Enclave - part two - a thriller in progress




It’s a given that men in our line of work are stupid to have children.  In one of life’s cruel mysteries, we also seem more fertile than normal men.
If a scientist chose to study it, they would probably determine it has something to do with excess testosterone.
        But the ex-Russian spy sitting across from me just admitted he had a child and that was leverage we just don’t share.  Ever.
        “Five minutes,” I told him.
        “Three,” he said as he glanced at Holley, AD and Kinzey.  His lip curled up in a hint of a smile, and I answered with the ghost of a grin of my own.
        “An older girl, then twin boys, then another girl.  Someone has taken my oldest,” he reached into his brown leather coat and snorted as I tensed up.”
        He pulled a new manila folder out of his pocket and slid it across the table.
        “Complete dossier.”
        I opened up the envelope.  A thick stack of hundred dollar bills, photographs and two loose credit cards floated around inside.
        “Wiring instructions for your fee,” he continued.  “Clean credit cards and expense money.”
        I glanced over at my children, all three watching me now.  I could imagine how I would feel if someone stole them.  And felt a pang of sorrow for having to cut my time short with them.  Again.
        “You know this is a threat,” I said.
        He nodded.
        “I have left you no choice,” he said.  “I am sorry.”
        “Your number?”
        “In the file,” he said and pushed his bulk away from the table.  “I will be in touch.”
        I watched him waddle back through the pool door and out into the lobby.j
        “Who was that?” Holly asked as she came over dripping.  Her large brown eyes looked up at me, a man she saw three or four times a year.  Sometimes she even called me Dad.
        “An old friend,” I lied.
        I was never in the spy game, so I couldn’t call him a friend.  Notable acquaintance, and one time adversary.  I wasn’t sure an eleven year old mind could comprehend that.
        “What did he want?”
        “Work,” I said too quickly.
        The problem with a brain that works ahead too far into the future is that it misses what’s right in front of it.  Like three brown-eyed children shivering under blue striped pool towels.
        “You have to go back to school?” Kinzey asked, her voice soft.
        On the books I was a part time novelist and regional sales manager for a small multi-national school.  I can travel often and unpredictably and still hit my home base of operations at any time.
        Off the books… I fix problems.  I don’t do off the book work any longer.
        Which is why when Dmitri walked through the door, he knew he was a dead man.
        Pacino said in one of the Godfather movies, something about the mob and it’s ability to let go of just one life...he could have been talking about my line of work.
        “I do, sweetheart.”
        I pulled them in for a big group hug.
        “Let’s go upstairs and pack.”   
        The were used to me leaving.




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