Rare Earth
“It was the first time they had spoken since Marc had arrived at the refugee camp. Updating his former boss and head of State Department Intel took over an hour. The local security guard patrolling the compound’s interior made three full rotations before he was done. Marc finished just as the first faint trace of sunrise dusted the eastern sky. His voice sounded slurred with fatigue to his own ears.
Though it was approaching midnight in Washington, D.C., Walton sounded as alert as ever. Neither retirement nor age nor the hour could touch him. “I don’t like the idea of you trusting this Crowder,” he said “I don’t like it at all.”
“I’m working from as isolated and exposed a position as I’ve ever known,” Marc replied. “I’m still trying to get a handle on who can help us move forward. And my gut tells me . . .”
Walton gave him a moment, then prodded, “Finish your thought, son.”
“I think Crowder is on our side.
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