by O. L. Casper
“National security?”
“I know it’s a lot to absorb all at once. You’ll need time to consider. But it needs to happen fast.”
“Is he some kind of suspected terrorist?”
“No. Not really. But this you must keep a secret. Do I have your word?”
“Of course. I’m not a talkative person to begin with.”
“Good. I’ve been cleared by my superiors to speak to you about it. Mr. Stafford is suspected of illicit arms trading overseas. In fact, that’s most likely how he amassed his multibillion dollar fortune. This is a matter of national security.”
Ironic, I thought, that the FBI would be the ones to clear that up for me.
“I got it. I won’t repeat it. The thought is a little scary, to be honest with you,” I lied.
I couldn’t believe the irony of the fact that they suspected Stafford of the murders and were coming to me about it. I would enjoy considering the multitude of options now laid out before me as to how I could play the FBI and Stafford off each other.
“I’m glad you are receptive to the need for secrecy. I’m also glad for the fact that you would possibly be willing to work with us. As an informant, you would be compensated. Although the compensation would be modest, you might derive satisfaction from the fact that you have it within your reach to make a significant improvement in the world by helping us.”
“So Stafford may be a big underworld boss?”
“Yes. It is highly likely.”
A buzz erupted in his pocket. He took out a Blackberry and read a message on it.
“I must be going. I want you to give what we have discussed some serious thought and get back to me once you have decided what you would like to do.”
He slipped me a card across the table.
“Here’s my number. Call me once you have considered.”
With that the small, odd man got up and left the table. I began to smile but immediately suppressed it on the thought that I was possibly being watched by someone else after he left.
Before leaving I looked at the card with the phone number one last time only half-believing this turn in fortune was real. Though I at least didn’t seem to be the focus of the investigation it still felt like the first prick in the bubble that life had become. I would have to live by my wits again if only a little. In the Cayenne I rolled a joint out of some Sativa I had stashed in the dash. Rolling along Queen’s Highway on cloud nine from the weed smoke I considered the various options on the table.
One—away from all electronic devices I could tell Stafford of my encounter with Bert, our conversation over coffee, and his suspicions. I didn’t feel I owed Stafford that kind of loyalty mainly because he didn’t confide in me with regards to his business. Still, I didn’t really want to jeopardize his position or his wealth. I could still help him covertly. I definitely felt no allegiance to the United States government. It’s a corrupt, unwieldy group that buckles under its own weight. It’s inefficient, often unjust, and byzantine in its dealings.
Two—I could tell the FBI to piss off. Probably not the wisest tactical move from any standpoint. Obviously they would continue their investigation without me. Then I would be in the dark. Indeed not very smart.
Three—I could just not tell him and deliberately mislead Bert and the FBI. I could manipulate them both and play my cards according to whatever situation arises. This is the safest, best option.
I considered the third option the best course of action. I would consent to become an FBI informant. That night I called Special Agent Carter from Anze Lazio. I looked around in the fading light, which had a magical affect on the environment and my mood.
“Special Agent Carter speaking,” came the hoarse voice, which crackled with the bad reception.
“Special Agent Carter, it’s Sophia Durant.”
“Yes, ma’am. How are you?”
He sounded very friendly.
“Very well thank you, and you?”
“Oh, just another day on the job in the Bahamas. I have to say it’s not all bad.”
He laughed. I laughed too. I was falling for his charm.
“I gave the matter we discussed this afternoon long thought and…I’m in. I want to work with you as an informant.”
“Great news. As this is not a secure line, I ask that we please curtail our conversation here and meet in person to discuss the details further.”
“That would be great.”
“Tomorrow morning coffee at the same place we met today?”
“I’d prefer to change location and keep changing it in the future for security reasons.”
“It makes sense. Where would you like to meet?”
“Let’s meet at d’Artegnan’s—eight o’clock.”
