The Agency

17 - Plan B

Nathan stumped out the fifth cigarette he'd smoked in the last hour. His mood was dark and his face reflected that state with a veneer of angry wrinkles. Murray sat passively awaiting his next command, quite familiar with his superior's manners.

This particular session was prompted by the fact that the Agency hounds had muffed their assignment and allowed Richard to evade surveillance and still meet with Monique.

"A team of five trained watchers and they lost him! They never even really found him after the hotel." Nathan spat.

"Mister Carstairs was a formidable student, sir; you taught him well." Murray soothed.

"Too bloody well it seems." The phone rang and Nathan snatched it up barking his greeting. He remained stock still, staring into the middle distance as he listened to the caller.

"Sir?" Murray queried when Nathan hung up.

"Dalton Whycliffe has made a statement to the press that the Whycliffe Foundation will be ceasing operations with respect to the administration of any donations received. That will become the responsibility of the various applicant principals."

"That's not good news, sir."

"The son of a bitch has pushed us to the front of the line." Nathan fumed.

"Perhaps we were a little precipitous in dealing with Mister Killdrew." Murray observed.

"We should have kept Peter and eliminated Dalton." He snorted with disgust. "We need to speak with Monique. Now. She still has the contacts she controls. This might even work to our advantage." Nathan lit another cigarette and sucked half of it away in one gulp.

"Applicants will have to speak directly to us now . . . or at least to a representative of us." Nathan sat back staring at the dirty smoke cloud in front of his face. "Yes . . . actually this might work much better now that I think of it."

"Another thing, this Council business. It's not the first time that name has come up and I don't like what it implies. Is this some organization operating deeper than our own? Is it even one of ours?"

"Not sure, sir. Not sure what it is." Murray agreed.

"Put out some longer feelers, Murray."

******

Dupres blanched when he saw the face of Richard staring at him through the window of the gift shop. He turned back to the woman behind the counter and said something then made his way to the door.

"Hello, Jacques, writing more letters?"

"What! What do you mean? What do you want?"

His reaction to the innocent comment was so pronounced that Richard cast a longer glance through the window at the woman watching them.

"I'm here to ask you where else you meet Monique."

Jacques closed his eyes and sagged from the waist. "I have told you, the hotel."

"No. You told me that was where she met clients. When you report to her, where do you do that?"

"It's by the post . . ." He bit his lip and his eyes flicked to the store and back.

Richard suddenly realized why his comment had upset the man; this was their letter drop.

"Not the post, Jacques, this shop. Right?"

"No . . . " Futility set in and he flapped listless arms and hung his head.

"Let's go and have a chat with your friend inside."