Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 62





7:42 AM

Central Intelligence Agency

McLean, Virginia



Karl Berg walked into his office and picked up the phone on his desk. He dialed the secretary assigned to him and informed her that he had just arrived. He took a moment to look around his office. Thanks to the events of the past month, he still hadn't found time to unpack even one of the boxes he had dragged here upon his promotion to the National Clandestine Service's (NCS) liaison to the Intelligence Directorate's Weapons, Intelligence, Non-Proliferation and Arms Control Center in late March. He'd spent less than a month in that position before Thomas Manning summarily promoted him to a position that hadn't previously existed within NCS, working as Audra Bauer's deputy assistant. He would retain his duties as the Intelligence Directorate liaison, which appeared to be the only official tasking that came with the promotion at this moment.

This would give him time to put up some shelving and start unearthing his treasures. With the Zulu virus threat finally under wraps, he could start unpacking his boxes. Apparently, he wouldn't have to move again. His promotion didn't come with a new office in the "executive" zone, which suited him fine, though he had been pleasantly surprised with Thomas Manning and their director. He had expected handcuffs instead of a promotion.

He got up and started to survey the stacks of boxes covering his vinyl couch and black lacquer coffee table. The line from his secretary buzzed, and he answered it.

"Good morning, Mr. Berg. I have Darryl Jackson on the line?"

"Thank you. Put him through."

The line beeped.

"Darryl. How's my favorite go-to guy?"

"If you know someone else with access to weapons, please feel free to start using him. I'm f*cking exhausted from cleaning weapons all night."

"They had a rough time up there," Berg said.

"I could tell. One of the rifles was covered in blood. How bad was it?"

"One KIA. I can't thank you enough for the help. You're one of the unsung heroes in this drama."

"That seems to be the story of my life. Hey, are you going to answer my wife's email or what? She still hasn't figured out that I've been flying all over the country delivering illegal arms shipments. Her invitation could be revoked at any moment," Jackson said.

"I'm kind of hurt that she didn't call. An email invitation to dinner seems impersonal," he joked.

"A phone call? I don't think she planned to talk to you at dinner! I just assumed she'd seat you on the deck. Baby steps, my friend. She doesn't forgive easily."

"As long as she's serving me the same food you're eating, I'll eat in the garage. I'll send her my acceptance as soon as we get off the phone and pick out a rare Bordeaux."

"Cheryl collects vintage Bordeaux."

"I guarantee she won't have this bottle. It was never for sale," Berg said.

"Sounds like you're good at taking baby steps. I have to go. I'm still dealing with the fallout from the Kazakhstan fiasco, which could be smoothed over if the CIA ponied up the money to replace the weapons that were lost…in the direct interest of national security?"

"I'm sure something could be arranged," Berg said.

"Then let's arrange it. I have two daughters in college and can't afford to buy Brown River several new rifles."

"A shipment of rifles shouldn't be difficult."

"Maybe I should take cash. I don't need one of your buried Cold War stashes."

"That hurt my feelings, Darryl."

"I'll fax you the bill. Catch you later, Karl."

Karl Berg hung up the phone and sat on the edge of his desk, staring at the boxes again. His office could always wait.


The End