I was sitting at a booth by a window overlooking BoneFish Bay by a quarter to eight the next morning. Carter walked in just a minute or two after I had arrived. He spotted me at once, smiled and walked over.
“Great minds think alike, eh?”
“It’s scary.”
“Have you ever considered working for the FBI?”
“Not till last night.”
“I see. Well, you’ve obviously got a very sharp mind. You must have for Stafford to take you so much into his confidence.”
“How do you mean?”
“As I told you, we are aware of the intimate nature of your relationship with him. I mean, in the bedroom. And you are nanny to his baby.”
“You are not American, are you? Not by birth?”
“Is it the accent?”
“Mainly the accent, yes. But also the way you speak. The construction of the sentences. You’re first language is Spanish or Portuguese.”
“Spanish. I’m of Peruvian descent. But I am American. I was born in San Jose, California. My mother was born in Peru. My name is American because of my father. He worked for the U.S. Embassy in Lima and married a native girl—my mother.”
“Your English excellent and I only barely hear an accent.”
“I spent some years growing up in Peru. Back to what I was getting to—you are excellent at the diversion.”
“Thank you. I try.”
Though it’s easy to find much that’s contemptible about the man he is charming in his way. One might say he’s an acquired taste.
He continued, “We have reason to believe he’s having you take on extra duties.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m not presently at liberty to say.”
“Uh huh. National security, is it?”
“Something like that. There’s something else too.”
“What?”
“The FBI, we always come in twos. You haven’t met my partner. He’s waiting in the car. I’d like your permission to allow him to sit in on our conversations. It just adds accountability. Something for the Bureau really. Mostly just a habit.”
He seemed nervous about the mention of his partner. Of course I’d watched enough movies to know they always traveled in twos.
“So why didn’t you bring him in from the start?”
“We thought it’d be easier to approach you if it was just one of us.”
“Thought I’d more likely say yes to one than two. I admit it’s intelligent of you.”
“I’ll bring him in, shall I?”
“No. Make him wait in the car.”
I said this mostly to retain a measure of control in the situation. I felt a little out of my depth to begin with. I didn’t want to feel more intimidated facing two of them this early on instead of one.
“Sure. Any reason why specifically?”
“Because I told you to. I’m already doing you a favor. If we warm up more in the future perhaps then you can bring him in. I’m still not entirely comfortable given the situation.”
“Understood. It may present some problems in the future—with Bureau protocol and all—but this is an unusual case that may give cause for unusual procedures.”
“Good.” I paused, sizing him u
p. “You must be top of your field given a case like this.”
“You flatter.”
“I’m serious.”
“I do alright. I’ll get a little more into my background later on—as we build rapport.”
Suddenly I had the odd thought of what it would be like to bed him and what a tool seduction might be with him should some unknown future circumstance require it. Looking at his ugly body and face, I hoped it would never come to that.
“Mr. Carter—”
“Call me Glenn, please.”
He smiled.
“Glenn, look. You seem to know a lot about my affairs, but you can’t tell me everything. Why is that? Would I have to submit a FOIA request?”
He looked surprised.
“You would probably be able to find out most things with a FOIA request. The Freedom of Information Act is—well, you know what it is.”
“Something you don’t like very much I take it.”
“I didn’t say that. And I haven’t really dealt in many cases where someone would take a FOIA request out on my activities. No, I may safely say, you’d be the first. Let me spare you the necessity of the request. May I speak to you off the record, Ms. Durant?”
“Sophia.”
“Sophia?”
“You may.”
“I must put it like this. We may or may not know certain things through certain channels which we’ve had to put our own sort of FOIA requests in to get.”
“You mean subpoenas.”
“Technically speaking—yes.”
“You got my phone records, email, et cetera.”
“I can’t confirm or deny any of that.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Take it in what sense you will. Nonetheless hear my meaning behind it.”
“Which is…” I was growing impatient.
“Which is…I’d be very careful if I were you.”
