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Woman Without a Name

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Dennis Herrick

I once met a mysterious female NSA agent. This story is dedicated to her and other intelligence officers who keep our nation safe. Los Alamos has drawn spies for seventy years, and this story is based on the likelihood that the refurbishing of the B61 nuclear bomb costing eleven billion dollars will draw more attention. The cover includes a photo of a B61 nuclear bomb. Special thanks to Jack Ellis for his editing.


Woman Without a Name

by Dennis Herrick


AFTER THE funeral ended, and almost everyone had left, I stood with Ben Jackson under a shade tree in Santa Fe National Cemetery. All around us the white crosses were aligned so they appeared in rows at every angle. We watched as four funeral home workers lowered the coffin into the open grave. My eyes started to tear up, but I fought the feelings back. I refused to let Jackson see me cry.

Jackson was a big man, at least six-foot-four by my estimate. Im an average height woman, but I looked tiny next to him. The top of my head reached his shoulders. He had a jutting Jay Leno jaw, thick black hair that needed a trim, and a middle-aged spread that looked as if hed stuffed a pillow under his belt. His hands were so large that it felt as if Id put my hand into a boxing glove when we shook hands last night. I hadnt liked his after-shave lotion scent then, and I didnt like it now. Too musky. And I hadnt liked his attitude. He impressed me as another condescending male.

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