Author's note: For some reason, working at the Museum begets plot bunnies. Most of the story ideas I get can easily be put in an existing universe, but this could not. As a consequence, I will need to provide you with some background before you can read the story. Don't look for the Seven in the first story, since they don't actually appear.
The phone rang shrilly, startling the agent out of his thoughts. As the second ring began, he lifted the handset to his ear and said, "Webb."
"Good morning, Clayton," said a soft voice.
"Hello, Orrin," the younger man greeted. "What can I do for you?"
There was a moment's pause before Orrin continued, "Did you read the memo I sent you?"
"Damn," Clay mumbled, scanning his desk quickly. "I'm sorry, Orrin, I've been swamped down here this week. I just got back from Afghanistan and found out that a friend of mine stepped on a mine..." Clay explained quickly, running out of steam. After a moment, he
repeated, "Anyway, I'm sorry."
"It's alright," Orrin said. "Can you find the memo?"
After a moment more, Clay responded, "Found it." He scanned it rapidly and finally asked, "A specialized team, as part of the Counterintelligence Center?"
"Yes," Orrin replied. "This Anti-intelligence Organization is becoming more than just a nuisance, Clayton. Something needs to be done about them."
"I couldn't agree with you more, Orrin," Clayton soothed. "But...what do you want me to do?"
"I just need your support in this, Clay," Orrin answered. "As the person who presents our budget, I'm counting on you to prevail upon the bureaucrats on the Hill how important this
is."
"You know I'll do my best, Orrin," Clay started. "But..."
"I know," Orrin interrupted. "Just do your best."
"Okay," Clay sighed. "Bye, Orrin."
"Goodbye, Clay."
Clay glanced around his desk and sighed deeply. Looking down at the memo, he shook his head, and then pushed away from the desk. He paused beside his secretary's desk and said, "Call Deck and tell him that I'm on my way up?"
"Yes, sir," the young woman answered, grabbing her phone and hitting the Director's extension.
"Thank you," Clay said, nodding and heading toward the elevators.
Early November 2002
"Orrin?" Clayton called, peering around the open door.
The older man looked up and smiled at him. "Hello, Clayton," he greeted. "How are you?"
Clay shrugged. "I pissed off the DCI and I got myself demoted and transferred to Paramaribo."
"Ouch!" Orrin said, then his eyes widened.
Clay looked down for a moment; then smiled slightly at the older man. "However, I managed to get your pet project approved before all that, so..."
"Thank you, Clayton," Orrin said sincerely.
Clay shrugged again and said, "You really want to thank me, see if you can convince Watts that I'm more valuable in Washington than in Suriname."
"I'll do my best," Orrin promised.
"That's all anyone can ask of someone else," Clay replied.
Orrin smiled and said, "Take care of yourself, Clay."
"I will," Clay promised; then slipped out the door as Orrin's phone rang.
Orrin nodded and said into the phone, "Travis."
"Hey, Judge," a soft voice answered. "You asked me to call you?"
"Yes, I did," Orrin replied. "I wanted to talk to you about returning to the Agency, Chris."
End
