“Well, we’re in the need-to-know club now, so if we could see it?” she said spikily.
Ogleby’s nod was distinctly disapproving, but he signaled impatiently toward one of the cubicles. “Go on, in there. You can get a good view of the system at work.”
As well as a well-lit reading desk, the cubicle contained something that reminded Nina of a smaller-scale version of an airport’s baggage carousel. A large flap set into the cabin’s outer wall opened onto a set of steel rollers that would channel anything coming down it into a flat collection area; another set of rollers at the opposite end led back through a second flap. A window looked out into the hangar and its miles of shelves. “Your material is on its way,” said Ogleby. “The shuttle should be here in a minute.”
Eddie and Nina moved closer to the window. The tracks crisscrossed the vast space between the stacks, points at alternate intersections allowing the shuttles to follow the most efficient course through the grid. As they watched, one of the towering machines trundled past, carrying a large container resembling a bank’s safety deposit box. Sparks crackled from its bumper-car-like overhead power grid. It clattered through a set of points and turned down an aisle, disappearing from view. Other shuttles were at work farther away.
“The place looks busy,” said Nina.
“It always is,” Ogleby replied. “We send out at least three hundred retrieval requests per day—and new material arrives all the time, of course. The Pentagon, CIA, NSA, even the White House—everybody has files down here. And we keep track of every single one.” Pride briefly overcame grumpiness. “Nothing’s ever been leaked or stolen from Silent Peak. Not so much as a Post-it.” His abrasive attitude returned. “How long will you need?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.
The gesture irritated their host even more. “Well, this isn’t a social club, so don’t waste time chatting about it. As soon as you’ve got what you need, put everything back in the box and push it down the belt, then you can leave. In the meantime, I have work to do, so if you need anything, ask the zombie over there.” He cast a disdainful look toward the mind-numbed man by the entrance, then stalked out of the cubicle.
“Thank fuck he’s gone,” said Eddie.
“I know. What a jerk!”
“No, I meant I can finally talk again.”
“With you, silence is golden,” Nina told him. “Especially with that god-awful accent you were using. Seriously, what the hell was it? You’re married to an American—how can you not know what we sound like?”
“Oh, I know what you sound like. Sort of shrill, and annoying—ay up.” Their discussion was interrupted as another shuttle stopped outside the window. A hydraulic whine as it raised its cargo to the drop-off point, then the flap opened with a bang and a metal container skittered down the rollers to stop in the collection area before them.
Nina examined the delivery. It was somewhat larger than a standard box file, a barcode laser-etched on the brushed steel. Beneath it was a large label bearing an identification number, along with the cryptic line SCI(G3)/NOFORN. The more readily understandable EYES ONLY was printed beneath it in red. “What does that mean?” she asked, tapping the jumble of letters.
“NOFORN means ‘no foreign nationals,’ ” said Eddie. “I’d better look away, then. Don’t want to break any rules.”
“I think we’re past the stage of worrying about that,” Nina said with a halfhearted smile.
“Just a bit. And SCI stands for ‘sensitive compartmentalized information.’ Super-top-secret, basically. The G3 part’s probably some particular need-to-know clearance. Which Dalton arranged for you, so you’d better start using it. The quicker we’re out of here, the better.”
She took the box to the reading desk. “Yeah. I didn’t like what Ogleby said, that we could have had this brought to the IHA. You think Dalton’s trying to set us up to be caught red-handed?”
“I’m surprised we haven’t been arrested already, to be honest. Or shot.”
“There’s a pleasant thought.” Nina sat and opened the box, Eddie leaning over her shoulder to see what was inside.
It didn’t contain a great deal: a manila folder with thirty or so typewritten pages within, and a large padded envelope housing a flat and heavy object. She flicked through the folder first. The opening pages were a summary of where and when US forces had acquired the material from the Nazi archive at the end of the Second World War, and the bureaucratic decision-making process that had