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Description
Charity strode confidently down the hallway.  Her short heels clicked quietly off the floor, filling the Pentagon corridor with a soft rhythm.  She was pretty and powerful-looking, her tidy brown hair tied securely into a bun, her sharp glasses framing her alert eyes. Although she had been a somewhat outcast and mousy girl in school, she had grown into a professional and attractive woman.  As men and women passed her in the hallway, some slowed, offering, “Afternoon, Ms. Hale!” or “How are you, Ms. Director?”  She smiled and greeted those who greeted her, but left no opportunity for small talk as she continued walking down the hallway to the rhythm of her heels.

Abruptly she slowed, and began popping her head into the offices lining the hall. Giving a brief, “Hello,” and “How’s everything going,” her subordinates mostly smiled and exchanged pleasantries, happy to be caught working by their supervisor.  As she opened the fifth door, however, she was instead greeted by a man quickly switching off his monitor and swiveling around in his chair.

“Director Hale!” said Randy Grier, his rising flush belying his attempts to sound unsurprised and confident.  “What a pleasure!  What can I do for you?”  He subconsciously smoothed his hair and straightened his tie before clasping his hands professionally on his desk.  Even so, he wasn’t an intimidating man—his bright red hair, lingering dust of freckles, and slight paunch gave the impression of an old boy more than a young man.

Chastity couldn’t help it.  A thin smile played across her lips as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Mis-ter Grier,” she said, mock scorn dancing in her voice, “what, exactly, were you working on just now?”

Randy stammered something about a report, (which was sitting on the desk in front of him) but when it became clear that Chastity was having none of it, he sighed and smiled sheepishly.  He swiveled in his chair, deftly punching the monitor’s power button.  As the screen blazed to life, an image crystallized in the center of the screen.  It showed a young woman standing in what appeared to be Times Square, bundled up in a winter jacket and stocking cap. She was smiling with her eyes closed, and she was giving a mittened thumbs up.  Chastity stepped forward to get a better look, adjusting her glasses.

“You remember my trip to New York last month?”  Randy said, not waiting for an answer. “Well, I was just getting ready to send some pictures to my family.”  He sat silently, waiting for the barrage of angry condemnations.  The two sat silently for a few moments as Chastity continued to inspect the photo.

“Who is she?”  Chastity’s sudden question surprised Randy, and, feeling a momentary relief, he explained that it was a friend of his, Julie, who had come with him for the trip.  Chastity looked out of the corner of her eye at Randy.  “Are you two dating?”

Randy laughed and stammered as the flush once again rose in his cheeks and ears. “N-no, we’re just friends.”  He wondered if Ms. Hale had any reason to ask that.

“I see,” Chastity said, returning her gaze to the monitor.  She grinned slightly.  “This was the best picture you could get?  Her eyes are closed.”

Randy was quickly getting the feeling that he wouldn’t be punished at all.  He supposed it was near the end of the workday.  “Actually,” he said, pointing to the monitor, “that whole ‘eyes-closed thumbs-up’ pose is from a movie we like.”  He mimicked the pose.  When Chastity looked at him quizzically, he shrugged.  “I guess it’s kind of an inside joke.”

“Well,” said Chastity, standing and readjusting her glasses as she spoke, “that’s well and good, Mister Grier, but we don’t pay you to fiddle with photographs.” She strode to the door and turned, giving him a kind smile.  “Just don’t let it happen again, Randy.”

Randy nodded silently.  He was still thinking about the questions she had asked.  As Chastity grasped the doorknob, he blurted out, “Would—would you like to get dinner sometime?  Er, ma’am?”

Chastity turned to face him, and based on the blazing red color of his face, ears, and arms, she could tell that this was more than just a friendly invite.  She smiled again.  “It’s against policy,” she said, noting the immediate look of defeat in his eyes, “but… I’ll think about it.”  She winked, turned, and strode out the door, closing it behind her.

