The Gold Hard Truth

Chapter One

September 2009 An apartment in Washington DC, USA. 

'You son of a bitch,' exclaimed Alan. 

CSI Chief Field Alan Riley was standing in the open-plan layout of his apartment staring hard at 'the man in the suit' standing in the doorway. The apartment was of minimalist design with a brown suede couch sat in the far corner of the room, with a beech veneer finished sideboard nestled into the opposite corner. There was a lack of pictures on the walls, no family photographs from cherished holidays. 

'I can expose everything, let the dark sordid little secret out of the bag,' said Alan with rage and fear battling together inside him. 

'You won't though,' the 'man in suit' responded. His towering height of six feet and three inches, along with his muscular physique, blocked any escape route for Alan. He had a youthful appearance, a decade below his actual age, with jet black hair styled into small spikes and shaved sides. 

He reached down, sliding his right hand beneath his suit jacket feeling for the handle of his Glock 22 hand pistol. He could feel the five-year-old handgrip that had moulded into one with his own, clicking off the safety catch and held firmly onto the handle. 

'So! That's what honesty buys you these days?' asked Alan. 

'Do you believe that Alan?' 

'Of course. Our organisation has the word trust and what is trust without honesty?' 

'Don't be so naïve Alan. Trust isn't built on honesty otherwise the majority of the world's politicians would be out of a job. So, would we be also? The people of this country believe what we tell them. Is that always the truth? Of course not, Alan. The truth would be too much for people to understand. There would be mass hysteria and I'm sure that you are smarter than that.' 

Alan paused, considering his reply. He was fully aware of why the 'man in the suit' had visited him today. He needed to be silenced, he was a risk of the truth being revealed and that could only lead to one thing. His own death at the hands of this giant stood in front of him. He moved to his right only to be mimicked, he moved to his left and again was mimicked. 

'Alan you have a nice view from this apartment,' he closed the door behind himself and locked it, before moving over to the window behind Alan overlooking the street outside. 'Wouldn't you agree? I mean it's very urbanised, I believe that is the correct word. How far down would you say it is out of this window, Alan?' he didn't wait for an answer. 'I would say it's probably 12 metres. Boy, that's a long way down. I mean if someone was to fall, especially headfirst, that would-be curtains. Skull shattered like a Watermelon, brains spilling out, blood running like a river. I suppose it would be quick. One minute seeing the ground coming closer and closer and the next we're gone. Darkness all around.' 

Alan hadn't moved frozen in fear and intrigue, he just stood there watching the 'man in the suit' walk around the room closer to Alan with a strange smile on his face, 'don't worry Alan. I'm not going to throw you through this window. Too much mess.' 

Alan quickly filled with rage at the arrogance of the 'man in the suit' swung his arm back and launch a clenched fist. The 'man in the suit' reflexes failed, and the clenched fist landed on his chin knocking him backwards taking away his feet from under himself. He landed with a thump on the carpeted floor with a look of shock on his face. 

Alan bent down and removed the 'man in the suit's' mobile phone from the inside of his suit jacket pocket. He clicked on the screen as it lit up but was quickly frustrated to see that the mobile had been password protected. 'PASSWORD,' he screamed at the 'man in the suit' who was looking up at him from the floor and laughed. Alan turned away tapping away empty guesses on the mobile phone.