Death of Secrets Read Free

I’ll need some sleep before I go."
     
    ***
     
    Early Wednesday morning, D.W. Tilman' car pulled up at the gate
to the Electron Guidewire compound, one of dozens of high tech businesses
located in the northern Virginia suburbs along the Dulles Airport Access road.
He drummed his fingers as the guard cleared him through. He knew the security
procedures were necessary; he just didn't like having to wait for them.
Patience came even harder to him when he’d been out ‘til two in the morning and
not had any sleep.
    A retractable panel sealed him off from the driving compartment
of the limo, and for the hundredth time Tilman berated himself for driving
himself last night instead of calling for the limo.
    When the car pulled up at the curb he could see his building
out the side window. The architecture lacked soul, he knew. It was a four-sided
glass box in the tradition of modern, utilitarian construction throughout the
Washington D.C. metro area. But in a way that pleased him. It was efficient and
functional. Tilman liked function. He didn't entirely approve of wasting
hard-earned money on frivolous things.
    He let the driver hold his door open. Tilman didn't carry a
briefcase, so he walked unencumbered toward the front door of the Electron
Guidewire building. His hand-tailored navy blue suit succeeded in hiding his
growing paunch. The electric door slid open to welcome him, and it was the only
welcome he wanted. He nodded away the security guard's wave of greeting, and
strode directly to the express elevator, which he boarded and rode to the fifth
floor.
    The entire fifth floor was dedicated to the executive offices –
mostly his. He didn't want a lot of people working in the same area as him. The
only other people who worked on this floor were his executive assistant and his
chief of security.
    Tilman knew from the moment he thought of going into business,
that he would work largely on federal contracts. He knew how to get those –
knew the right hands to shake and the right backs to scratch. But when you did
work for the intelligence community, they expected you to be able to keep
secrets. So he'd hired a security chief as his first employment decision, and
kept him around ever since. He was a former federal  agent, and he'd done
very well at shepherding Tilman’s company through the industrial espionage so
common these days.
    His assistant smiled and greeted him by name as the security
guard downstairs had. This one Tilman took the time to return with a smile of his
own. He was much closer to his secretary than he ever would be to his security
guards.
    She was new on the job – had only been with him for a month, in
fact. But then, few women lasted longer than a year in this job, and most, less
than that. By successful application of large quantities of cash, he managed to
avoid any lawsuits about it.
    His office stretched the entire length of the building. Every
morning Tilman debated the merits of this huge space. It was a pain to enter
the room and still have a long walk before he reached his desk. But on the
other hand, the effect on visitors was always the same: awe, intimidation, and
respect for the man behind the desk at the far end.
    He couldn’t help but smirk. In his political days, he’d worked
out of a cramped office with two telephones going at the same time all day
while three people tried to talk to him in person. He’d worked from sunup until
long after sundown, and been sweating through the whole experience. In every
way his current life was an improvement. In every way but one: politics had the
feel of destiny to it. Working on a campaign made people feel like they were
going to change the world. Tilman frowned about that for a moment, missing the
old days. With the regret came the usual anger – anger at the people who'd
robbed him of his role in politics. But shortly he reminded himself that he
could change the world from here, too. A thin smile crept over his lips.
    The walls of his office