The Shattered Eye

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Mrs. Neumann did not knock at the door to Hanley’s bare office before she entered, and she did not speak to him until she was settled on the government-issue metal chair in front of his desk. The temperature in the office hovered just about sixty degrees Fahrenheit, as always, and Mrs. Neumann, as always, wore the thick brown sweater she kept in her own office for her private meetings with the chief of operations of the R Section. It was just after nine-thirty in the morning on January 9, and Mrs. Neumann and her staff had been struggling with the knot of the problem for the past six days.

“Tinkertoy is puzzled,” Mrs. Neumann said in her raspy whisper. For emphasis, she struck one large hand on the computer printout sheets that filled her generous lap. After the meeting with Hanley, a meeting without notes written or recordings made, the printouts would be shredded in the large machine in the central corridor.

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