She half turned with the large envelope in her arm, pressed it tightly to her chest, and then looked down on the signoff sheet. Only her department had signed the receipt of service from Cassini. There was a long red arrow from the top of the custody list straight down to Hiram Vickers’s name near the bottom. She looked at the name bypassed by the arrow—the person in charge of intelligence for the North American Desk, Assistant Director Lynn Simpson. Once again the woman bit her lower lip; after all, maybe Vickers had a point about not filling up the desks of people who didn’t have the time to look at test patterns from one of their CIA contractors. “Penny for your thoughts,” came the familiar voice that had come up on her unawares. The young girl looked at Hiram Vickers and the cold smile he always gave women he thought far beneath his station. While he looked at her chest, the technician easily pulled the chain-of-possession list from the front of the envelope. She then smiled and held out the large envelope.
