Read The Sigma Protocol for Free Online Page A

too-handsome guy around her age in a too-expensive suit. A lawyer, she decided. Like just about everyone else in this city.
    In the mirrored elevator walls she saw him giving her The Look. If she caught his eye, she knew he’d smile and say good morning and strike up a banal Elevator Conversation. Even though he was no doubt well intentioned and probably just wanted to flirt politely, Anna found itmildly annoying. Nor did she respond well when men asked her why a woman as beautiful as she was had become a government investigator. As if what she did for a living were the special province of the homely.
    Normally, she pretended not to notice. Now, however, she threw him a scowl. He looked away hastily.
    Whatever it was that the ICU wanted from her, it had come at a damn inconvenient time; Dupree was right about that. Maybe you are the assignment , he’d said, and though Anna had shrugged off the suggestion, it nagged at her, absurdly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? No doubt Arliss Dupree was in his office right now, gleefully sharing his speculation with some of his drinking buddies on the staff.
    The elevator opened onto a lavishly appointed, marble-lined hall that could have been the executive floor of a high-priced law firm. Off to the right she spotted the seal of the Department of Justice mounted on one wall. Visitors were instructed to buzz for admittance. She did so. It was 11:25 A.M ., five minutes before her scheduled appointment. Anna prided herself on her punctuality.
    A female voice demanded her name, and then she was buzzed in by a handsome dark-skinned woman with a squared-off haircut—almost too chic for government work, Anna thought to herself.
    The receptionist assessed her coolly and directed her to take a seat. Anna detected a very faint Jamaican accent.
    Within the office suite, the trappings of the swanky building gave way to a setting of utter sterility. The pearl-gray carpet was immaculate, like no government carpet she’d ever seen. The waiting area was brightly lighted with an array of halogen bulbs that left virtually no shadows. Photos of the President and the Attorney General were framed in lacquered steel. The chairsand the coffee table were of hard blond wood. Everything looked brand new, as if it had been freshly uncrated, unsoiled by human habitation.
    She noticed the foil hologram stickers on both the fax machine and the telephone on the receptionist’s desk, government labels indicating that these were secure lines, employing officially certified telephony encryption.
    At frequent intervals, the phone purred quietly, and the woman spoke in a low voice using a headset. The first two calls were in English; the third must have been in French, because the receptionist responded in that language. Two more in English, gently eliciting contact information. And then another in which she spoke in a language, sibilant and clicky, that Anna had a hard time identifying. Anna glanced at her watch again, fidgeted in the hard-backed chair, and then looked at the receptionist. “That was Basque, wasn’t it?” she said. It was something more than a guess, but less than a certainty.
    The woman responded with a fractional nod and a demure smile. “It won’t be much longer, Ms. Navarro,” she said.
    Now Anna’s eye was drawn to the tall wooden island behind the receptionist’s station, which extended all the way to the wall; from the legally required exit sign, she realized that the wooden structure concealed the entrance to a staircase. It was artfully done, and it allowed ICU agents or their guests to arrive and depart unnoticed by anyone in the official waiting room. What kind of outfit was this?
    Another five minutes went by.
    “Does Mr. Bartlett know I’m here?” Anna asked.
    The receptionist returned her gaze levelly. “He’s just finishing up with someone.”
    Anna returned to her chair, wishing she’d brought something to read. She didn’t even have the Post , andclearly no