Dead Sea Rift
an excerpt

When the screen of his well-worn laptop finally came to life, Peter Zacharias wasn’t there to see it. Rather than idly waiting for the musical chime and then the slow boot up process, Zack had developed the habit of visiting the break room around the corner for a few minutes to get the coffee maker started. Most days were predictably uneventful, even boring, and this morning didn’t seem likely to break the pattern. He knew he was a little lax on the company’s security issues, but what did he care? Why would anybody want to mess with an insignificant photojournalist’s files, anyway? First things first, which right now meant coffee. So when his homepage appeared, the “Assignments” page on The International Daily’s website, Zack wasn’t the first to see it. Nor, when he did see it, was it quite the same as it had been moments earlier.
At exactly 7:13 a.m. just his short, dark hair could be seen bobbing along the top edge of the back wall of his cubicle. When he made his way around to his desk all was in order, except that he was muttering something about Mr. Coffee and wiping his tie with a napkin. He settled into his less-than-cozy, company-issued rolling desk chair and peered at the screen.
“What the heck is this?” He demanded of no one in particular.
“Ooo, such language! My ears are burning.” The comment came wafting over several as-yet unoccupied cubicles from the far corner of the office. He rolled out to the passageway between cubicles and looked one way, then the other. It had been a female voice, one he didn’t recognize.
“Who do I have the pleasure of offending with my blasé epithets on this fine ‘Hump Day?’” he inquired with mild curiosity.
“Hang on.” Came the enigmatic reply.
He waited quietly, still poking his head into the passageway, his expression half puzzlement, half mirth. After three full minutes of stillness he heard a series of grunts, a few sharp words, an angrily slammed file drawer, and finally the pock, pock, pock of high-healed shoes approaching. He could already tell that whoever it was had a peculiar mix of femininity and a “take no prisoners” attitude.
“Look out Zacharias,” he preached to himself, “that kind is dangerous.”