The Agency

3 - Promotion

Richard stood and stretched then sat again. There was no place to go and he certainly didn't think Nathan wanted him to follow. Murray reappeared with a large tray of cups and saucers, a teapot and a plate of biscuits.

"How domestic, Murray." Richard said with a touch of resignation.

"Jack of all trades, Mister Carstairs."

"Master of any?" Murray gave him a reptilian smile but didn't reply.

"How is she, Murray?"

"Sorry, sir, I have no information on that subject."

"Good man," Nathan burbled his approval at Murray, returning from outside and reaching for one of the biscuits. "Stick to the topics at hand." Crumbs showered his shirt front.

The team returned to the room and accepted cups of tea from Murray, the man accepting a biscuit, the woman refusing.

"Do we continue or finish this first?" Nathan asked. He apparently was not satisfied with just one cigarette.

The man restarted the recorder and sipped his tea then, gave the time.

"What were your duties as Peter's assistant?"

"I wasn't assisting him; I was just following him around at times. My cover was research for advertising purposes, remember?"

"Please be more specific."

Richard sighed. "We would go to a meeting place together and while he was doing his business, I would make notes about locations and atmosphere. How the representatives receiving the donations behaved when we arrived and departed; smiles and happy handshakes. That kind of thing."

"You met these people?"

"No, I just hung back as ordered and observed the ritual and then they would go inside a café or bistro or wherever."

"Ritual?"

"Oh for God's sake, the greetings and the departures."

"You never witnessed the actual transactions." Not a question but a doubting statement.

"Never."

"Did Peter take anything away from these meetings?"

"Not to my knowledge; he always carried a briefcase so maybe . . . I don't know." Richard's antagonism toward the man was growing rapidly.

"How much money was delivered on these trips?"

"Not a clue; I was never told anything about their dealings."

"You never asked?" The man stared hard at him. "Not even a whisper of suspicion?"

"My suspicions were derived from the very fact that I wasn't allowed to attend. My understanding was that Peter was distributing the money from the Foundation to legitimate beneficiaries."

"Did you ever question him on that?"

"Only once."

"And?" The question was peevish.

"I was told to stick to my knitting . . . in so many words." The directed emphasis wasn't lost on the inquisitor.

The woman leaned forward, legs crossing attractively, an impish smile on her lips.

"How many different contacts did he meet?"

"Five."

"How many were women?"

"Two."

"Names?" The man interjected with another peevish request.

"No idea."