Hal nodded in agreement. “Without proper clearance, I’d be arrested for espionage for just viewing it.”
“Right,” Henry said, “but if you’re in the footage, you’re part of it. Consider yourself cleared. That’s a battle you won’t lose in court. If you track down the footage, let me know and I’ll see what I can do on my end. Now, let’s get outta’ this cooler and get a beer!”
“Oh, one more thing,” Hal said. “Guoanbu is still here. The MSS agents. Somewhere in Alamogordo. Do you know anyone on base who can find them?”
Henry’s reply was skeptical. “I know a retired FBI on base. I can ask him. Finding spies is a tall order.”
Hal nodded, accepting they may never find MSS. “I’ll go out the back and meet you inside at the bar. Jenny can’t be seen in public with us.”
“Few people can,” Henry joked. Slapping Hal on the back while erupting in an infectious laugh that amused Jenny. Henry went to shake her hand good bye, but she turned it into a warm hug.
“Thank you for your help, Hank. It was really good to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Jenny. Thank you.”
Jenny left through the employee exit. Once out of earshot, Hal said to Henry, “Jenny!? What was that all about?”
“They can’t get enough of me!”
“Yeah, I know. And you can’t wait until tomorrow—
Henry finished his sentence. Something Hal has heard many times before. “—Because I get better looking every day!”
“I think it’s because you remind them of their grandpa,” Hal said. “Or Santa Claus!”
“Hey, I bet I have her sitting on my lap before you do!”
They both laughed. “You might be right. Thanks again, pal.” He gave Uncle Hank a hug and left out the back. Henry sauntered through the double doors back into the saloon, seeing his empty mug on the counter. “Fill me up, darlin’! And pour one for Hal.”
Hal stepped groggily into the office the next day to find Yarbo and another airman staring up at a flat screen TV in the corner. It played a report on an IED factory blown up in Yemen. “US Special Forces infiltrated the bomb making factory, blew it up and then engaged in a firefight on the street outside,” the reporter said. “While there were Yemeni casualties believed to be members of AQAP, there were no American casualties.”
“Navy SEALs kickin’ some terrorist ass!” The airman beside Yarbo said.
Hal watched with them, observing a smoking pile of rubble that used to be the IED factory. It was familiar to him. An image flashed in his mind of a body bag zipped up over his face. Then another image lying on his back in a Blackhawk, looking up at PJs.
Hal stepped away from the TV, heading toward the counter against the wall in front of his desk. It held the inboxes and outboxes for half a dozen analysts — where they each received new assignments and delivered finished ones. Usually in the form of military-grade external hard drives. The analyst’s name was on each in and out box. Classification markings labeled each drive, telling the analysts what imagery the file contained. The coded label was nearly impossible for non-military personnel to decipher. The drives were typically marked in red, which was the classification of “Secret,” below the “Top Secret” classifications. The external drive in Hal’s inbox bore a red label printed with S//TK-EF//IMCON, which told him it was drone footage of Afghanistan, using the initials EF as a holdover of Enduring Freedom. He glanced at the drives in the inboxes of the other airmen, surprised to find one with an orange label. It read, TS//TK-SAR/CRU-FP//IMCON. Hal knew this was a special drive. Orange was the designated color for Top Secret information. The code letters translated to Top Secret//Talent Keyhole (satellites and other air imagery) Special Access Required (a high level of clearance, much higher than Hal’s), CRU-FP (highly secretive coordination of the military and CIA), and IMCON — controlled imagery. Hal read the name on the inbox. It was the name and title of the officer in command of the department, “1st Lt. W. McCreary.”
Hal glanced back to McCreary’s office. No light under the door. He wasn’t in yet. Hal couldn’t remember seeing footage in McCreary’s inbox before. He wondered if there was and he just wasn’t paying attention. Hal wouldn’t have any reason to check other analyst’s inboxes. It also wasn’t out of character for McCreary to be out of his office. As a First Lieutenant, he had other duties than overseeing image analysis.
Hal’s first thought was to replace the label on McCreary’s drive with his own, but killed that thought when he remembered that action alone was a felony. He glanced up at Yarbo and the other airman. Still watching the news. Hal had to act quickly, whatever he was going to do.
Hal picked up his drive and placed it in McCreary’s inbox. He grabbed McCreary’s drive and tucked it under his arm, out of view of Yarbo and the others in the office, and whisked out the office down the hallway. The excuse of admin switching drives by mistake would be a better one than anything else Hal could conjure up. Provided he returned with it before McCreary arrived.
Henry Banks sat in a dimly lit room, peering through bifocal lenses at a paper with optic algorithms and other data. All part of his current work as a consultant on a sensor for the next generation of spy satellites. This particular sensor implemented advanced t-ray technology. Terahertz rays used a harmless form of radiation to see through solid material, but unlike x-rays, t-rays could focus like a spotlight to create an even sharper image. Henry wrote the book on gun cameras and satellite optics. Few on the base would believe that Henry was a pioneer in spy satellite and reconnaissance imagery. He fell into it at an early age when a shrapnel hit he took in the Korean War moved him from the pilot’s seat to Bombardier and Aerial Recon Photographer. His career in aerial imagery took off from there. He was on the team that identified the Soviet missiles in Cuba from the U2 photos in 1962, and he spent the rest of his life working on optics for high altitude reconnaissance aircraft and spy satellites.
Henry looked up from his work at a shadowy figure in the doorway then smiled as if it were a favorite nephew. “Hal! Good to see you.”
“Found something,” Hal said, “gotta make it quick. Copy this.” Hal handed him the drive. Henry glanced at the label and plugged the drive into his computer, starting the download. The status bar crept along, downloading several gigabytes of data. Hal looked at the clock. Then back at the door. Mainly to make sure nobody was watching, but also as a paranoid fear that McCreary would arrive and catch Hal in the act of copying a drive.
The copy finished, and Henry handed the drive back. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Hal shoved the drive into a pocket in his cargo pants and made a brisk march toward his office. He saw an airman he knew on the way and avoided eye contact. Plodding forward like he was on a work-related mission. Hal rounded the corner to the imagery department. His eyes darting to McCreary’s inbox. It was empty. His own drive gone. Fuck! Hal’s eyes leapt to McCreary’s office. The light was on under the door. FuckFuckFuck! Hal strode to the door, retrieved McCreary’s drive from his pocket, out of view of the airmen in the office and knocked.
“Come in,” McCreary said.
Hal could tell McCreary had just arrived. He was still settling in and his computer hummed the start-up jingle. Hal’s drive was in front of it, not plugged in. Hal stretched out the drive he was holding. “I think this is yours. Orange markings. Admin?!” McCreary looked at the drive label on his desk.
“Oh. Didn’t even notice. Good catch, Sheridan.” They exchanged drives. Just when Hal thought he was in the clear and was about to leave, McCreary said, “Did you look at it?”