Iron Orchid Read Free Page A

do, handed him her U.S. passport. “My name is Barker,” she said. “I’m expected.”
    The man consulted a clipboard, very thoroughly compared her passport photograph to her face, then returned it to her. “And who might that be?” he asked, pointing to Daisy, who sat in the front passenger seat.
    “That is Daisy,” Holly replied. “She doesn’t have a passport.”
    The man checked his clipboard. “Her name is on the list,” he said. “Go all the way to the end of the drive, park your car and go into the white house, which is the administration building. You’ll be met.” He walked to the side of the road, tapped a code into a keypad, and the concrete roadblock swung slowly out of the way.
    Holly gave him a wave and drove past the barricade. After five minutes of winding through woods, she emerged at what appeared to be a large farmhouse.
    She had arrived at Camp Peary, which members of the Central Intelligence Agency referred to as “the Farm.”
     
     
    TWO
    HOLLY ALLOWED DAISY a moment in the bushes, then entered the old farmhouse. Immediately, a trim, middle-aged woman emerged from a side room.
    “Ms. Barker?”
    “Yes.”
    “I am Mrs. Colville, the chief administrative officer at this installation. If you’ll come with me, we’ll get you processed, and then you can have dinner. First, may I have your car keys? What a nice dog.” She gave Daisy a pat.
    Holly handed the keys over, and Mrs. Colville walked outside for a moment, then returned. Holly followed the woman through a living room furnished with eighteenth-century American furniture, down a hallway and into an elevator, which took them down. They emerged into a perfectly ordinary open office floor divided into cubicles, with a row of private offices along one wall. Mrs. Colville showed her to a seat at a table, upon which rested a fairly thick file.
    “The file contains the rather extensive application and personal history that you filled out many weeks ago. You may review it, if you wish, and make any changes you feel are necessary for accuracy. Once you sign the sworn statement, at the end, the Agency will accept what you have entered, and you will be henceforth held responsible for its accuracy, in every respect, on penalty of perjury. Is that perfectly clear?”
    “Yes,” Holly replied. “I don’t feel the need to make any changes.” It was as accurate as she knew how to make it, except for the new bank account in Grand Cayman. She countersigned the document and handed it over.
    “Very well.” Mrs. Colville put what appeared to be a large identification card in front of her. “Please sign this, and we’ll get you photographed.”
    Holly signed it and was taken down a hallway to a bare-bones photo studio and photographed. Colville left the paperwork with the photographer and returned to her office with Holly, where she handed her a thick envelope. “This is a document explaining all of your obligations and rights as an employee, everything from the health plan to the pension plan to your legal rights. Please read the entire document carefully, then return it to this office, since you are not allowed to have in your possession, after leaving here, any document belonging to the Agency, except your identification card.”
    The photographer came in and handed Colville a leather wallet. She inspected the contents and handed it to Holly. “This is your identification,” she said. “From this moment, you are a probationary employee of the Central Intelligence Agency. When you have completed your course of training here, you will surrender this card and, if you have been successful, given new identification.” Colville took a sheaf of typed papers from her desk drawer and handed it to Holly. “This is your schedule for tomorrow; you will be given a new schedule each morning, so that training may be adapted to whatever your special needs may be.”
    “Thank you,” Holly said.
    Colville walked her to the elevator. “While we have