The Pentagon Paradox

Chapter Two

ADELINE

I fold the newspaper in half and drop it in the passenger seat as I park my car. The media has been stressing the death of Joe Windsor for a week now, just as they were stressing his betrayal the week before.

I step out of my car and follow the crowd to the entrance door of the Department of Defense. In other words, The Pentagon.

I make it to the PFPA officer quicker than the rest. I am smaller and shorter than most of the people around here. For a 27-year-old Secret Service Criminal Research Specialist, it took me quite some time to learn how to use my size to my advantage.

"No tours on Monday." The officer would have easily missed me if I hadn't shaken my hand in front of his face like a fly swatter.

"I am not here on a tour, sir; I came from the Department of Homeland Security." He stares at me for a moment before I realize he is asking for my common access card.

I received this card from my boss a few days ago, a card I strongly refrain from looking at. The cameraman insisted I give him my biggest smile while his camera was a few inches from my nose. Now I look like a blonde pig.

I swiped the card and he let me in. Did I mention that one of the severe disadvantages of being 5'4 is that you cannot see three feet ahead of you in a crowded room?

The lobby is clogged with reporters and their camera crew. I had to push through sweaty men and eager women with mics to find the center of the commotion.

Michael Santiago. The 61-year-old chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is third in command here at the Pentagon. Originally from Texas, Santiago is your ideal welcoming grandfather. With his warm greetings and dad jokes, he could easily deceive you.

But I would be careful around such a man. Who knows what dirty work he did to be widely feared in the government? I approach him as he finishes answering a question.

"Mr. Santiago," I offer him my hand to shake, which he takes with a warm smile. "Adeline West, I am here to investigate Joe Windsor's death."

His face lit up with recognition. "Miss West, it is a pleasure to meet you." I don't have a chance to reply as he gestures for me to follow him to the elevator.

I can hear the PFPA officer ushering the press out as the chairman presses the button to the fifth floor.

Once we arrived, he led me to his office. "Have a seat." I do as I am told and sit in one of the leather seats in front of his desk.

"Now that you are here, Miss West, the investigation will finally start. Of course, every governmental department has its own rule book. I was hoping we could go briefly over the basics."

He takes out a pair of glasses from his drawer and starts talking before he can fully adjust them.

"As you know, the Pentagon contains a lot of secret information stored on paper and devices. These secrets can also be heard on the tongues of high-profile agents. Therefore, we have agreed with the Secret Service to exclude investigations on important floors."

What? What floors exactly? If he is talking about any office that could contain intel, then he must be referring to at least two floors, like Windsor's office.

"Most storage units are also highly classified. If you wish to access a specific file, you must ask permission from me."

So, I can't ask for background checks on anyone without a certain reason for it? What if I am looking for a description, not a photo?

"Also, Miss West, you are aware of the media outrage this past week. Hearing news from The Pentagon itself would be comforting to the public. So, I hope you refrain from making any public announcements and instead report weekly to me."

He adds a smile to sugarcoat his past three statements. I return the smile and hope for the best. I am good at my job; I can find the culprit no matter the situation. He gives me a map of the first two floors and dismisses me.

I walk through the corridors, searching for the elevator. I had been too busy admiring the hundred portraits hung on the walls on my way to The Chairman's office to keep track of directions.

I am still unsure whose faces were worthy enough to be hung on The Pentagon's walls, but I would guess they are some types of military generals.

I wander further down the almost identical corridors. If not for the ever-changing portraits, I would have thought I was moving in circles. Ironic enough, I am moving in pentagons now.

An office door opens suddenly to my right, and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. I did nothing wrong, but being on this floor after being clearly warned off of it makes me nervous.

A tall figure walks out of the office. The door is open wide enough for me to glimpse the room's interior. A big wooden desk filled with papers and files, a crimson leather couch, and a big window with flowy curtains.

My dream office, not the classic old thing my boss calls a workplace. The Department of Homeland Security is beautiful, to say the least. Compared to the Pentagon, it is more modern; every three steps, you would see some sort of big screen.

The main workplace is made up of white walls and glass offices, marble floors, private computers, and laptops for each employee. Unfortunately, I detest it for far more personal reasons. No matter how hard you work, you will only be promoted to the desk right next to you.

Where there is no privacy whatsoever and you are constantly being watched by someone, may it be your boss or some weirdo from the Cyber Hub, in The Pentagon, you get your place. Not scoot to the next cubicle office.

"Can I help you?" The door shuts, and I turn to the figure I have been ignoring for the past few minutes.

A man.

A gorgeous man

He is tall with sandy blond hair slicked back, broad shoulders, a straight nose, and cold eyes. Icy blue eyes.

I find myself fumbling for words to say, and that's when it dawns on me. Unknown woman. Empty corridor. In front of your office. Says 'caught red-handed' all over her face.

I looked like I was eavesdropping on him. Shit!

"Sorry, I was just looking for the elevator." I press my sweaty palm to the back of my pants. It is hard to stay confident when you are being cornered by a handsome man in a navy suit that costs your entire wardrobe combined.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "I am afraid I don't have that in my office," he said curiously. "And who might you be?"

"Adeline West, Criminal Research Specialist." I offer him my hand to shake and try my sweetest smile. He rejects it and does little to hide his annoyance with me.

Men will forever remain men. I take my hand back. "You are not supposed to be here, Adeline."

Adeline?! Alright, sir, you can reject my handshake and look down on me like I am trespassing on your territory, but you cannot call me by my first name just like that.

I forced a smile. "Miss West," He pays little attention to my correction. "I just returned from The Chairman's office and got lost on my way back."

I take a step sideways to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. I can't sound confident with him towering over me like that. "I will be going now. Sorry for interrupting you."

Should I ask for his name? No, I must act uninterested. I am uninterested. I rushed off before he could stop me; I doubt he even wanted to stop me.