Seekers

Chapter 10

      Jacobson

   Frederick Jacobson was walking quickly down the long, winding hallway. He had just arrived off a plane from Russia, where he headed an important meeting with his fellow ‘conspirators’, as he called them. In fact, he called everyone in this organization that. It was fitting, really.

Frederick had been the head of COBRA for sixteen years now. He had founded it in the basement with some friends, shortly after their third back heist. He had been sitting their, when it hit him. They had robbed three banks, and gotten away with it. How many more could he rob and get away with? How long would it be before he was caught?

But Frederick had never ben caught. He had escaped everytime. He thought this was a musing, and decided to turn it into a little game. Sixteen years later, COBRA was bigger than ever, and Frederick still had not been caught.

He almost laughed when he thought about it. It almost seemed like they had given up on him. Except for that pesky little organization, The IDC. Sure, the IDC had been around much longer than Frederick or his organization ever had. But, due to his intellect, they had never managed to catch him. Much of that was due to decoys. Thatw as another thing that made him smirk- no one in the IDC knew what he looked like. Would they ever? No, probably not. Not as long as he could help it. He was confident, sure, but certainly not stupid.

The heels on his genuine patent leather shoes clicked as he marched down the marble hallway, huge mirrors to his left showing the stride of one who walks with confidence. Today Frederick was meeting with a French politician, looking to gain an advantage in an upcoming election. So he had called Frederick in to discuss the job. Of couse, Frederick had said. My personal specialty.

What a fun little game.

He rounded the last corner, and two men standing to either side opened the heavy doors for him. He entered the large room, where a solid oak table and two leather chairs sat next to a warm fireplace. He took a seat and waited for his client to appear.

He was impressed by the room, but not surprised. France had always been his favorite. The rest of the room was ornately decorated, with gilded walls, and fancy crystal trinkets on the shelves. There were a few books here and there, dust worn-down books bounded in old leather. Frederick almost pitied them; it was obvious they were only in use for deooration, never to be read. Frederick tutted. He firmly believed that the world would be a much better place is everyone read good books every day. Then he smiled. That was probably the reason why he always had the advantage over people- they were ignorant and he was not. When would they learn?

The sound of doors opening grabbed his attention. To his left, heavy, decorated doors had opened and in walked a short man, of a somewhat plump nature. He was balding on top, leaving just a ring of thick hair from temple to temple.

Frederick stood up, and offered his hand. “Monsieur  de Garmeaux, a pleasure.”

“Frederick, I presume?” the man obliged Frederick by speaking in English. He had a voice that didn’t quite match his stature, almost an octave higher than what Frederick had expected.

“In the very flesh.” Which doesn’t happen often, but this was a special case, and Frederick had gotten bored. He didn’t get cocky, though. He had his men check the entire place out two weeks prior, and they had been monitooiring it ever since. He wouldn’t doubt if they had bugged the majority of rooms here, as well as tapped into the security cameras.

The two men sat down, and Monsieur de Garmeaux pulled out a file. “I trust you have already read up on him some, but here is his file nonetheless.”

Frederick opened it and had a look. The first thing he noticed was the photograph. The man de Garmeaux wanted him to kill had small, dark, squinty eyes, as if the man was always suspecting something, as well as smelling something foul. He had dark hair which he spiked up a little, and was remarkably similar in stature to de Garmeaux.

“That,” said de Garmeaux “is David Saucageon. He is running against me, but is an ill-fitting candidate. His policies are filth and his beliefs much the same. He will not do the French people justice.” Frederick suppressed a smile. Who was anyone to decide the fate of another man? But he didn’t mind. It was a job and a pleasure.

“And when am I to take him out?”

“The election is the beginning of next month. At least by then, but close enough that they cannot find a replacement.”

Frederick nodded, shutting the foler in his hands with a snap. “Condiser it done.”

De Garmeaux rose with him, and said, “I heard that you are the best, so naturally I would expect the best.”

Frederick quired an eyebrow. “You want this done a specific way? Natural causes, or . . . ?”

“No, no, I don’t care how you do it. Just be sure that you leave noo trace. Of evidence, or to me.”

“I would not dream of it, monsieur.”

“Good. Then I believe our meeting is over. But-“ as Frederick looked closer he could see a bead oof sweat forming on the man’s brow- “this never happened.”

“Of course not, Monsieur, it was as if I was never here.”

“Good. Then we are done here.”

“Good day, sir.” Frederick made a sweeping bow and proceded to leave the room, without a glance back. The doors parted before him and he left the palace without a trace.

That evening Frederick tuned in to the local news from the living room of his suite, near the Eiffel Tower. He had a glass of wine in one hand, and a paperback copy of 1984 in the other. What caught his attention was the announcement by the news anchor that Americans had been abducted in Turkey. Of course, he though, these couldn’t have been the ones relates to him.

But, as luck and the press would have it, it was. He set his glass and book down, and turned the volume up.

“Thirty-four Americans were abducted on a group tourist trip to Turkey. Exact details are not yet known at this time, but word has leaked that it might be linked to a terrorist organization. We will report more on this issue as reports are revealed to us.”

What? Frederick Jcobson never got nervous or unsettled, but this was a feeling very close to it. Sure, they had quite a few of the details muddled, and he had certainly expected this to be leaked to the press, but he never thought they would get so close to the truth. Was this a trap? A game, of some sort?

He heard a crack, and glanced down to see he had the remote locked in a white-knuckled death grip. He slowly released his fingers, watching as the remote fell t the floor.

How had this happened? He had prearranged a false story for his own people to leak to the press, and this definitely wasn’t it. If they got too close, if people got too curious- well, then they would just had to see, Frederick thought. They would venture too far, and they would get hurt. He could put up a few warning signs, maybe a phone call or two to the news studio. But after that, it was every man for himself.