"I have eyes on the target," I spoke slowly and quietly as I sat at a cafe similar to the one I sat at when I eavesdropped on Lukas Kappel.
The man I was surveilling had come under scrutiny as our team learned that he was instrumental in plotting out a majority of the day-to-day specifics for B605's North American branch. The intel extracted from Novyk's computer combined with the minor goings-on of Fridman had solidified a lot of our collective predictions. So far we learned that B605 granted a lot of leeway and autonomy to their heads. They trusted each other only slightly more than they trusted anyone – which was, not at all. They avoided a lot of phone calls and electronic exchange opting for in-person dealings instead. The workings of their inner network were slowly being made clear to us and we knew going halfway on a takedown of this nature wasn't an option. Although no explicit discussions had taken place, I was certain that Victoria and Terra were fleshing out how Nathan and I would join the B605 team with little compromise.
"He's made the drop at the designated location," my voice could barely be heard over the clatter and chatter of the cafe.
"Head in," McCain spoke into my earpiece as I rose from my table leaving behind a discarded Americano.
"I'm tailing the target's vehicle," Nathan's voice was calm and collected as it chirped in my ear.
I walked across the plaza and into the dry cleaners where I saw the exchange take place. A young woman was at the counter serving another customer. She was either employed by B605 as a runner or she was paid for her silent exchanges. I wondered if B605 started the business as a coverup. It made sense – it's what Manifest was. The dry cleaners seemed like any ordinary mom-and-pop operation but it was still at the center of illegal dealings. I errantly wondered how many more nondescript establishments were inconspicuously doing work for or with the syndicate. I wondered how many innocent families had had their lives interrupted by feeling obligated to comply or how many families were ripped apart by their criminal shenanigans.
I was surprised not to see any ill-concealed henchmen idling around the entrance.
"Hello, how may I help you?" She turned towards me.
"Hi, my husband dropped off his clothes here and they're supposed to be ready today. He told me he put the receipt in my purse but I can't seem to find it," I pretended to scour my purse filing through old receipts.
"What would the name be under?" She grabbed a box that held index cards at the counter.
"Matthews. Christopher Matthews?" She began filing through them with her neatly manicured fingers.
"I'm sorry, ma'am but I don't see any Christopher Matthews here."
"That is so strange. This isn't his usual cleaners because we just moved but I know that this is the correct address. Do you think you could just do a quick check for me? My big sister's getting married tonight and we're in the wedding party," I looked at her pleadingly.
I watched her eyes check the digital clock on the counter briefly before she scanned the storefront beyond my head. She was looking for whoever was supposed to come retrieve the package.
"I really am sorry but I can't leave the counter unattended," she looked remorseful.
"I would be so grateful to you if you checked. I don't know what else to do."
She seemed to contemplate for a moment. After another quick scan, she asked, "What were the items he dropped off?"
"A dark blue suit with an ash gray tie and a pocket square," my voice was laced with confidence.
She began to move before I added, "Oh, and the shirt. There's a shirt too."
The woman nodded before moving behind the tiers of hanging clothes all encased in filmy plastic.
YOU ARE READING
Spies, Lies & Butterflies
Azione**Young and self-assured, Agent AB Collins is leading a double life & love is tipping the scales.** Having risen in the ranks as a field agent in a covert operations sector of the US government, AB has been assigned to extract information from a hig...
