Rebel in Time

'I am, sir.'

'Good.' Colonel McCulloch nodded as he would at an idiot child. 'But your interest is a little late, sergeant. Exactly one week too late. That's how long ago I noticed that a newly fallen tree had blocked part of the field of vision of one of the remote TV cameras. I waited one week for you or one of your men to notice it. None of you did. I therefore arranged this demonstration to show just how lax security is around here.'

'I'll see that it's tightened up, colonel…'

'No, you won't, Greenbaum. Someone else will. You are losing those stripes, taking a salary cut to match, and a reprimand goes into your record…'

'No, it doesn't, McCulloch. Because I'm quitting this job. I'm through.'

McCulloch nodded agreement. 'Yes, you are through. And you have just described yourself as well. A quitter. You quit after serving twenty years in the Army too. Now you're quitting—'

'Bullshit, colonel, if you will excuse the expression.' Greenbaum glowered in anger, fists clenched. 'I got out of the service to get away from chickenshits like you. But I just didn't get far enough away. You're in charge of security at this lab. Which means you got responsibilities too. If you gave a shit you would have reported that tree. We're supposed to be in this together, you're supposed to help us. Not pull this Boy Scout and Indian crap. Well I'm getting just as far away from that kind of stuff as I can. Beginning right now.'

He turned and stamped away. McCulloch watched him go in silence. Only when Greenbaum was out of sight did he turn to the silent guards.

'I want a written report on this exercise from each one of you. On my desk in the morning.' He waved Lopez out of the jeep and took his place. 'Get me back to my car,' he told the driver, then turned to the other guards as the engine started up. 'Every one of you is expendable. Screw up like Greenbaum and you go just the way he did.'

McCulloch did not look back as they drove away.

At the car he unlocked the boot while the jeep turned and vanished back down the lane. He took off his coat and threw it into the boot. He was wearing his uniform underneath. It was empty of all decorations and identifying insignia, other than the silver eagles on his shoulders. He reached into the boot again and took out his uniform cap, settled it firmly on his head, then took out a black attaché case as well before slamming the lid shut. A few minutes later he was on MacArthur Boulevard driving south towards the District.

It was a short ride. A few miles down the road he turned into a large shopping centre, where he parked close to a branch of the DC National Bank. He locked the car and went into the bank, taking the attaché case with him. It was a brief visit. He emerged less than ten minutes later, got into his car and drove away — watched most carefully by the man in the black Impala that was parked two rows away. The man raised a microphone and spoke into it.

'Able One to Able Two. George is now leaving the lot and turning south on MacArthur. He's yours now. Over.'

'Will do. Out.'

The man replaced the microphone on the dash and got out of the car. He was lean and blond and unremarkably dressed in a grey suit, white shirt and dark tie. He entered the bank and crossed to the receptionist.

'My name is Ripley,' he said. 'I would like to see the manager. About some investments.'

'Of course, Mr Ripley.' She picked up the phone. 'I'll see if Mr Bryce is free.'

The manager stood up from behind the desk and shook his hand when he entered the office. 'Mr Ripley. Now just what can I do to help you?'

'This is a government matter, sir. Would you please look at my identification.'

He took a leather wallet from his breast pocket, opened it and passed it across the desk. Bryce looked at the gold badge and the accompanying card behind the plastic window and nodded. 'Well, Mr Ripley,' he said. 'How can I be of aid to the Federal Bureau of Investigation?' He started to hand back the ID but the agent stopped him.

'I would like you to authenticate the identification, sir. I believe that you were given an unlisted number for use if the occasion should arise?'

Bryce nodded and opened the top drawer of his desk. 'Yes, I've used it once before. Here it is. If you will excuse me.'

The bank manager dialled the number, then identified himself to the party at the other end. He read off the ID number from the wallet, then placed his hand over the receiver.

'They want to know the case reference.'

'Tell them investigation George.'

The bank manager repeated the words, then nodded and hung up. He passed the ID back to the FBI agent. 'I was instructed to co-operate with you and to give you any information that you might need about one of our clients. But I must say that this is not a normal practice…'

'I realize that, Mr Bryce. But you are now involved in a security investigation with a top priority. If you refuse to cooperate I must go to your superiors and—'