THE ORGANIZATION

"What do you know about the ACIO?" McGavin asked.

"Just what I read in the instructions you sent me last week," Darrell replied. "I've been in intelligence for twenty-nine years. Not even a rumor about such an organization reached my ears."

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Darrel asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"No, not at all. If you don't mind me having a drink," McGavin responded.

They exchanged smiles, and the tension in the room dissipated like smoke in the air blown away by a strong wind.

Darrel had very short, light brown hair. He was tall, with about ten extra kilos, mainly in his abdomen. Despite his physical stature, his glasses gave him a studious appearance.

"I have to be honest with you, sir," Darrel began. "I don't know much about extraterrestrials or the advanced technologies they might produce. My expertise lies in strategy, planning for infiltration into enemy territory. But..."

"So, when you read the instructions," McGavin interrupted abruptly, "did you think I was interested in your experience with ETs, technology, or infiltration?"

"On the last, sir," Darrell responded.

"Well, I'm glad we've established that," McGavin said, taking a sip of his drink.

"What we want," McGavin continued, "is to install you as our shadow agent in the Chaco Project."

"Chaco Project?" Darrell inquired.

"I just found out the name of the official ACIO project this morning. It wasn't in your information report. It's related to recent activities concerning an artifact discovered in New Mexico."

McGavin placed a folder on the table. "Make a copy," he instructed, pointing to the fax/copier machine in the corner. "This contains everything the ACIO wants us to know. It may be tampered with, but it's better than what you know now."

As Darrel made the copies, he asked, "Does this 'Fifteen' guy have any real power outside the NSA?"

McGavin smiled at the innocent question. "His power extends far beyond the NSA."

Darrel turned with surprise. "How is that possible?"

"You really don't know much about the ACIO, do you?" McGavin chuckled. "Fifteen was expelled from school for tarnishing his professors' reputations. He's an anti-authoritarian genius, uncontrolled by anyone."

"If he's so intelligent, why was he expelled?" Darrel asked.

"He published a critical article about the teaching staff, which angered the faculty. He was kicked out two weeks later, once things settled down," McGavin explained.

Darrel continued copying documents, fuming at the cigar clenched between his lips. "So, how did a guy like that become executive director of the ACIO?"

"I don't know," McGavin admitted. "No one does, except maybe the retired director of the NSA, and he's not one to share. But Bell Labs hired him when he was only eighteen, shortly after he earned a doctorate in quantum physics and mathematics."

"At Bell Laboratories, he developed black box technologies for the government. While there, he created a tracker system for satellite reconnaissance systems, which caught the NSA's attention. That's how we learned about him," McGavin explained.

"You're kidding," Darrel said, astonished.

"No," McGavin replied, shaking his head. "This man is incredibly brilliant, but he's also dangerous. He's managed to control the ACIO and sells technologies to private industry and governments behind our backs."

"But how could he pull that off? It doesn't make sense; we have the best intelligence network in the world," Darrel protested.

"There are elements of a world government, stealthier than any state government, including North Korea. Our intelligence network was designed to monitor these elements," McGavin said.

"Do you mean the Mafia?" Darrel asked.

"No, not the Mafia," McGavin clarified. "I mean elite plutocrats who control the world's financial markets. They're the ones Fifteen works with, and they're the ones with real power. Not the politicians, the Mafia, or even the military. They're essentially puppets of this network..."

"And what's the name of... this group of elitists?" Darrel inquired.

"They don't have an official name. Some call them the Illuminated Ones or the Bilderberg Group, but those are just pseudonyms. We refer to them as the Incunabula. We don't know their organization or mode of operation, but we suspect they get a lot of their technology from the ACIO... and Fifteen is in cahoots with them," McGavin revealed.

"And he wants me to infiltrate the ACIO to uncover this connection to the Incunabula?" Darrel clarified.

"Incunabula," McGavin corrected.

As Darrel finished copying the file, he returned to his seat to light another cigar. He handed the original file back to McGavin with a brief smile.

"It's a damn shame," McGavin sighed.

"What, sir?" Darrel inquired.

"It's a shame you're not cut out for infiltration. Your experience with the Russian Mafia doesn't qualify you for this job. The ACIO is impenetrable. We've tried and failed so many times that I'm tired of that approach. What I need is for you to turn our maximum security manager, a guy named James. We need a defector to confirm our suspicions. With the information he could provide, I could bring down Fifteen and his little empire."

"What are Evans's weaknesses?" Darrel asked, his voice cold and calculating.

"Firstly, he's a former Navy SEAL," McGavin began.

"So that's why you love me," Darrel quipped.

"Partly," McGavin agreed with a wink. "He's also half Irish."

"Any signs he might cooperate or be motivated to defect?" Darrel pressed on.

"About six months ago, we intercepted a conversation between Evans and his subordinate, Jenkins. Evans said some things that led us to believe he might be persuaded to defect if he's provided protection..."

"What kind of protection, sir?" Darrel asked.

"We don't have all the details, but the higher up you go in the ACIO, the more they prioritize your loyalty. They use implants to ensure obedience. We're not sure what type, but the real obstacle to defection is their Remote Viewing technology. No one leaves because they're convinced they'll be found through OR technology."

"I don't understand. OR technology, what is that?" Darrel questioned.

"I'll explain it simply," McGavin said, his voice becoming more disjointed. "They have physicists who can look into a crystal ball and see you, like the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz."

"And do they also see pink elephants?" Darrel laughed. "The more you tell me about this group, the more I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone."

"Are you sure you're not ready to join me yet?" McGavin teased, holding up his glass enticingly. "Come on, the water's fine." He smiled, expecting Darrel's agreement.

"Sure, what the hell, if you don't mind, sir," Darrel replied.

"Not at all. I'd appreciate the company," McGavin said.

As McGavin made drinks, Darrel couldn't help but notice his aged appearance. Balding and with a mustache that seemed like his last hope of retaining hair, McGavin's physique had softened over the years.

"I could tell you stories about OR technology that would make your hair stand on end," McGavin said. "But I won't. We've figured out how to block it. It's in operation right now on this aircraft. We can install this technology in a room of any size, even an auditorium. We think Evans might defect if he's convinced he'll be taken care of financially, protected by our anti-OR technology, and given a new identity in the country of his choice."

He handed Darrel his drink, their glasses clinking in an unspoken toast.

"Trust me, you'll like this assignment," McGavin assured him, his eyes darting to a monitor displaying a message.

"Wait..." he said, moving toward the monitor with his drink. He clicked the mouse and opened an email file. "Damn it!"

"Could you wait outside for a few minutes? I need to take a phone call," McGavin requested.

Darrel nodded instinctively and stood up.