think for a long time you were willing to accept the loneliness, but Aggie reminded you of the actual price you’ve been paying. You haven’t been yourself since you two split.”
Mercer considered Harry’s words. “I’ve been thinking it has to do with the danger we went through. It was the excitement I was missing.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it. I never felt more alive than during the war. There’s nothing like being chased by a Japanese sub or surviving a kamikaze attack to tell you what it means to feel. Do you think surviving the oil rig collapse and the tanker fire and all the other stuff in Alaska opened you a little bit and Aggie stepped through your armor?”
“So she caught me at a vulnerable moment?”
“No, she caught you at a time when you were actually feeling for a change. You aren’t the hardened recluse you thought you were.”
Mercer couldn’t deny the charge, but he wasn’t ready to admit it was true either. “So what should I do?”
“How the hell should I know?” Harry laughed. “I
“Bastard,” Mercer smirked.
“For whatever it’s worth, I think just talking like this is good for you. It’s the first time you’ve ever brought it up, which means you’re probably ready to start dealing with it. I don’t have much in the way of experience to help, but I’m here to listen.” Harry struggled into his windbreaker. “Why don’t you work on your report and meet me at Tiny’s around four?”
Mercer considered for a second. “Yeah, I think I need that.”
Mercer was just toweling off when the phone rang. It was twenty minutes until four, and thinking it was Harry telling him to hurry, he answered, “Keep your dentures in. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Dr. Philip Mercer?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
“Please hold the line for Undersecretary of State Hyde.” The woman put him on hold before he could ask if he’d heard right.
Hyde came on the line an instant later. “Dr. Mercer, this is Prescott Hyde, Undersecretary of State for African Affairs. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No sir. Not at all,” Mercer replied, naked and still dripping on the carpet next to his bed.
“Good, good.” There was an element of the Teddy Roosevelt bluff in Hyde’s voice, a collegiate jocularity that might not have been forced but was certainly polished. “I’m surprised to find you home on a Monday afternoon, but Sam Becker said you worked strange hours.”
While Mercer did not know Prescott Hyde, he was familiar with Sam Becker, the head of the National Security Agency. The two had worked together on the Vulcan’s Forge affair in Hawaii. Mercer knew the use of Becker’s name was more than just name-dropping. In just that single sentence, Hyde told Mercer that he’d done some checking into his background and knew of his reputation. Mercer wanted to be incensed, but he found he was more intrigued than anything else.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Undersecretary?”
“Please, call me Bill. Sam tells me people just call you Mercer, is that right?”
“Among other things.”
“Excellent. Good to know the boys at the NSA have their information correct,” Hyde laughed. “Listen, Mercer, I’ll come to the point. We’re both busy men, after all.”
It had taken only twenty seconds for Mercer to dislike Hyde. Most public officials took at least a full minute. “You called me,” he said cautiously, feeling he was walking into a trap. “What can I do for you?”
“Right to business, I like that,” Hyde said as if it was Mercer who had instigated the call. “All right, then. I may have a job for you. Something right up your alley, so to speak.”
“I didn’t know the State Department was into mining these days.” Mercer tried to keep the disdain from his voice.
“It’s nothing like that. But it is a little hard to explain over the phone, if you know what I mean?” Hyde’s bonhomie was wearing on Mercer fast. “Something’s come across my desk that is tailor-made for your unique talents. I’ve asked around town and you’ve got yourself quite a reputation for getting tough jobs done. I know all about what you did in Hawaii a few years back and what happened in Alaska last year. While not nearly as exciting, what I have represents a similar challenge.”
Just hearing the word sent a jolt through Mercer. “What sort of challenge?”
“Let’s just say that you alone are qualified to possibly help millions of people. If that doesn’t whet your appetite, nothing I say will. I’d like to get together with you. Is tomorrow okay? Shall we say one o’clock at my office?”
“I think not.” Mercer was going to meet with Hyde, but in any opening negotiations with someone who wanted something, it was best to quickly establish control. “Shall we say noon at the Willard Hotel? You can buy me lunch while we talk.”
Hyde chuckled. “Very good, sir. I knew your price would be high. However, it’ll be worth it. For both of us. Tomorrow at noon.”
“Tomorrow at noon,” Mercer agreed and hung up.
Across town, the listener waited a few seconds for both parties to clear the line, then began tapping at the computer in front of him. Behind him, his superior waited, watching the screen as the listener attempted to track the signal from their bug.
While the living room of the College Park apartment had traditional furniture, the two bedrooms were unlike any other in the high-rise complex a few blocks from the University of Maryland. The first contained desks, computers, and all manner of communications gear with one wall dominated by a large map of the city. The other was furnished with three sets of bunk beds, jammed together so closely that only a narrow walkway separated them. The permanent staff who used the suite slept in shifts to minimize their conspicuousness.
“It’s an unlisted number in the Washington area. Give me a second to track it down,” the eavesdropper said. The computer whirled frantically, narrowing down through the unlisted numbers until it found the one it wanted. The algorithms used for the search were the most sophisticated in the communications encryption/decryption arena and halved the time normally needed to trace calls.
“Philip Mercer,” the listener said to his boss. “I’ve got an address in Arlington. The computer’s about to print out a hard copy of their conversation.”
“Do you have anything on him in Archive?”
The listener cleared his screen and brought up their massive database. A moment later, a slim dossier of Philip Mercer appeared. The overseer, a medium-built man in his late thirties with black curling hair and strong dark eyes, read the file as his aide scrolled through it, memorizing nearly everything with just a glimpse. It was a skill he had been taught, not born with.
“I have no doubt why Hyde’s calling in this geologist,” the leader said, then called to a man in the front room of the apartment. “Come in here, please.”
The man wore a plain gray suit, and his skin and features were so ordinary that he almost blended with the walls of the bedroom. If one wasn’t actually looking at him, he seemed to have the ability to hide in plain sight, a talent necessary for a field operative.
“Sir, Hyde is making another call,” the listener said, pressing the earphones tighter to his skull.
The group leader led the other agent to the kitchen to give the communications officer privacy to do his job. “I want round-the-clock surveillance on a man named Philip Mercer. Hyde may be bringing him in, and we need to know everything about him. I’m going to get a full background check as soon as possible, but I want teams in place immediately.”
The man nodded.
“I have a feeling that this may be the one we’ve been waiting for,” the team leader continued. “Use as many men as necessary and for now assume Mercer knows counter-surveillance techniques. Understood?”
