The Old Man was getting tired of Greg’s voicemail. He’d stressed time and again that they never let the phone go to voicemail. If he called then it was bloody important and they needed to pick up. He slammed the phone down as Greg’s voice melodiously asked him to leave a message. Where was the little prick? He’d been home from Moscow for nearly two weeks and had checked in once.
“Of all the bloody cheek,” he muttered under his breath. He picked up the phone again and waited as the ringing connected him to his secretary. “Tell communications that I want a GPS lock on Gregory Harris right now. And call in Kingston.”
“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.
Communications called him ten minutes later. ( Read more... )