A message appeared on the bulletin board.
Child one, this is Mother.
An asset wants to meet.
Coffee shop tomorrow. 09.00 a.m.
I stared at the screen for a while, then began typing.
Mother, this is Child one.
Give me the file. I’ll arrange the meet when ready.
The response was instant.
Negative. This is priority red. The asset will find you.
I sighed.
A new meeting is preceded by an exchange of files. Both parties establish their preliminaries. If an agreement is reached, a face-to-face would be arranged. If not, they’d part ways, no harm, no foul.
Every meeting that does not follow the above format has the potential of turning into a liability case.
The fact that Mother had skipped the introductions suggested that this was someone at the very top of the food chain.
I sat at the coffee shop, and stared at my screen. The angle allowed an unobstructed view of everyone that walked into the coffee shop without so much as a head tilt.
The meeting was at 09:00 a.m. but I’d allowed myself an hour’s lead to scope the area out and establish the friendlies.
09:05 a.m. No one.
09:10 a.m. No one.
09:15 a.m. Still, no one.
Assets were never late. Whoever wanted to meet me, was already there.
Suddenly, a notification appeared on the screen. I clicked on the bulletin board. It had several links. I opened them and stared at the face of a young man.
“Hello Roy.”
I glanced up.
She was beautiful. In her 40’s, about 5’ 4”, brunette, dark brown eyes, and an easy smile.
“You the asset?” I asked.
“Call me Mayte,” she smiled as she sat down.
“You must be pretty powerful to get me on such short notice. What do you want? Did you send this?" I asked, indicating the screen.
More links appeared on the bulletin board. A coroner’s report. Some more documents and a text file that contained a list of names and a long code.
“Hmmm,” I looked up from the screen, “What am I supposed to do with this information?”
“The boy’s dead. I want you to find out who did this to him.”
“The report says death by suicide.”
“Someone pushed him into it. I want to know who,” a fierce glaze swept across her face.
“Is he your son?” I asked.
“Roy, if he was, I wouldn’t come to you.”
“Of course not. So, who’s he to you?” I crossed my arms and stared at her.
“Someone very special.”
I nodded.
“You’ll report directly to me. When you get home, there will be a package waiting for you. You’ll do your regular job with Mother as usual. When you’re not working for her, you’ll be working for me,” she said, getting up.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll be sorry I ever came to you.”