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Clarissa hated waiting.
Almost as much as she hated the Kryptos sculpture that perched in the CIA headquarters’ courtyard—a sculpture garden between the New and Old Headquarters Building.
But ever since that Miranda Chase b***h from the NTSB had forced a meeting in front of it last summer, it had become the best place to get some hard thinking done. And while the courtyard was a popular summer lunch spot, cold November evenings she had it all to herself.
If she went inside to her office, there would be messages, emails, project leads, and more, all wanting a slice of her time. Here it was just her and this stupid sculpture.
The eight-foot-high and sixteen-foot-long folded S-shape of thick copper had stumped cryptanalysts for decades. Three of the four panels built by James Sanborn
