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Page 92
Jones was waiting for him in the car. "I'll take care of your gear, Colonel. Will you be staying at the BOQ, or do you need transport into town?"
"Leave my things in Operations," Morgan said, "and ask the OD to get me a rental. Anything will do."
"No problem, sir." The sailor produced a GI poncho to keep Morgan dry as they walked to the car.
"How's the morale here, Sailor?" Morgan asked. Alameda was still on the Pentagon's list for closure, but the California congressional delegation managed to delay the total closing. Morgan guessed that Alameda NAS would still be navy into the twenty-first century. Congress had a way of saving constituents' jobs. Votes were hard to come by these days.
"Morale never better, Colonel. Tell Washington."
Morgan smiled and nodded.
The front right-hand door of the staff car opened, and Morgan climbed in out of the rain. Inside was a lone civilian Morgan had never seen before.
"Colonel Morgan? My name is Jones. I was asked to meet you and give you some information. I'm on leave, terminal leave. After tonight you never heard of me."
"Whatever you say."
"I'm not navy, Colonel. I'm Company. Or I was. Until last Friday, I was a case officer on the staff of Mexico City Station." He had an even-featured, nondescript face that could be forgotten in ten minutes.
Morgan and everyone else in what was loosely called "the intelligence community" was aware that a massive, if silent, RIF was in progress. Cole Caidin's work, this time. Caidin didn't like intelligence work or the agents who did it.
"I called the NSC office from Los Angeles this morning, but you were already on the way here. I actually got to speak with the great man. Not often an ordinary laborer in the vineyard gets to speak with God. He said, meet Morgan at Alameda, so I took the cattle-car flight from LAX, and here I am." Jones had an abrupt way of speaking, as though he

 
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