The Agency

15 - A Source

Peter Killdrew, like Richard, had been an Agency guest at another safe house and was kept on ice until the interviews with Richard began in earnest. When Richard orchestrated his escape, the ice melted.

"It would appear our Mister Killdrew had nothing of value to add to our latest information." Nathan puffed vigorously on his cigarette.

"I'm quite sure of that, sir." Murray sat comfortably at the table in the modest kitchen of the safe house where Peter had been spirited for his interview.

"Pity. I had hoped there was more to his story than what you were able to learn. I am still unconvinced about Richard; perhaps Monique should have an interview," he murmured more to himself than Murray. "It would have been nice to possibly learn something about this Council business as well."

"Should I call waste removal, sir?" Murray asked, ignoring the comment.

"Yes, Murray, and have them make it before three, we need to be well away from here by then. This place will have to go silent for a spell."

"It is interesting, sir, that Peter confirmed our suspicions about Mister Carstairs and Miss St. Croix without actually having confronted them."

"His confirmation was only an attempt at self preservation, Murray. We don't know for certain that Richard and Monique are working together now or were before, although the Toronto visit offered some evidence. There is some further questioning to do now of our friend, Roger." Nathan stubbed out yet another cigarette. "And perhaps, Pierre, if he is able. Richard has shown some bold cleverness I wouldn't have credited him with, intercepting our money that way. It almost gives credence to his story."

"Sir?"

"Well if he does have the money why risk going after Pierre and Roger? He nearly got himself killed if we are to believe them."

"I have Mister Léger located and available for pick up at your discretion, sir. We should be able to confirm that easily enough."

"Tomorrow. We'll move to our other location in San Dupres and see him there."

"And Mister Tremblay, sir?"

"Check on him in the hospital. If he can offer anything get it, otherwise see to it that Mister Tremblay has nothing for anyone."

"Done, sir."

September - 2011

Richard sat in the afternoon shadow of the little bar, a glass of beer rested on the small table in front of him catching and reflecting the golden rays of the sun. His call to a few of Monique's old numbers failed to reach her and he suspected she was erasing any trail he might follow. That was just another obvious indication that she was cutting their ties.

He had driven up the coast in his landlord's car to a small town close to the Italian border where he knew Monique once had personal contacts. He needed to find a particular one to get a lead on her whereabouts, a person he knew to be a local source of information for Monique, a person he had seen briefly with her in the past.

He watched the street out front with steady interest, checking the cars, the people and the very atmosphere of the bustle of churning life. The man he was searching for Monique had mentioned several times as her poco topo, her little mouse, and even pointed him out one time . . . a time when it seemed they were together. Now Richard needed to find him.

A couple of other people sat in the bar, regulars who wiled away their time reading leftover papers and nursing drinks. One of those papers had contained a small story on the mysterious sudden death of a patient in the local hospital leaving the authorities baffled and without direction. Relatives had not cooperated other than to pay the hospital charges and have the body removed for burial.