A PUPPET ON A STRING

Chapter 10

7:00AM. The sun's rays reached into the room. Frank's mobile alarm sounded.Pulling him from a dream of Marilyn. Rolling over to cuddle her. Only to find an only empty space and a cold pillow. His eyes open slowly and take in the foreign room. The decor of the room was not his own. Then realized he was a long way from home.

Sitting upright, feels the tiredness of his body. Still operating on Settle time, three hours behind. Coffee was his first priority. That, and a shower to wake his senses.Looking out the windows over the city scape of apartment buildings. The City center somewhere in the distance. There was a knock at the door.

Smith perhaps thought Frank.

"Room service." A voice calls out and the door opens.The Bellboy pushes a trolley into the room. Carrying a shining silver cloche and pot of steaming coffee. A local newspaper laid nearby.Frank tips the boy and watches him leave. Surprised by the breakfast, he would have been just as happy with something from the mini-bar. But when in Rome, he thought.

Lifting the cloche discovers a plate of bacon and eggs,mushrooms, hash browns and fried tomatoes.With a note from Smith, 'Enjoy.'Pouring a black coffee Frank savors the first hit for the day. And scanned the morning paper. Same news different city. It could well have been the Seattle Times. News and scandals were the same. Only the names change.

Curiously he checked the job section and found several that would have interested him back home.Frank enjoyed the moment and allowed himself to reflect on the past seven months. The universe had a funny way of messing with people. Then remembered where he was. But not why he was there.Gazing out the window again hoping to found the answer among the shabby city sky line. And not the apartment building opposite.

Uncertain as to when Smith would call again. He would have to wait. Turning the television on. More for company and background noise. The morning news reported that a Merchant Bank in New York was under investigation for having its fingers in the till.Trading Bearer Bonds at inflated prices. Both the Securities and Exchange Commission and Financial Industry Regulatory Authority were having trouble having allegations stick to the Bank's Chairman and CEO, Marcus Metacafe.Having amassed a fortune, while other banks were crumbling around him. His bank well positioned to take advantage of their financial ruin.

Nicknamed The Magician. Billions upon billions had been wiped from the Stock Market.Thousands upon thousands of jobs had been lost. Defaulted mortgages soon swept up by Metacafe's bank. Something was awry. The SEC was having trouble pinning the tail on the rat.Surfing to a sports channel in time to catch the Ice-Hockey. The Thunderbird were looking to take the Western Conference Championship for another year. The Stanley Cup was theirs for the taking in June if they held on that long. But first they had to face the Edmonton Oilers. Fierce rivalry between the two meant there would be blood left on the rink today. Last man standing would be the winner.Retrieving a bottle from the mini-bar Frank sat back in time to hear the bell sound for the first round. Like a medieval battle field, brawly helmeted solders slide swiftly in ever decreasing circles. Relentlessly chasing down the elusive puck.

It was a maelstrom on ice. Players cutting down any opponent that crossed their path. The T-Birds out-flank the Oilers. Mac Lean passes to Andrusiak who smashes the puck under the diving Oiler's goaltender. Another Zack attack.One–nil after five minutes. What a start for the T-Birds. The crowd go wild. TheThunderbird's cheerleaders dance an exotic frenzy. The Oiler fans go quiet.Shaken but not out. They rouse their team to go after the T-Birds and slaughter them.