Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“We don’t know that. He might have had time to do some tests and confirm his findings before he died,” Sam said. “And Mercanti obviously believed it was important, since it was the only thing he bothered to lock up in a safe.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured as I put my glasses back on. “Here’s my question—how did the alleged Men in Black even know we had the journal?”
“Silverton may have sent in that requisition form, and maybe SPAM has a system in place to flag Mercanti’s name,” Sam said, “something to alert them if anyone ever mentioned the scientist or his research.”
“If SPAM did have that kind of screening set up, they also could have pulled his name from the email I sent the science division this morning, when they weren’t answering their phones.”
“That’s true.”
After a moment, I said, “Here’s what I don’t get. If the journal is so valuable, why did it get sent here in the first place? And why did no one come looking for it before now?”
Sam shrugged. “That’s easy. We work for a huge, convoluted bureaucracy, where one department has no idea what another is doing. After Mercanti’s lab was destroyed, SPAM would have sent in a clean-up crew. Site remediation is a fancy way of saying that, right? When someone on the crew busted open the safe and found the journal, they didn’t know what to do with it, so they sent it here. Maybe that person was new to the job. Who knows? Even though it was locked in a safe, it obviously didn’t look like much. Fast forward three years. Today, someone high up at SPAM learned some of Mercanti’s work had survived the fire—thanks to us, because we accidentally brought it to their attention. So, they sent people with gold-level clearance to get it.”
“But why would anyone assume the journal contained valuable information?”
“Maybe at some point over the last three years, someone figured out Mercanti was close to a breakthrough. He must have had contacts in the agency, after all. Then they set up a way to be notified, just in case any of Mercanti’s work ever surfaced.”
“And as soon as it did, cue the Men in Black—or whatever they were.” I chewed my lip for a few moments before asking, “You don’t think they were working for Rosselin, do you? I mean, I know they were with SPAM, but maybe he bribed them or something.”
“I doubt it. When the big guy asked who Mercanti’s son was, that seemed genuine. He’d have no reason to say that if Rosselin was pulling his strings.”
“That’s true.”
A grin spread across Sam’s face. “You know what was totally badass? The way you stood up to that huge, steroid-guzzling meathead when he tried to grab the journal.”
“This stuff is my responsibility, and he hadn’t shown me any ID.”
“I know. I’m just saying, I liked seeing that side of you.” He was still grinning as he headed for the door. “My lunch hour’s ticking away, so I’m going to grab a burrito. Do you want anything?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
I’d lost my appetite, so I packed up my lunch and reached for the next report in the bin beside my desk. This one was standard issue, with a regulation blue cover and a tidy synopsis on the first page. As I logged on to my computer and started entering the report into the system, I thought that was probably the last I’d ever hear about Mercanti and his journal.
I’d soon find out I was very wrong about that.
CHAPTER 9
ANDY
At eight the next morning, Sam and I ran into each other at the employee entrance. “This is late for you,” he said.
“I told you yesterday that I wouldn’t be coming in at seven.”
“I know, but you’re usually a few minutes early.”
“You’re right. It was tough to get going this morning. I guess all the long hours I’ve been working finally caught up to me.”
Something felt off when we got inside. Several serious-looking men and women in suits were hurrying around the main floor, and there was tension in the air. “Something’s up,” Sam said, and I nodded in agreement.
When we stepped out of the elevator in the basement, a big guard with an earpiece stopped us. “This is my department,” I told him, as he scrutinized my ID. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a break-in,” the man said flatly. “You need to go back upstairs and wait until our team finishes processing the scene.”
“Someone broke into the archives?”
“I need you to go back upstairs, sir.”
My voice rose. “Those archives are my responsibility. I need to know what happened.”
He tried to grab me when I stepped around him, but Sam hip-checked the guard and snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on him.”
I sprinted down the hall, and then I stopped short and murmured, “Oh, no.” The double doors were broken and mangled, as if they’d been hit by a truck. Inside the archives, several people were picking through the rubble. All the shelves were toppled and covered in shredded reports. It looked like a bomb had gone off, though nothing was burned or scorched.