“Now!” when she seemed to hesitate.

 

She produced her driver’s license. “Anne Shepard?” “Yes.” “Confirm for me your

employer’s name. Unless you’re too drunk.” He shot a hand out and steadied her

as she rocked back and forth on her stilettos. Her lip trembling, she said,

“Atalanta Group.” “That’s right,” said Puller, who up to that point had never

heard of Atalanta Group. “And are you aware that your being here places you in a

position to be blackmailed by enemies of this country?” “But I’m just here

having fun. I work twelve-hour days, pretty much every day. I’m just here to

blow off some steam.” “There are smart ways to do that. This is not one of them.

The guy with his tongue down your throat?” “He’s just some guy.” “That some guy

will be arrested when he leaves here. He’s an American-born spy in the employ of

the Chinese looking to steal DoD secrets.” “Oh shit! That guy! You’re kidding,

right? He just wanted sex, like all guys.” “What did you tell him? Did he ask

about work?” “No, I mean—” She stopped, flustered. “I mean, he asked what I

did.” “And what did you tell him?” Shepard started to breathe heavily. “I think

I’m going to be sick.” “The restroom is down that hall. I’ll be here when you

come out.” It didn’t make Puller feel good that he was doing this to the young

woman, although there were strict rules about what such folks should and should

not do in their off hours. And this bar, filled with military and presumably

private contractors, actually would be a great place for a spy to operate. He

told himself he was teaching her a tough lesson.

 

He pulled out his phone, did a search on Atalanta Group, and came up with

exactly nothing. How was that possible? Every company these days had an online