Skill Set by Vernon Rush Page A

he squared his shoulders and merged with the few people walking in the hall, most carrying files, some with briefcases. He slipped inside an unmarked doorway with the upper half made out of translucent glass, and stood quietly inside a darkened, empty anteroom, not much bigger than a broom closet. A faint LED light flickered from the edge of the decorative molding around the top of the room walls, barely noticeable against the ceiling tiles.
    ”Your I.D. please?” The female voice was soft and non-threatening.
    “ Oh. . .um It ’s. . .uh. . .seventy-nine forty-two? I think that’ s correct. . . ”
    “ Oh, hi, Daniel. It ’s you. He’s waiting, so come on in. . .”
    Daniel nodded to no one and never indicated he knew there were cameras filming his entrance, then he heard a click as the connecting door of solid steel was unlocked. He opened it and walked into the brightness of a summer ’s day, at least that’s what the decorating reminded him of. He squinted for a moment, until his eyes adjusted to the light.
    This was the inner sanctum of the secret and mysterious hand-picked group of Special Forces members who were outstanding in every facet of their former operations ’ duties which had drawn the attention of the even-more secret commanding officers who were constantly on the lookout for new members, particularly those with a natural tendency to be invisible but always hyper-alert and, of course, over-achievers. These were the cream of the crop, the absolute best exponents of every branch - Air Force, Marines, Army , Navy, FBI, NCIS, and CIA. Their number varied from year to year, depending upon enforced retirements or age-required retirements or, rarely, death in the line of duty. Their record while undeniably outstanding was never mentioned in any obituaries of members or former members. No one had ever heard of The Trackers or Group One, both of which were sobriquets for the secret organization. Many of the most accomplished members had no knowledge of the identification of any other member; he or she knew only his or her immediate team members or assigned office staff. This, obviously, was for the protection of the members themselves as well as the high-ranking government officials of the United States or any other friendlies recognized as such, including visiting or in-country traveling royals. One person was appointed as the Director and held this position for seven years or until accidental early retirement. He, or she, had the difficult task of matching whatever needed investigating or protecting or assisting through a maze that was usually a threat to our country - or theirs - to the agent or agents that best fit the known circumstances, such as language, mutual acquaintances, past travels, etc. It was not an easy job and this term’s director was dubbed Foxhound within six months of having taken over the reins. He truly was as alert and shrewd as a fox and his agents revered him, even though he was tougher than most of his men himself.
    For a moment, Daniel didn ’t think Foxhound knew he had entered his private office, then he remembered the man’s portfolio and remained silent while the older man continued reading a file, open on his desktop. When he had finished scanning the last page, he closed the manila folder and glanced up at Daniel, who immediately looked at the floor.
    “You know how serious this threat is, don’t you?”
    “ Yes, sir, I do. ” Daniel nodded briefly, never looking up.
    “All right, then. Take the file with you and I expect you and Frankie to memorize the damned thing. We’ve got to find the mole, if there is one, and if Soto was murdered, I want to know by whom and how and when. Nothing else is to interfere with this investigation. . .Is that clear?”
    “Absolutely.” Daniel picked up the file and without another word, nodded at Foxhound and left the Director’s office as quietly as he had arrived. He saw no other person and no one saw him, or so he