Chapter 3

The man in the dark suit looks over the top of the paper to catch Frank leave the bar. And nodded subtly. Frank did not acknowledge the gesture and headed out the door pulling up the collars of his coat. The man resumed reading the unfolding events on Capitol Hill. Passing unnoticed by the man on the street.

But not to man in the dark suit.

The man takes a sip of red wine from a glass. Savoring the rich characters before swallowing. He had been observing Frank for a while. Unseen. Overhearing countless discussions with the barman. Piecing together Frank’s situation and the type of man that he was.

Or was capable of becoming.

From a brief case, the man pulls a black book. And with a fountain pen begins to scribe the day’s observation. Making note of the comments Frank had made with the barman, Tomo. His observations would soon be coming to an end. Closing the book. Returned it to the briefcase. He knew enough about Frank’s routine to know he would be back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

Knowing where to find him when the time came.

Profiling Frank over the past months had taken patience. But patience was something the man had abundance of

It was now time to approach the barman.

“Another?” Tomo asked automatically looking up to see the man standing at the bar before him.

“I’m good thank you. But I was hoping you could help me ...”, the man asked.

“How so?” Tomo asked curiously leaning in closer.

“That gentleman who was just here ... how well do you know him?” The man probed carefully.

“That’s kind of private, isn’t it ... if you don’t mind me saying.” Taken back.

Tomo eyes the gentleman with contempt. Confirming Frank’s suspicions. Perhaps he was right about the man.

“You a Private Investigator ... or something?” Tomo inquired.

“Not quite ... but I could be in a position to help him out ... if you know what I mean?” Reaching into his pocket and slides a hundred-dollar bill over the bar towards Tomo.

Tomo catches sight of the Benjamin under the man’s fingers.

‘No harm in a little banter ...’ Tomo told himself. Unlike his clergy brethren, he had not taken a vow of silence. “... how can I help?” Taking the note and stealthfully pocketing it before Chelsea could see.

“I appreciate that ... that man you were talking to ... Frank ... what’s his situation?” The man in the dark suit began.

“Ah Frank ... Frank Drake ... he’s a regular here ... an accountant I think, got made redundant from what I heard ...hangs out here to pass the time ... what of him?”

“Family?” The man in the dark suit continued unperturbed.

“Not really ... messy divorce and all that ... three kids ... an ex-wife from hell so I hear ... did a real head job on him ...if you know what I mean?”

But the man in the dark suit did not. He had never been married. The Agency was family. He was an only child himself. The way the Agency preferred their employees. In some way Frank would be an exception to the rule.

Something the man in the dark suit hoped he would not regret.

“Girlfriends ... boyfriends?” He continued.

“He’s not gay if you’re asking ... not that would worry me these days ... has a live-in girlfriend. Mexican lady ... Marilyn.”

“Really?” The man in the dark suit sounded intrigued. He would need to look into that.

“A real beauty if you ask me.” Tomo qualified.

“I see ... you’ve been very helpful Tomo ... thank you for your time.”

“I didn’t catch your name.” Tomo asked curiously.

“Smith ... John Smith.” Smith looked at Tomo as to suggest no further questions were warranted.

Tomo registered the name. He had been paid well for the scant information he had volunteered already.

“Anything else you need to know ... you know where to find me.” Said Tomo returning to polishing a glass.

“Best our conversation remains between us Tomo.” Smith advised with cold eyes.

“Of course ...”, Tomo replied hesitantly. “... my lips are sealed.”

Smith returned to his table and retrieved a tablet from his brief case.

Booting it to life. Waited for it to configure itself to a private encrypted network. Tapping in Frank’s name details began to scan the search results to discover several Frank Drakes in the Seattle region. Narrowing his search down to accountants. Two remain. Drilling into each, he views the driver’s license photos.

“Got you!” Smith whispers under his breath.

Smith drilled further down. Social Security number. Police records, convictions none. Tax records, an amount owing. Employment record, Company Accountant. Laid off five months ago.

‘Explains the drinking.’ Thought Smith.

Bank records. Two accounts. One held two thousand, the other another five. The remainder of his redundancy. That will go soon enough. Assuming Smith did not clear it out for him before then. The address reveals an apartment on the east side of town. Not far from the bar. Cross-referencing Marilyn’s name with the address. But nothing appears. Possibly an illegal alien. They tend to stay off the radar. Running a search on Frank’s phone number, a list of calls display on the screen. Calls to Mexico. The name Mendez appear.

‘Marilyn Mendez.’ Smith noted the name.

