Director Wilkes interlaced his fingers as he rocked back in his chair. “First off,” he said, “I want to let you know that everyone at the agency really appreciates the work you’ve been doing here. Your passion and entrepreneurial spirit are commendable.” Davis could feel the oxygen level in his brain dropping as he continued to hold his breath. It was a narrow tightrope he had to walk between passing out from hypoxia and having a breathing-induced panic attack. “Unfortunately, the panel met, and we can only promote three GS-13s this cycle under current budget exigencies.”

The punch to the gut literally knocked the wind out of Davis. “This is my third cycle at GS-13 pay grade!”

Nelson chimed in, piling on with his contempt for the damaged goods in the chair beside him. “We need to put the money where the action is. You know how it goes, Kev.”

“I was really hoping you could deliver on that Sumatra connection,” Wilkes added. “I assume that’s dead?”

Davis had no choice but to bluff. “It’s still developing.”

Nelson cornered him, taking great pleasure in it. “Developing, is it? Developing how?”

Davis retreated from Nelson’s interrogation, turning his attention back to Director Wilkes. He knew he was against the ropes, but he needed to know how dire his predicament at the agency was. “I’ve heard there’s going to be a round of cuts coming up. Is that true?”

Wilkes lowered his eyes. “No, it’s just talk.” The old man leaned forward and forced an encouraging smile. “You just focus on your work and you should be fine.”

“Should be?” Davis asked.

Wilkes hardened, responding with a dose of tough love. “If you’re asking me to make you any promises, I can’t do that. At the end of the day, this place is a bureaucracy like any other. Everyone has to justify their job, including me.”

Davis nodded, his situation sinking in. A fourth cycle at his current pay grade suddenly looked better than lining up at the unemployment office with his hat in hand.

“That will be all,” Wilkes added, inviting the GS-13 bagman to depart.

Davis marched back down the hall, his body aquiver with anxiety. He had been living the past several years in fight-or-flight mode, but this was an escalation. He had gone into the meeting hoping for a promotion—no doubt a long shot, but he had made legitimate progress connecting animal trafficking to terrorism. Now, however, his back was against the wall. If he couldn’t prove the Sumatra connection he had already written off in the early days of his investigation—before pivoting from Asia to focus on African terror groups—his days at the agency would be numbered.