Vacant Heart

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"We're asking, Ms. Taylor. However, once your eyes see the contents of this folder, you will be accepting the job in its entirety, without question. So, consider it carefully."

I glance at Aidan, who simply regards me, allowing me to make the judgment call.

I've come all this way. There's no damn way I'm not looking at what's in front of me. With zero hesitance, I retrieve the pile from the middle of the desk, and he understands, nodding to me politely.

"I have a meeting. It shouldn't last more than an hour. I will leave you here to absorb the contents. Every drawer in this room is locked, not that I'd suspect you'd rifle through anything. Restroom is down the hall, on the left. A word of caution: You only have clearance to be in this room. You can come and go from here and no alarms will sound. If you try to get into any other room in this building, alarms will go off, and all technology inside will go black instantly."

"We're aware that we're in the Pentagon, sir," Aidan voices, stiffly. "We are aware of the limits, and security procedures."

"Glad to hear it," he says, lifting himself from his chair. "In that case, I will leave you to it."

The moment he's gone, the door shut behind him, I frown, amused only slightly. Aidan just looks confused. We both begin to chuckle together, to ease the tension the Lieutenant created.

"Is it usually this abrupt?"

"No, but this is the government. When are things ever in depth?"

***

Nearly an hour and a half later, the sky is darkening outside, the sun concealed by clouds now beginning to fade with the first hints of evening. The lieutenant hasn't come back, and Aidan and I have sifted through the papers over three times. While most of it, I already knew as it related to the contents of the article I wrote weeks ago, there are new copies of threats, typed and brief.

There's no pasted newspaper clippings of the alphabet, piecing together riddles. There's no evil nickname signed across the bottom. It's a blank sheet of paper other than a few sentences, typed with the most malevolent threats to the President, the Secretary, the White House.

The house they raided was full of war memorabilia, and the man on the lease did two tours in Iraq, where he was injured in a training exercise, paralyzing him from the waist down, which made him a likely suspect, even if it dismissed their belief that he planned to follow the plans through.

That man is currently undergoing questioning, as another report specified, but swears he's being framed and hasn't relented. It's the fact that while he's been in questioning, more letters have weaved their way through the heavily monitored system that is clearly the problem.

They haven't found the person responsible, which explains the lockdown.

It's plenty for an article, but not everything I had hoped for.

"I wanted a name," I complain to the window.

"I'm sure they'd like one too," Aidan hums, joining me by the wall. I roll my eyes at his nonchalance.

"They have to know more, Aidan. I knew half the stuff in that folder."

"It wasn't a complete waste. You know about Del Toro, about his accident in Iraq. You've gotten to see the threats in their entirety. That's something."

"Yeah, not enough. Why don't you go to the bathrooms so I can rifle through his things?" I joke, dejectedly. Aidan wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my temple, softly, a brilliant calming mechanism.