Daniel Smith, President of the United States, received the all-clear and re-entered the Oval Office. Technicians were packing up and leaving through another exit, while CIA Director Kyle McNally waited in front of one of the couches, not sitting until the President gave permission. Smith took a chair across from him, and gestured for him to do the same. They waited until the door shut.

"All right, Kyle, what's this about?"

"Mr. President, we have a critical security breach."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "From the aliens?"

"I presume. I've heard from technicians in many locations. All of our data has been accessed."

"What do you mean, 'all'?"

"I mean everything, including stand-alone computers."

Smith blinked twice. "State secrets?"

"Everything, Mr. President. From the Library of Congress to our spies' cover identities. Every single secret that ever touched a computer, even an isolated laptop. Our allies confirm. We're receiving threats and demands from others. It was worldwide."

"How—? Never mind, give me the bottom line." Smith knew better than to waste time on details he didn't need.

"Someone on one of those alien craft uploaded everything. Either some of the aliens wanted a negotiating advantage, or they were gathering intelligence prior to invasion. Or..." The Director paused. "It might have been Nicholas Tomsun himself."

"He appears to be friendly with the aliens. If he didn't do it personally, we can assume that he has access. How do you think he will react?"

The Director opened a folder and consulted written notes. "No history of criminal activity aside from a few speeding tickets. His father has been under investigation a few times—appears to be a low-level con man, but nothing proven. Mother deceased. One sister, estranged, currently in Arvada, Colorado.

"IQ tested at 112, never been overseas, C student at Boston University with a degree in General Studies. The usual six-figure student loan debt. Worked a few different jobs. Knows a little Spanish, no foreign contacts. No political activity. A few girlfriends in his past, no one at the time of his disappearance. No obvious enemies. He's about as boring as they come."

"I got most of this from the briefing after the first message from the ship. What do you think he will do with our data?"

The Director scowled. After a moment, he said, "He's young and unsophisticated, and in way over his head by his own admission. He's in contact with four of his friends from college and asking them for advice. One of them is Steven Horton, son of Malcolm Horton. Tomsun's most sophisticated advice will come from him."

"His goals?"

"Horton wants to make Tomsun rich and take a cut for himself. No known political commitments."

"Money is cheap payment for blackmail on this scale. So long as they don't get fancier than that, this could be manageable." The President took a deep breath. "How will Tomsun react when he reads some of our less savory secrets?"

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"He's cautious, cards close to his vest. We should be able to talk to him before he does anything drastic, and if we play it right he'll be grateful for the advice. We asked him to contact the CIA as soon as possible, and he replied with a text." The Director passed a paper across.

I make no promises, but start writing up a wish list of things you want to know, and I'll see what I can do.

"So far, so good," Smith observed. "Recommendation?"

"Keep him busy looking where we want him to, make him feel useful, doing good work and helping his country. It's one thing to have all of our data; it's quite another to know what to look for. If we can keep him from sticking his nose in the wrong places, we just might contain this."

"What will you ask for?"

"First, the identities of any spies in our midst. Second, find out which of our spies have been compromised. He won't be infallible, but we can ask for the specific evidence and evaluate it ourselves. If that doesn't keep him busy enough, I'll ask for the locations of our most wanted—the ones with resumes to make demons blush. He shouldn't have any qualms about giving them to us."

"Sounds like the intelligence coup of the century, Kyle."

"Yes. Forty years I've served my country, and a snot-nose kid tops it all, possibly by accident."

Smith smiled. "Interesting times."

"The Chinese cursed us, all right," the Director grumbled.

"Countermeasures?"

"I've already warned all stations that our codes and computers are compromised. I haven't pulled people out of position yet, but I'm prepared to if there's any sign that Tomsun is sharing our intel with anyone."

"Understood." Smith changed topics slightly. "You saw the press conference. What do you think he's not saying?"

"Our best guess so far is that he's hiding a Nagathi from us."

"The ones who stole something?"

"Yes. The story doesn't add up. It wasn't even their planet, and these Goldaskians spend most of a year chasing after the thieves? No. There's something more to it. Possibly the Nagathi is their version of a princess and Tomsun is trying to protect her."

"Hm."

"Another theory is that the thieves took something incredibly valuable—as in, 'chase it across the galaxy' valuable. Tomsun told his friends that he had some kind of leverage that he was going to lose when the Goldaskian ship leaves. It's clear he's got something. I doubt the Ooafans would put him on their council unless he had some kind of pull."

"Being proven friendly, and only a century ahead in technology, might explain it. They might figure that he's their defender, their dog in the fight."

"Regardless, the man has no poker face, and he reacted to the idea of the Goldaskians learning from someone."

"So the Nagathi might be the next step up the technological ladder. The Ooafans, then us, then the Arrurrans, then the Goldaskians, then the Nagathi?"

"That's our guess."

Smith nodded thoughtfully, then moved to the next issue. "Do you have your volunteer picked out?"

"Yes. Her alias is Alyssa O'Malley. Five years with the Company. Analyst, but with cross-training. Same age as Mr. Tomsun. Excellent with languages. She even actually has a thyroid condition."

"Cover story?"

"Freelance investigative reporter. A perfect excuse for asking nosy questions. She's been building an online presence for years, and we've used her in the past to put out some stories. If you read a couple of her posts, you can say she impressed you as an excuse for your picking her."

"Well, get her to Vandenberg ASAP. We're doing this sooner rather than later." There was a pause.

"How are you holding up, Mr. President?"

Smith could tell that Kyle was asking as a friend now, not as the Director. He sighed and leaned back.

"I campaigned on preparing the country for invaders from space. Now, the public is demanding miraculous results from me when I've been in office for less than five months." Smith sighed again. "At least the Visitors appear to be friendly, so far. I'm already getting outrage and demands from the deeply religious, most of whom hate the Goldaskians on sight, of course. I'd love to know what the deal is there."

"There will probably be three new religions gaining traction by the weekend," the Director predicted.

"Don't jinx us. The existing power blocs are bad enough."

"Pretending a problem doesn't exist is a great way for the problem to get bigger."

"I'm well aware. Recent years have certainly taught that to anyone who might have forgotten."

"Only if they're willing to learn."

A beep sounded. Smith tapped his watch. "Mr. President, your 10:15 call with the British Prime Minister." Smith got up and headed to his desk, while the CIA Director stood and prepared to leave.

"Thanks, Kyle. Keep me posted."

"Yes, Mr. President."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.