The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel by Aaron Conners Page A

coffee grounds, little hairy slabs of food. It reminded me of the buffet restaurants by fat Uncle Monty always took me to. I was glad I hadn’t eaten anything.
    Eventually it paid off. I’d gotten lucky. The brown-paper wrapper had been stuffed into a garbage bag with a stack of newspapers and was stain (and smell) free.
    I stepped inside my office. Laying the wrapper on the desk, I went to my file cabinet to retrieve my investigative props. Kneeling down, I opened the bottom drawer.
    They’d been moved.
    I looked through the other jurors in the cabinet and the desk. Nothing seemed to missing, but someone had certainly searched my office. The inspector the locks and a daughter the fire escape, as well as the windows. There was no sign of forced entry. Whoever had broken in had even gotten Hold Of My access code, or was a consummate professional. Me the possibility was very appealing.
    I sat down and lit a Lucky Strike, trying to relax and come up with a rational explanation. Maybe Nilo had gotten bored and decided to snoop around some of the rooms. Unlikely. Nilo would have stolen something. Maybe I’d forgotten to lock the door… no, I was certain I’d locked it.
    I didn’t want to accept the fact that a professional had gone through my place. Unfortunately, there was no other reasonable explanation. I speculated on why nothing had been taken. Then a thought hit me. The box. Whoever had been in cahoots with the phoney Black Arrow Killer knew about the box and hadn’t located it. Logically, they’d figure that the police or I had ended up with it.
    The vid-phone chimed.
    “Hello.”
    “Murphy? This is Malden.”
    I flipped on my video relay. Mac looked worried and rushed. “We’ve gotta meet. Right now.”
    “Uh…”
    “No questions. Meet me at the usual place as soon as you can get there. Bring that woman and your cigarettes. And make sure no one follows you.” he switched off the feed.
    I had no idea what that was talking about. He and I had never met anywhere outside of the crime scene or the precinct. He was the woman he preferred to? This medicine? He couldn’t possibly think that I’d never had to find her. I couldn’t come up with any other woman that Mac would have in mind. And why the reference to my cigarettes? I thought it over. Maybe menu that someone was listening in an couldn’t actually name the place where you want to me. The woman and the cigarettes must be clues.
    I punched up the city directory on a computer. First, I checked for any place called the Lucky Strike. There wasn’t one. But there were several places with the word “Lucky” in the name. As I scrolled through the list, a name jumped out at me. The Lucky Lady Cafe. My cigarettes, a woman. I jotted down the address and hurried out my speeder.
    Ten minutes later, I walked into a greasy spoon on the other end of town. Remembering what Mac had said, I’d been careful not be followed. Mac was sitting in a booth away from the windows, eating a frosted cake doughnut and sipping coffee.
    “I hope this is important. Perry Mason was on, and I’d just made some espresso.”
    Mac’s face was as serious as a face can be with sprinkles and frosting on it. “The NSA is probably at your office right now. They were coming to get you.”
    It took a moment to sink in. “What does the NSA want with me?
    Mac washed down the last bite of doughnut with a slug of foul-smelling coffee. “Remember the guy you tossed off the roof?”
    “I didn’t toss him off the roof,” I said indignantly.
    “Whatever. Turns out he was an agent. An NSA Special Agent.”
    Oh, God.
    Mac took a bite out of another doughnut. Glazed.
    “His name was Dag Horton. The information came about half-an-hour ago. Five minutes later, word came through the office that they were gonna nail you. That’s when I called.”
    “So here we are.”
    Mac nodded, his mouth packed. I leaned against the backrest and pulled out my pack of smokes. What was I going to do? I didn’t