With a Pull of a Trigger

Chapter Twenty-Eight

One large screen was mounted on the wall, taking up the entire length of the wall above the long steel desk with the keyboards. The huge screen was somehow divided into twelve—meaning that the huge screen was showing twelve live feeds at the same time, not unlike a monitor with all of the live feed of security cameras on it—with the twelve feeds taking up the entire screen one by one before returning back to their original sizes.

The right side of the room had glass walls and a nondescript glass door that allowed the technicians to get into the mini-room with the large, black network servers with fiber optic cables connected to the ports.

The aircon was on its highest setting—no doubt to cool down the computers—and Greg found himself shivering absently.

Ten technicians were seated at the table—one for every cell in the Los Angeles CIA office—and Jim, the eleventh technician, was behind them, his breath still coming out in gasps.

Charles looked at the screen at the far wall. “Which live feeds are these?”

“Various security cameras around Nevada, sir,” answered Jim.

Greg smirked. “You’re ‘sir’ now, Charles?”

Charles looked at Greg and rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m a desk agent doesn’t mean I’m not Senior Cell Twelve like the rest of you.” Charles turned to face Jim. “She’s moved on by now. Widen the search parameters. Remove the Nevada live feeds and look at live feeds from Idaho, Washington D.C., Oregon, and Texas.”

Jim nodded and strode to the front of the room, typing on the eleventh keyboard with the speed of a professional. Quickly, all twelve live feeds were removed on the screen, replaced with twenty-four new live feeds. “There you go, sir. Six from each state.”

“Which ones?” asked Charles as he stepped towards the keyboards.

“Street security cameras, grocery stores, and in the case of Washington D.C., an airport,” said Jim.

Charles nodded. “Keep your eyes wide open. Where’s the encryption code?”

Jim walked to the other long table, taking his seat behind the table. “Vicky, sir.”

Charles nodded, walking to the fifth agent. “Agent Sherwood,” said Charles, nodding at the woman seated behind the desk.

The woman looked up, her eyes widening. She nodded to Charles, squeaking, “Sir, hello.”

 Greg furrowed his eyebrows, stifling a laugh as he stood behind Charles. Charles regarded Greg with a dirty look, and Greg shrugged his shoulders.

Vicky turned the laptop on her desk around, allowing Charles to see the code. “Should I continue, sir?”

Charles shook his head. He took a nearby stool, carrying it and dropping it right in front of the laptop. He sat down, and Greg could swear that Vicky almost melted in her seat as she stared at Charles while he did his magic with the laptop.

If Vicky were a cartoon character, Greg was sure she would have hearts in her eyes.

“Agents,” said Charles, his eyes still on the laptop, his fingers moving across the keyboard at an almost inhuman speed, “this is Senior Agent Greggory Van Kamp of Cell Twelve. Greg, meet Sean, Drew, George, Dana, Vicky, Carl, Jilliane, Nicole, Mike, Erwin, and Jim, Cell One to Cell Eleven, respectively.”

 Greg looked at the agents who were around Charles, staring at him as he typed lightning-fast on the keyboard. Of the eleven agents, only four actually turned around and looked him in the eye as they greeted him good morning, and Greg found himself grinning.