“Hiya, Cobra.”
As a rule, CIA employees kept to themselves. Apart from getting a beer now and then with members of their work group, they did not fraternize, and the Agency liked it that way. There was nothing like a company holiday party to leak sensitive information. As a Black Operative, Morgan had even less contact with the people who worked at headquarters. In fact, Plante was practically the only one with whom he’d ever had any sustained contact. People who do what he did don’t exactly like to advertise their identities to anyone, even within the Agency. But Lowry had consistently run support and intel for Morgan on missions. The two men had formed an unlikely bond, and Morgan was pleased to see his grinning mug again.
He exchanged a warm handshake with Lowry and then sat across from him at the table. “Hi, Grant. I didn’t know you were working on this op.”
“Hey, Cobra, you know that kind of talk is off-limits. But I’m not here on official business. I heard you were in the building, and I thought I’d drop in and say hello.”
“I thought the CIA was good at keeping secrets,” Morgan said with a smirk. He sat back in his chair, resting his arms on the table.
“Nothing’s a secret if it’s on a computer,” said Lowry, with a devilish look on his face. “You just have to know how to ask.”
“I swear, people put far too much trust in machines.”
“Machines just do what you tell them, Cobra. It’s people you have to watch out for.” Grant gave a light-hearted chuckle. “So how’ve you been, old man?”
“Old man? I’m three years older than you.” Morgan looked at him with mock anger.
“And retired,” said Lowry.
“I was enjoying my ‘retirement.’ You?”
“Ah, you know, same old,” said Lowry, half reclining in his chair. “Thinking of leaving the life behind me—maybe start my own consulting agency.”
“No shit?”
“It’s what all the cool kids are doing. Plus, it’s hardly any fun anymore. This whole gig has been a little too stressful since 9/11.” He sighed. “It was always difficult to tell friends from enemies, but lately, things have been ridiculous. And then there’s this McKay character.”
“The senator? I thought her whole business was corporate regulation.”
“Oh, she’s a busy little bee. She’s heading up the Senate Committee on Intelligence.” Lowry looked around, leaned forward, and lowered his voice, as if he was worried people might be listening. In this place, he was probably right. “She’s taking a real hands-on approach, and apparently she’s taken a special interest in the CIA. She’s been around to tour the facilities a few times. Seems like she’s planning a major review of operations—some transparency and accountability business. Gonna rattle some cages and all-around raise hell around here, from what I heard.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Can she do that?”
“If she gathers enough support. Not,” he said, lowering his voice again, “that I’m exactly happy with the management here. Or, should I say, the micromanagement.”
Morgan could sympathize. Nobody really got promoted in the CIA because they were competent, at least not those above a certain rank. The higher-ups, the career bureaucrats, were there because they were masters at the game of politics. That, or because someone even higher up the ladder had decided they could be controlled. That made the bosses almost invariably grade-A assholes, even though, by all accounts, the current head of the NCS, Jeffrey Boyle, was an exception. Morgan had worked with him in the field in the old days, and fieldwork formed a bond of trust that wasn’t easily broken.
“So what about Kline getting to be number two at the NCS?” Morgan asked, grimacing.
“Oh, plenty of us called foul, but Boyle swears by him. If you ask me, Kline plays the game well and knows how to keep the bigwigs happy. He’s even got a lot of us underlings legitimately on his side.”
“Yeah. From what I understand, Plante is one of them.”
“Hey, who knows? Maybe the guy has qualities that the rest of us are missing. At least I can vouch that he’s not a total incompetent.” Morgan looked at him doubtfully, and Grant shrugged. “So what exactly is it that brought you here?”
“Cougar,” he said simply.
“Ah, so you heard. My condolences, Cobra. He was one of the best.” Lowry smiled wanly, looking down. “You know, maybe you should’ve stuck around. We could use more men like you around here. Don’t you ever miss it?”
Morgan grinned. “Do you even have to ask? Of course I miss it. I loved it. And it mattered, too, Grant. There’s not much I can do now that’s as important as what I did here. And all I can think of ever since I heard about Cougar is that, if I had been around, he might not be dead now.”