Net Force - Tom Clancy [117]
Getting to a hard target wasnt necessary-if the target made itself easy and came to you.
With even the smallest computer knowledge, it was easy enough to find low-level employees-secretaries, receptionists, maintenance people-who had worked for Net Force only a short time. Choosing one who was unmarried and living alone that she could look like, was even easier. The Selkie, after all, could look like almost anybody
Thus it was that Christine Wesson, a not-too-ugly brunette with brown eyes, age twenty-nine, came to the end of her short and probably undistinguished life. And now, a woman who looked enough like Wesson to pass for her to anybody who didnt know her very well, wearing her clothes, came to the southwest entrance-the busiest one-of Net Force HQ. It was a thank-God-its-Friday, and a crush of day-shift employees arriving for work stood in line at the reader, waiting their turns to slide their ID cards through the scanner slot. It went fast. One swipe, a green light, and you were in.
The Selkie already knew the card was valid, since it had gotten her into the parking lot-in the late Christine Wessons eight-year-old rattle-infested Ford.
Christine herself was wrapped in plastic bags in her bathtub, under a hundred or so pounds of melting crushed ice that should keep the neighbors from complaining about the smell-at least for long enough that the Selkie could finish her work and be gone.
Once inside the facility, there were several places she needed to check out, and several other places the Selkie could stay to avoid hanging around in the halls.
Two years ago, security people at the interim Pentagon had been found enjoying vids surreptitiously taken of women-and a few men-using the rest-room facilities in the building. Public outcry had been loud and immediate-but the military was long-used to ignoring whatever whim-of-the-moment the uninformed civilian public wanted. However, the idea that somebody might see a four-star generals wee-wee as he took a whiz had bothered the brass no end. And who knew but there werent similar spy-eyes in Congressional Johns? It was amazing how fast some laws could get written and passed when they were really important. As a result, surveillance gear in federal buildings had been restricted-at least the cameras were supposed to be kept out of bathrooms. The fake Wesson could park herself in a stall with a book and kill a couple of hours. She could dawdle over lunch in the cafeteria. She could go to the outside smoking area for a frowned-upon, but still legal, low-tar-low-nicotine cigarette, a pack of which had been in Wessons purse. With her ID tag twisted on her blouse, shed be anonymous. Nobody knew her, and it was a big bureaucracy.
While the target was safe in the high-security area, he would surely come out to a less-secure area, if she could find the right reason.
Somehow, she had to figure out the right reason during the next few hours.
Sooner or later, of course, the office where Wesson worked would probably notice she had not shown up. They might call her apartment, and get the answering machine. No problem, unless, for some reason, those concerned thought to check the buildings security computer. If that happened, they would see that Christine Wesson had arrived for work at her normal time-which might cause some raised eyebrows. If she was here, where was she? To stall that, the Selkie had asked more or less politely if Christine would do something for her. She had been more than willing. So, Christine Wesson had called her supervisor in the Office Supply Section in which she worked, and told her she would be a few hours late,