow badge. . .could he? I thought to myself.

The first set of armed guards waved me through another series of checkpoints. I walked through the opulently decorated lobby, and passed the rather gaudy mosaic of the Agency’s seal. It was about 4 feet in diameter and contained over 20,000 hand-cut cubes of Byzantine glass, a stern looking eagle standing guard in the center. Clutched in the eagle’s talons was a large, ancient skeleton key. The key symbolized the NSA’s unlocking of secrets of others while guarding its own. The background was a sparkling, cobalt blue. Beneath the talons gripping the key was the name of the occupant the eagle sought to protect: NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY. Although there was no doubt in my mind that it was true, I’d always thought it a bit presumptuous, even foolhardy of the NSA, to believe that they were the only ones with the ability to unlock the secrets of others.

The reason the NSA was originally established was to decode secret codes other countries were transmitting to each other during wartime. I was never trained in cryptology. Mathematics was not one of my strong suits. In order to figure out hidden, disguised or encrypted communications, you had to be a math wiz. I, on the other hand, was trained in human intelligence. I collected information from my informants the old-fashioned way—in person. As a profiler, I was trained to get into the heads of my informants, to figure out what their true intentions were. The success of my first assignment had made a lot of people sit up and take notice, proving to me that they had come to believe I was the real deal. Although cryptology was not nearly as dangerous as working in human intelligence, I would not trade my job for anything. I really got off on being in the eye of the storm. I was an audacious bastard and daredevil at heart.

I continued to make my way through the maze of hallways until I entered the Tower Lobby decorated with portraits of the Agency’s former directors. I flashed my badge at yet another pair of starched and pressed armed guards and entered an express elevator up to the ninth floor. The ninth floor was known as Mahogany Row, where there was more spit-polish-shined wood than I’d ever seen anywhere else.

I got off the elevator and headed down the hall to the bright blue door at the very end. I hesitated for a brief second, closed my eyes, and turned the knob.

I thought I was prepared to enter the office suite of the DIRNSA. If I had known then what I know now, I probably would have run as fast and as far away as I possibly could. I pushed open the door and started in.

CHAPTER 8

Hi, Andrea," I greeted, flashing a smile at the stately looking woman stationed outside the Director’s office.

Hi, Geoffrey, she smiled back. Hope you had a nice vacation. Sorry it had to be cut short.

"Thanks. Yeah, it