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)
“Oh, you won’t have to do any of that.” Her tone was upbeat and cheerful.
“Why not?”
“Because no one ever uses the archives. Ninety percent of the materials are outdated, and the current stuff is all online. Of course, this information still needs to be maintained, if for no other reason than to serve as a historical record.”
“Then what’s with all this mail?”
“Research and development and our science departments submit hard copies of their studies and reports to the archives,” she explained. “They also post them to our secure, online database. There are probably some other things mixed in, too—interdepartmental memos, that sort of thing.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you give it a day or two, Andy? Remember, nothing is time-sensitive, so if you decide to stick around, you can tackle the backlog at your own pace.”
“It’s overwhelming, though. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“You’ve got this, Andy. I know you do.” I had no idea why she had that much faith in me. “Did Glynnis give you some training materials?”
“Yes.”
“Start there. Meanwhile, I’ll track down someone to assist you. Maybe they can begin by opening the mail and sorting it chronologically.”
I admitted, “That would be helpful.”
“So, you’ll stay?”
“Let’s just see how this week goes. Right now, I can’t commit to more than that.” We agreed to touch base soon before ending the call.
There was no way to play the VHS tape, but I sat down at the desk and opened the thick binder. The pages of the manual were yellowed with age, and they’d been written with a typewriter. In every margin were notes in graceful, feminine handwriting, which must have been added by one of Wally’s predecessors.
Over the next two hours, I read the entire contents of that binder, which provided an overview of the archives and explained my new job in great detail. The most helpful part by far were the notes. They’d been written by someone who was both intelligent and thorough, and who’d clearly cared about this place. When she worked here, the archives had probably run like a well-oiled machine. What would she have done if she’d seen them in this condition?
Actually, the answer was obvious—she would have fixed this mess. I felt like I owed it to that nameless librarian, and to April, to at least give this a shot. With a sigh, I got up, rolled back my sleeves, and went to work.
CHAPTER 3
SAM
I’d been shocked as hell when SPAM recruited me. I had absolutely no idea why they’d want to do that, but the lady on the phone said they had a need for someone with my “unique skill set.” I tried to point out that I didn’t actually have any skills, unique or otherwise, but they hired me anyway. Then they gave me the title of Support Specialist, along with a spiffy lanyard, a decent paycheck, and mid-level security clearance.
That last part meant I could snoop around in about sixty percent of this huge Death Star of a building. It was a potential whistle blower’s dream come true, even if I hadn’t found anything earth-shattering in the four months I’d been here. I couldn’t access the highest and lowest floors with my security clearance, so that was probably where they kept the death rays, and alien technology, and the rest of the stuff they didn’t want the public to know about.
Even though I was dying to get a look at the secrets locked away on those levels, I needed to be chill about it. As much as I wanted to know what these fuckers were up to, landing my ass in an unmarked jail cell for all of eternity was not the goal.
It was slow going, too. I still barely even understood what this agency did. SPAM stood for Special Processing and Management, which told me nothing. In their glossy, full-color brochure, they claimed their job was to “provide assessment, training, and assignment support to members of the power-gifted community,” which was a slick way of saying they did shit with superheroes. I assumed that meant they found people with superpowers, trained them to be killing machines, and sent them out to kick the ass of anyone they considered a threat to ‘Merica—but that was currently just a theory.
What I needed was concrete evidence to back it up. And what better way to gather evidence than to take a job in the belly of the beast?
As far as what I’d actually been hired to do, I barely understood that, either. My first two months had been spent in basic field training classes. Since I’d worked as a bodyguard for a big chunk of my twenties, I assumed I’d be doing something similar for SPAM.
But once my training was completed, all I did was hang around the offices, bouncing from department to department. April, the woman who’d hired me, claimed she was waiting for the right assignment to come along before she sent me into the field.