No visas. No Green Card. No Social Security Number appeared for her. As he expected.

Killing the link, the tablet goes dead. And Smith returned it to the brief case. Smith was methodical. In his business it was the difference between life and death. Frank’s current circumstances made him vulnerable. Making him a perfect prospect to recruit. Whether he was willing was another question. He would give Frank time before approaching him. Allow his funds to run dry a little.

Smith sipped on the red wine. And continued to read of the growing political scandal developing in Washington. Mister Black was expecting his presence there tomorrow to deal with the scandal. A redeye flight was scheduled for the next morning.

Tomo looked up to catch Smith leave as mysteriously as he had arrived. Feeling the hundred-dollar note in his pocket a pang of guilt comes over him and wondered if he had said too much. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, Smith waved down a yellow cab and quickly climbed inside to escape the inclement weather outside.

“Hilton, Sixth Avenue,” Smith called out and settled into the rear seat.

Wind buffered the vehicle as rain lashed the windscreen. Ignoring the weather, Smith contemplated his next move. His work in Seattle was near completion. He would be back to make Frank an offer he could not refuse. All the while monitoring Frank’s activities from Washington.

Any employment opportunities that should arise for Frank could be stifled at the touch of his tablet. Tweaking his credit rating here. Tampering with police records there. Discouraging companies from hiring him. Entangling Frank in the agency’s dark web.

And Smith would be there to save him.

The cab arrived at the Hotel the doorman taps his hat to acknowledge Smith. Smith nodded and entered the brilliantly lit foyer, contrasting the doused darkness of the street outside. Heading instinctively for the elevator. He waits. An elevator dings. Doors open and he presses the top floor. Living a solitary life. Almost clinical. Regimented. Devoid of any emotion and feeling.

The Agency had become an extension of his personality. Believing that the security of the nation depended on him. Transferred and promoted between security agencies before culminating in his current role. Recruitment and assassinations. The agency he worked for did not exist officially on paper. And he answered to one person. And one person only. Mister Black. If Smith was invisible. Then Black was a ghost. He had access to unlimited funds and undetectable access to government databases. NSA, DOD, FBI, CIA, and IRS. And countless banking systems. Nothing was beyond his reach.

Or his abilities.

Calling room service. Orders a meal to his room. Turning on the television in time to catch the unfolding scandal in Washington. A Senator had been caught with his pants down. Literally. Unfortunately with a high-class Escort. Images show Senator Luxon embracing his fourth wife. Playing happy families.

Luxon denied the alleged improprieties saying it was a political witch-hunt by Republicans who had weaponized the DOJ to discredit him from re-election. However, this was not the first time the Senator had digressed from being the loving husband, to that of loving philanderer. But was the first time he had been publicly caught. Smith knew the private lives of most Senators and Congressmen. And what went on behind closed hotel doors. It was his job to know.

The incident this time could not be swept under the carpet as easily as had his previous scandalous affairs. It was time Luxon was eliminated from the public equation. The reformation of decency would come at a price. Smith hears a knock at the door and kills the television. A Waiter quietly entered pushing a trolley before him. A polished silver cloche covers his meal. A bottle of vintage red wine and glass sit nearby.

“Will that be all Sir?” The Waiter asked.

“That will be all thank you” Smith advised.

“Very good Sir.” The waiter who leaves without being tipped.

Smith lifted the cloche and examined the steaming meal. And poured himself a glass of the dark Merlot before taking a place at the dining table.

Smith feels a vibrating sensation in his pocket. There could only be one caller. Mister Black.

“Sir.” Smith answered.

“Everything in order?” Black asked distantly.

“Everything’s in place ... Drake will be on board soon.”

“Very good ... and the Senator?”

“I have an Asset on route.”

“Very well ... make it clean. I don’t want it any loose ends.”

“Of course Sir ... thank you Sir.”

“Thank you, Smith.” Black ends the call.

On hearing the disconnection, Smith stares at the blank screen. Mesmerized by the colorful digital icons. Black’s authoritative voice reminded Smith of his father.

Which he dared not question.

Smith contemplated Frank as a recruit. As an asset. He fitted the profile. Money greased the squeakiest wheel and displaced the most obstinate of morals. Everyone had their price. Smith had the resources to answer all of Frank’s prayers. The financial vultures would soon be circling. Smith would make sure of that. Deporting Marilyn was another persuasive measure. Men would do almost anything for love.

Smith turned his attention to the meal before him.

‘Very nice.’ He thought ...