As the door clicked shut, Randy exhaled deeply and grinned.  What luck!  Not only had the Director almost caught him, but now he might even have a date with her!  He whirled around in his chair again, restoring another file that had been opened, which looked like a giant block of garbled text.  He spent a few moments typing into it, adding seemingly nothing to the text.  As he finished, he saved the document and closed it.  He opened a similar-looking file and began what seemed to be the same procedure.

Chastity stood in the dimly-lit supplies room smiling.  It was finally a certainty.  She couldn’t believe the sense of relief; she didn’t think Randy Grier had warranted such nervousness.  Still, he was obviously better than he let on.  Chastity reached inside her bra, producing two small, black gloves.  She quickly put them on, thinking about Randy the whole time.

He really thinks I have no clue, she thought.  How could anyone miss the the hidden messages he’d been sending?  Sure, she’d been the only one to pick up on it so far—for being a relatively archaic form of steganography, Randy was obviously very good at disguising his messages.  Still, she’d known about the hidden messages in his photographs for several months.  She even knew about the pistol he kept hidden near his computer—the very one he’d been considering grabbing if she’d asked too many difficult questions.

Still, she’d wanted to catch him in the act, because it was always possible that someone had been using him as a mule, somehow hiding their messages in his photographs before he sent them off to his “family.”  She wondered, idly, who was really receiving the messages.  It didn’t matter, really.

In one swift movement, Chastity shimmied up the shelving, and pushed a ceiling tile out of place.  She grabbed a small package, replaced the ceiling tile, and climbed back down.  Unfurling the package, Chastity quickly spun the silencer on and jammed the clip into the pistol.  She thought it was an especially nice touch to have acquired the same model gun as Randy’s, and to have filed the identification number off.  She grabbed a tiny holster and wound the strap deftly around her left thigh.  As she put it into place, she had to admit that the feeling of the chilly gun against her inner thigh was somewhat exciting.  She removed her gloves and stuffed them back into her bra.

She straightened her blouse and skirt, and smiled to herself.  She still wasn’t sure if she would make it look like a murder or suicide, but she guessed suicide would make more sense.  She was glad that the girl in the picture had only been a friend, though; she thought, bemusedly, that she might have felt bad about killing him if he had a new girlfriend.

Description
Charity strode confidently down the hallway.  Her short heels clicked quietly off the floor, filling the Pentagon corridor with a soft rhythm.  She was pretty and powerful-looking, her tidy brown hair tied securely into a bun, her sharp glasses framing her alert eyes. Although she had been a somewhat outcast and mousy girl in school, she had grown into a professional and attractive woman.  As men and women passed her in the hallway, some slowed, offering, “Afternoon, Ms. Hale!” or “How are you, Ms. Director?”  She smiled and greeted those who greeted her, but left no opportunity for small talk as she continued walking down the hallway to the rhythm of her heels.

Abruptly she slowed, and began popping her head into the offices lining the hall. Giving a brief, “Hello,” and “How’s everything going,” her subordinates mostly smiled and exchanged pleasantries, happy to be caught working by their supervisor.  As she opened the fifth door, however, she was instead greeted by a man quickly switching off his monitor and swiveling around in his chair.

“Director Hale!” said Randy Grier, his rising flush belying his attempts to sound unsurprised and confident.  “What a pleasure!  What can I do for you?”  He subconsciously smoothed his hair and straightened his tie before clasping his hands professionally on his desk.  Even so, he wasn’t an intimidating man—his bright red hair, lingering dust of freckles, and slight paunch gave the impression of an old boy more than a young man.

Chastity couldn’t help it.  A thin smile played across her lips as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Mis-ter Grier,” she said, mock scorn dancing in her voice, “what, exactly, were you working on just now?”

Randy stammered something about a report, (which was sitting on the desk in front of him) but when it became clear that Chastity was having none of it, he sighed and smiled sheepishly.  He swiveled in his chair, deftly punching the monitor’s power button.  As the screen blazed to life, an image crystallized in the center of the screen.  It showed a young woman standing in what appeared to be Times Square, bundled up in a winter jacket and stocking cap. She was smiling with her eyes closed, and she was giving a mittened thumbs up.  Chastity stepped forward to get a better look, adjusting her glasses.

