JANET

Summer was speed walking along the breezeway toward the Bellagio’s main entrance, hissing threats into her cell phone the entire way. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

No answer.

“Son of bitch,” she said under her breath. She hit the red ‘end call’ button on the screen as hard as she could, but it was nowhere near as satisfying as slamming the office phone onto the receiver at her desk in San Diego. The sound made it feel so much better. She shoved the phone into her pocket as she reached the end of the breezeway and hurried down the steps toward the revolving doors.

She was about to pull out her phone and try to call Director Kepler again when she recognized the pair of men walking through the gold-plated entrance doors.

One man was wearing a gray suit and a gold tie. She was confident that he was the hotel’s general manager. The other man was the Director of the CIA: James Lakewood. He was an older gentleman, wearing a tight, but immaculate, navy suit. Summer slowed, letting them walk leisurely ahead of her as they entered the lobby. They chatted in a friendly sort of way and made their way directly toward the casino floor. She was only a few yards away but could not hear what they were saying.

The sight of Director Lakewood made her feel even more anxious. A lot of powerful people were in Las Vegas today. She wondered if she should follow them. She had never met the Director of the CIA, nor did she think it a good idea to announce herself to him. She considered following them but ended up stopping underneath the enormous sculpture of glass flowers in the center of the lobby, wondering if it was best to return to the presidential suite or to find Kepler some other way.

“My, my, my,” said a voice nearby. “We just keep running into each other, don’t we? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you're following me.”

Summer pursed her lips and sighed deeply through her nose, praying for patience, before turning to see Joanna approaching her. She was grinning, and her sunglasses were pushed up to hold her hair back. She had a pair of new dresses slung over one shoulder and was carrying brightly colored shopping bags from Chanel, Harry Winston, and Dior in her other hand.

Joanna said, “You should get some sun while you’re out here, Summer. Sometimes I think you work too much. Maybe call that handsome husband of yours and make a weekend out of it.”

Summer bit her tongue to hold back the nasty words she wished she would say. She wanted to be calm, but her blood was pounding. Joanna went on, saying, “Why not take some time to shop while you’re here? There is some really great stuff, and I can’t bear to see you in that horrible FBI get-up for much longer. You’ve got a great figure hidden under there somewhere, and I just love your cheekbones. Why don’t we try to accentuate those? Would you like me to go with you? Make it a girls-day-out thing?”

Summer grinned coldly and said, “Sadly, I’m working.”

“Not on my account, I hope. If you like, I can pinky promise I’m not up to no good. Would that get you to relax a bit?” said Joanna.

“You might have everyone else fooled, but not me,” said Summer. “Tell me, why does the CIA always feel the need to swoop in and take whatever they want? The target could be Russia, China, or even good ol’ Uncle Sam, and you just can’t help stealing stuff! But I know your tricks, Joanna. Do you really think you could get away with using birds again?”

Summer expected Joanna’s eyes to narrow or her expression to darken, but she beamed and said, “Gold star, Summer. I always knew you were too smart for the Feds. What gave me away?”

Summer scoffed and said, “You know, I was just starting to think I was being a little too paranoid. Maybe I should just give up - let things lie where there are - but then guess who comes waltzing into Lou’s Bar; Thomas Miller.”

Joanna grimaced and said, “You know, I was hoping I’d have time to stop by Lou’s today. Probably not in the cards though.”

“So, are you working with him?” said Summer.

“Summer, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here to take in some sun. Enjoy a little time away,” she said, grinning mischievously.

“What’s your mark? Something at Groom Lake? It has to be small, whatever it is. A flash drive, or a file of some kind. Do you honestly think you’ll be able to get away with this? We’re talking about Area-51! You’d be crazy to try and steal something from that base!” said Summer.

Joanna wagged a finger in the air and said, “First of all, I’m retired. Don’t you remember? And, second, why would the CIA want to steal something from Area-51? We’re all on the same side, like you said.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” said Summer. “The CIA steals top secret information from all over; FBI, the Military, the White House! You’ve helped them do it!”

“Well, some of us just have a better idea of what to do with sensitive intelligence than others,” she said.

“For god’s sake!” said Summer, rubbing her temples. “Did you have anything to do with the crash yesterday? Did you cause that aircraft to go down?”

Joanna grimaced and said, “Aw, you were doing so good. Come on, Summer, you’re better than that. If you think my goal is to find a way into Groom Lake, why would I cause a crash? Wouldn’t that ruin my chances of getting an invite?”

“You can’t honestly think you’re going to get an invitation to the gala,” said Summer.

