CHAPTER 4

Pixie Dust

NANCY DUNKIRK WAS 56 years old and considered eccentric by those who knew her. Her nickname, Pixie Dust, didn't help her reputation, either. Neither did the spiked gray hair with tinted orange tips. Obsessed with conspiracy theories, Pixie spent most of her time updating her website that promoted her suspicions about government agencies and politicians. She knew most people thought she was crazy but didn't care. What was important was putting the word out to those who took her seriously. 

*  *  *

Sitting at her computer, Pixie meticulously went through each subject line of the new emails in her inbox. She would save the ones worth investigating and delete everything else. Afterward, she backtracked what was left, looking for one in particular.

"There you are, Snoopingdog... Nice name." Reading the introduction, she frowned. If the information was true, it could confirm everything she had been saying. The government was still using covert groups for illegal operations, assassinations in particular. A new black ops organization had been identified. "What do you think, Igor? Does Snoopingdog sound like someone you'd trust?" The Siamese cat sitting next to the holovid yawned and began grooming her bluish-gray fur. Pixie scratched her between the shoulder blades. At fourteen, Igor was several pounds overweight and quite content with her lot in life. "You're right, of course. Names don't mean anything. There's no reason to get excited until we see his proof. You're such a smart little girl, Igor. What would I do without you?"

Opening the attachment, Pixie read several articles pertaining to the accidental deaths of two politicians. They had recently demanded an investigation into a Special Ops unit rumored to be operating outside the law. Because the victims were high-ranking Congressmen, Homeland Security was ordered to investigate the incidents. Their conclusion? Unfortunate coincidences. Never mind that both men had been killed within hours of each other under similar circumstances.  

"I knew it! HomeSec is part of the cover-up."

The next article was about the assassination of a Mid-Eastern sheik. The assassin was believed to have been a member of the Royal Guard. He had been killed during the attempt, making interrogation impossible. No groups claimed responsibility. Even those opposing the Sheik's progressive attitude denied involvement.

Snoopingdog had typed a comment next to that article.

Check Special Unit 33 and Colonel Walter Cranley.

Overheard convo implementing them in this.

"Colonel Cranley. Hmmm. Let's see what we can find on you."

Pixie searched the Webnet for information on Colonel Cranley. Other than a graduation announcement from a prestigious military academy and two command tours in Europe and Northeast Asia, data was conspicuously scarce.

"No one is that anonymous," she murmured. "Especially someone with his rank and responsibilities."

Intrigued, Pixie sent Snoopingdog a reply, asking him to meet with her. If his evidence proved accurate, a major news organization would have to take her seriously. Almost instantly, a response popped up in her mailbox.

"That was quick." Snoopingdog named a location and time for the rendezvous. She had only two hours to get there. "Shit. I hope you have something worthwhile. We don't like going out at night, do we, precious?" Picking up the cat, Pixie buried her face in the cat's furry neck. "Well, I'll just fix you some warm milk... real milk. Nothing but the best for my little girl."