“You remember my trip to New York last month?”  Randy said, not waiting for an answer. “Well, I was just getting ready to send some pictures to my family.”  He sat silently, waiting for the barrage of angry condemnations.  The two sat silently for a few moments as Chastity continued to inspect the photo.

“Who is she?”  Chastity’s sudden question surprised Randy, and, feeling a momentary relief, he explained that it was a friend of his, Julie, who had come with him for the trip.  Chastity looked out of the corner of her eye at Randy.  “Are you two dating?”

Randy laughed and stammered as the flush once again rose in his cheeks and ears. “N-no, we’re just friends.”  He wondered if Ms. Hale had any reason to ask that.

“I see,” Chastity said, returning her gaze to the monitor.  She grinned slightly.  “This was the best picture you could get?  Her eyes are closed.”

Randy was quickly getting the feeling that he wouldn’t be punished at all.  He supposed it was near the end of the workday.  “Actually,” he said, pointing to the monitor, “that whole ‘eyes-closed thumbs-up’ pose is from a movie we like.”  He mimicked the pose.  When Chastity looked at him quizzically, he shrugged.  “I guess it’s kind of an inside joke.”

“Well,” said Chastity, standing and readjusting her glasses as she spoke, “that’s well and good, Mister Grier, but we don’t pay you to fiddle with photographs.” She strode to the door and turned, giving him a kind smile.  “Just don’t let it happen again, Randy.”

Randy nodded silently.  He was still thinking about the questions she had asked.  As Chastity grasped the doorknob, he blurted out, “Would—would you like to get dinner sometime?  Er, ma’am?”

Chastity turned to face him, and based on the blazing red color of his face, ears, and arms, she could tell that this was more than just a friendly invite.  She smiled again.  “It’s against policy,” she said, noting the immediate look of defeat in his eyes, “but… I’ll think about it.”  She winked, turned, and strode out the door, closing it behind her.

As the door clicked shut, Randy exhaled deeply and grinned.  What luck!  Not only had the Director almost caught him, but now he might even have a date with her!  He whirled around in his chair again, restoring another file that had been opened, which looked like a giant block of garbled text.  He spent a few moments typing into it, adding seemingly nothing to the text.  As he finished, he saved the document and closed it.  He opened a similar-looking file and began what seemed to be the same procedure.

Chastity stood in the dimly-lit supplies room smiling.  It was finally a certainty.  She couldn’t believe the sense of relief; she didn’t think Randy Grier had warranted such nervousness.  Still, he was obviously better than he let on.  Chastity reached inside her bra, producing two small, black gloves.  She quickly put them on, thinking about Randy the whole time.

He really thinks I have no clue, she thought.  How could anyone miss the the hidden messages he’d been sending?  Sure, she’d been the only one to pick up on it so far—for being a relatively archaic form of steganography, Randy was obviously very good at disguising his messages.  Still, she’d known about the hidden messages in his photographs for several months.  She even knew about the pistol he kept hidden near his computer—the very one he’d been considering grabbing if she’d asked too many difficult questions.

Still, she’d wanted to catch him in the act, because it was always possible that someone had been using him as a mule, somehow hiding their messages in his photographs before he sent them off to his “family.”  She wondered, idly, who was really receiving the messages.  It didn’t matter, really.

In one swift movement, Chastity shimmied up the shelving, and pushed a ceiling tile out of place.  She grabbed a small package, replaced the ceiling tile, and climbed back down.  Unfurling the package, Chastity quickly spun the silencer on and jammed the clip into the pistol.  She thought it was an especially nice touch to have acquired the same model gun as Randy’s, and to have filed the identification number off.  She grabbed a tiny holster and wound the strap deftly around her left thigh.  As she put it into place, she had to admit that the feeling of the chilly gun against her inner thigh was somewhat exciting.  She removed her gloves and stuffed them back into her bra.

She straightened her blouse and skirt, and smiled to herself.  She still wasn’t sure if she would make it look like a murder or suicide, but she guessed suicide would make more sense.  She was glad that the girl in the picture had only been a friend, though; she thought, bemusedly, that she might have felt bad about killing him if he had a new girlfriend.