Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Chapter 312

Again, it was seemingly ordinary. Something that wouldn't have caught my eye in regular circumstances. A blank sheet of paper printed at the end of a batch, bookending an otherwise unrelated printout for a person of interest. Miles had a bad habit of not catching those, and there were dozens of similar blank pages at the back of other long documents. But this document was short. It lacked the slight roller line in the margin present on the rest of the pages.

When I held it up to the light, there was a vague outline of typeface. A printed email, with a blank page perfectly glued on top of it. Even squinting, with the brightness of the nearby lamp, it was impossible to make out the address field. But the center text was perfectly readable.

...how unusual this is. A waste of your talents. You're too senior for undercover, and the shit you (allegedly) pulled overseas isn't gonna fly domestic, not in this day and age. Even if I was willing to let the transfer go through—and won't, for obvious fucking reasons—it cannot be overstated how under funded and stagnant the drug enforcement side of the office has become in recent years. It was already fading into irrelevance when you cut your teeth decades ago, and it's a shadow of what it was then. There's a new behavioral unit operating out of Houston that shows promise. Admin at CT&ML in Austin. More commute, but you'll still be closer to family than before. Hell, jump the line, pick up a tweed jacket and take a spot at Quantico full time. It'll piss off the geriatrics, but who gives a fuck. Pick literally anything else.

Ray Chaucer, SAC.

The paragraph, refreshingly absent the never-ending fed legalese, was indented several times, indicating a much longer reply chain. Directly below was the immediate reply.

I get where you're coming from, Ray. The bureau's been good to me. I've enjoyed my time here. But I'll walk if I have to. And if it goes that way, I'm gone. No more audibles. No more supplementary at bats. Ask your boss how many interrogation rooms I get called into over the span of a year involving cases that have nothing to do with me. Then ask him how many of those cases get closed within a quarter. When you're done, really consider whether you want the bother of explaining where I went, and more importantly, why, to everyone who comes looking.

Miles

Ray's next reply was considerably shorter.

Word is, while I was throwing my weight around in good faith, doing my best to get HR to extend your CISM leave, you went behind my back and took what you wanted. Never thought pulling rank was your style, but we all get it wrong sometimes. Best of luck in your future endeavors.

Not how I wanted to handle it. Take care of yourself Ray.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

I took a few seconds to process before rereading it again. The email chain answered a few questions and begged others. Miles wasn't demoted, he'd requested the posting. There was nothing in the content that explained why, but it was still more than I had before. From the sound of it, he'd torpedoed—or at the very least severely damaged—his prospects by strong-arming what I assumed was his direct report. Ray's last message read bitter enough that it wasn't difficult to imagine him creating problems should Miles ever attempt to transfer out, and if I'd picked up on that, so had Miles. He just didn't seem to care.

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Why keep this in hard copy?

There weren't many possibilities to pick from. It wouldn't hold up as evidence in any serious capacity. Too many potential steps between receiving an email and printing it that the contents could be completely altered. Still, having the hard copy was probably some kind of insurance for if the digital record was altered. Going off of tone, the SAC had snapped from familiarity, implying he had an idea why Miles wanted the posting, to completely distant and standoffish. You could see the grudge brewing, even without greater context.

Having this meant nullifying Doug's plausible deniability. Putting a serious fly in the ointment of any internal investigation, if the SAC decided whatever grudge he held was actionable.

It came to me in pieces.

The wife that showed no signs of ongoing addiction.

The absent kid.

Miles' sudden and unexplained request for a dead end posting closer to home.

Repeated warnings—and Miles seldom repeated himself—to be wary of Roderick.

Fuck me. It wasn't his wife. And there was no recovery.

As if on cue, Azure's voice blasted into my mind, amplified by tagged with markers for panic and urgency.

"Matt? Come on, work. Please work, god dammit." Out of all my summons, Azure was the most unflappable. But there was an atypical shakiness to his voice, more than enough to catch my full attention.

"There a reason you're barging into my head like this?" I asked, gritting my teeth at the first signs of a headache.

"Holy shit. It actually went through." He sounded impressed with himself, which was more than a little annoying given the unpleasantness of the intrusion.

"Azure. Sitrep."

"Right." The mental chuckle was more than nervous. Almost terrified. "I've been following the plan. Heading toward home and making a few stops along the way. Stopped by West Village to pick up a few things, figured they'd have to trail me on foot."

I blinked. For what I'd asked, West Village was a clever pick. An assortment of shops, restaurants, and condominiums. While you could drive through it, there were few roads or thoroughfares and numerous parking garages, meaning the feds would temporarily ditch the cars instead of trying to keep watch from the roads. They couldn't afford not to with the built-in residential. There were too many blind-spots, and the chance "I'd" slip away in the crowd and meet someone discreetly was simply too high.

But Miles didn't fuck around. Whoever he had tailing me might have instructions to take more drastic measures if there was too much interference.

"How are we even talking over that kind of distance?" I asked.

"Our maxed out affinity gives me flexibility to skew the system's internal logic. It's complicated, but discovered recently extends that slack even further. Been experimenting with it on the side. I'll give you all the details, but can we talk about it later?"

"Yeah, of course. You think they're going to grab you?" I asked.

"Dunno. Judging from how pissed off he looks, it may not be that civil."

I bolted to my feet, cutting off mid-sentence. "Miles is there? Tailing you in person?"

"No. It's not subtle." Azure let out another terrified giggle. "Like I said, he looks pissed as hell. And he's walking right at me."