Joanna shrugged, the plastic-covered dresses slung over her shoulder crinkling. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

The hotel manager with the gold tie arrived between them and uttered a quick apology for the interruption before turning to Joanna and saying, “I was just on my way to call you. Table 19.”

“Excellent! Thank you, George,” said Joanna. The hotel manager bowed and walked away. “Well, I must be off. I need to freshen up and try out one of these new dresses. You sure don't want me to show you around a few shops. I saw a pair of shoes back there I think you’ll really love.”

Ignoring this, Summer said, “You know, the one thing I don’t get is the kid. Why drag him into this?”

“Booker?” she said. “He’s a good kid. I think you’d like him. I really must get going. I’ll see you around Summer!” Joanna waved with the hand holding her bags and left in the direction of the elevators. Summer let out a puff of air through her nose again, trying to expel the tension in her chest. She needed to find Kepler.

After looking around the lobby area and the nearest bar, she finally found someone in an FBI windbreaker on his way out. She stopped him, and the agent told her Kepler was by the pool. Summer made her way outside and saw Kepler standing by one of the pool bars with a small group of people and his wife. He had changed into slacks and loafers, and a white button down with the cuffs rolled. He looked like one of the Kennedys on vacation.

As she approached the bar, weaving through the maze of umbrellas and chairs, he caught sight of her. He looked unamused, but before he had a chance to dismiss her again, she called out, saying, “Sir, I figured it out!”

The small group looked around at her words and Kepler made a few apologies before putting his drink on the bar and stepping away from them to meet Summer a few feet away. “I thought I made myself very clear,” he hissed through his teeth, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her away from the others.

“Sir, I just saw Thomas Miller. He’s here in Vegas,” said Summer.

“So?” said Kepler. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the group he had left, who were all watching them. “No, never mind. I don’t care. Go home, Summer.”

“I just need five minutes to explain,” said Summer. “Five minutes!”

Kepler looked down at his watch. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”

“Okay,” said Summer, taking a breath and collecting her thoughts. She dove into her story, speaking as quickly as possible.

Thomas Miller is a private business owner with over two decades of experience working on top-secret government contracts. He consulted for the Defense Department, the FBI, the CIA, city and state law enforcement agencies, border patrol, and just about any other type of military or law enforcement organization in the United States. His specialties include collective counterintelligence, defensive counterintelligence, and covert ops. However, neither he nor his employees ever had their boots on the ground, so to speak. His business was avian training and creative behavior consulting.

Birds have been used in military operations since as early as the 1880s, but it wasn’t until World War I that the United States started relying on birds for various communication and counter-strike purposes. These days, if you need to reach something unreachable, track something without being noticed, or steal something without agents having to leave the comfort of their safe house, you talk to Thomas Miller, one of the world's top authorities on creative behavior consulting.

The benefits of using birds for various missions are obvious. Firstly, it limits collateral damage and keeps operatives as far away from danger as possible. Second, as long as the birds are indigenous to the area of the operation, they usually escape notice. Police departments use birds to steal USBs out of unattended laptops, drop tracking devices into backpacks or briefcases, and pick up discarded cups or napkins for DNA testing. The Military uses trained birds to fly through active warzones and mark targets for artillery strikes. The CIA used birds to drop poison into some unlucky soul’s morning coffee or evening champagne flute.

Summer relayed all this information in a low, breathy whisper as fast as she could. Breathing hard as she wrapped up her story, she said, “Thomas Miller is here, right now. I saw him. He has a tattoo of an eagle’s eye on the back of his hand. I couldn’t have mistaken it if I tried! Joanna has worked with him before. Joanna is here in Vegas and is trying to get to Groom Lake. Put two and two together and it all makes sense! Joanna is planning to steal something off the base, and Thomas Miller is going to help her!”

Kepler, whose expression grew more and more pained as Summer’s story dragged on, rubbed his eyes slowly and said, “Summer, I don’t think you understand the situation so let me explain it one more time. Joanna had nothing to do with the incident yesterday, and she has no reason to steal anything from anyone. She is retired!”

“But the CIA would do something like this! They’ve stolen intel from us! Why stop there? She wants to be on that base because the CIA hired her to steal something for them!” Summer hissed.

“And now we come to the final point; Joanna will not be setting foot on that base now, or ever. If it wasn’t already impossible, think of how Jacobs must have made the base even more airtight after possibly losing an unmanned aircraft?” When Summer tried to protest, Kepler said, “I’ve had enough. Go. Now. And don’t bother me again.”

Kepler returned to his group by the bar, and they all continued sipping their drinks and chatting animatedly. Summer stood under the umbrella, fuming.