Agent Ordinary

"They Got Some Bungalows."

Culebra Island, Puerto Rico

Thomas eased the Agency's Aston Martin DB10 to a stop and pressed the control for the darkly tinted window. The motor within the door was whisper-quiet. Without thinking, he pressed his Buddy Holly glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Those sleek, silver, Aston Martin curves were the sexiest he'd seen lately.

Well, that wasn't entirely true... He grinned. Head back in the game, old man.

The words "Welcome to Harmony" were painted on a large wooden sign in a rolling font. Beneath the palm trees, bamboo trembled in the Puerto Rican breezes. A lush carpet of Bermuda grass lined the meandering drive. Small bungalows boasted their own small pools and gardens. Groups of barefooted people polkadotted the grounds, practicing tai chi or yoga.

The cell phone vibrated in the cup holder. "Sunshine" scrolled across the touchscreen. Thomas swiped his thumb across the red button and continued down the drive.

Directional signs displayed white arrows at every road branching, and Thomas followed them until he arrived under an awning that extended from a large structure. A sign instructed all guests to register. Easy enough.

Did you ignore my call? The accusation scrolled across the cell phone screen inside a green text bubble.

Thomas grabbed the phone and a flashy watch as he stepped out of the car. He slipped his wrist through the band and fastened it and closed the car door with his hip.

He tapped out "Y-e-a-h. B-u-s-y." Send. Thomas slipped the device in his jeans pocket, drew his shoulders back and swaggered a few steps. The choice had worked well on that voluptuous number at his hotel bar.

A stabbing pain seared across the middle of his back. Alright, fine, no swagger.

He plastered a debonair grin on his face and strode inside. The lobby was cooler than the tropical outside and lit by a bank of windows. A man stood behind the desk dressed in a Love Boat-esque uniform and smile. Over his head, a banner beckoned, "Concierge." The man asked, "May I help you?"

Thomas nodded and tipped his head to the side. When he placed his arms on the check-in desk, it exposed the expensive watch. Two eyes flicked down to the metallic glint and back up.

He had him. Thomas began, "I am supposed to meet someone here. The thing is..." He leaned forward. "It's all very hush-hush. And I need to know if he's checked in. His name is P. Morra." Thomas winked.

The man raised his eyebrows. Thomas could almost see the dollar signs in the other man's eyes. "I'm John."

Thomas said, "Lovely to meet you." He held up one finger. With the other hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled fifty one hundred dollar bills from within. He placed them on the counter, in the crook of his arm to shield it from any watching by video. He cupped his hand, and, like a black jet bet, he pushed the stack toward the employee pair using his fingernails.

John's eyebrows climbed even higher, and he swallowed convulsively. "Mr...?"

Thomas said, "Greene. My name is Oliver Greene."

John continued, "Mr. Greene, all of our guests are required to sign the guest book." John lowered his voice, "If I ask you to sign in, I can't be held responsible for the information you see about earlier guests." With that, he opened a blue leather guest book, swiped up an ink pen, and made a tiny mark. He laid the guest book over the money stack and handed the pen to Thomas. "If you have any needs at all, please let me know."

As the concierge moved away, Thomas saw the flash of green in his hand.

While Thomas signed in under the false name, he scanned the page. Several lines above, the ink on a tiny, black star was still wet. Across the page, "P. Morra" had been scrawled in a bold script. At the end of the line, someone else had written "Bungalow 5."

Thomas closed the guest book and strolled out of the lobby, whistling.