“Is that a threat, Glenn?”
“No. More of a…preamble if you will. I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m not scared of the government.”
“Let’s hope you have no reason to be.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Then you will help us without a hitch.”
“I will. And I am more than happy to.”
“And that brings us to the core of what we came here to discuss—the heart of the matter.”
“This is what I’ve been waiting for.” I shifted in my chair.
“Good.”
Special Agent Glenn Carter’s Notes
November 2, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas
It was in the course of the second meeting that I got into the mission I had for Ms. Durant. I must take a brief aside to jot down a few comments on the quality of the woman. She is very sharp, has a keen memory, and is highly knowledgeable in many subjects. Her highly attractive physicality is sometimes something of a distraction. But the more I am around her, the less I notice it. As to her knowledge, I was surprised for instance that she knew what a FOIA was. How many women of twenty-six years know that? She also appears to be very well read and knowledgeable of current events. According to her file, she knows something of computers given a background in computer science at college. But we do not know more than this. I shall endeavor to discover her mastery of this field further in future. Talking to her on these two first occasions, I am convinced she is not capable of murder. I suppose anyone could commit murder in the right circumstances, but I see no evidence of this with regards to her. Even so, there are many unknowns regarding the case. We now know that she placed a call to Emma Green within hours of her “accident” on the boat. That would have been Tuesday, October 7. As to the deaths of Ava Madeiros and Madison Conway, there is no direct connection to Sophia Durant. As to motivation for Mr. Stafford to have any of them killed; there is none. It is also being brought into question among some folks at the Bureau whether or not Mr. Stafford would have had any cause to wish to see the plane carrying his wife go down, leading to her tragic death in the Atlantic on August 12. Are all these deaths, falling upon each other in rapid succession as they have, merely coincidental? Does lightning strike so many times all in the same place? Sometimes it does.
This is why it is necessary for Ms. Durant to go ahead with our plan. At the very least she can shed light on the, until now, very unknown situation behind the high walls and in the towers of the kingdom that is the life of Mark Stafford. I did finally get across to Ms. Durant the first steps in her mission of observation in our second meaning. I will try to reconstruct from memory what was said.
“Let’s discuss the heart of the matter,” I said, somewhat apprehensively. I was mostly worried she would balk at our plans and we would have to try a new route to coerce her.
“Good,” she replied, eager to get on with it as was I.
“We need you to try to point us in the right direction when it comes to his communications regarding his operations overseas. His business affairs.”
“You think I have access to that sort of information, do you? You think he just leaves all that sort of thing lying around?”
She was indignant. I don’t know if it was because she felt I’d made a stupid remark, or because she was hiding something.
“We are aware that some relationship exists between you in which he has made you aware of these aspects of his life. Yes. In that, we want you to dig deeper. We know you can do this. And we are willing to help.”
“Help how?”
“By supplying various technology to retrieve that information. Also, by schooling you somewhat in what to look for, what sort of language to listen out for, things you might be able to find on his desk. Anything. Details, details, details. You understand?”
She thought about it, bit her lip, and, finally, she nodded.
Sophia Durant’s Diary
November 4, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas
I had bugged Special Agent Carter’s phone via Bluetooth and from that I had gained access to his personal computer when he connected the two. I now had access to all his personal calls, emails, texts, et cetera—and to a document titled “Special Agent Glenn Carter’s Notes” that lay studiously on the desktop of his computer. I opened it and had a quick read through while I sunned myself on Stafford’s private beach. I quickly caught up on the background of the Stafford case. I was interested to read a rendering of our second encounter dated November 2. I was mainly struck by his admission to obtaining phone records. I had expected it, but to see it there in gleaming black and white pixels gave me chills. I didn’t quite know why—at least I didn’t articulate my thoughts. But that was it—it meant war. I plotted my course. I would use electronic forms of espionage to turn the investigation back on itself. Inevitably they would do things wrong in the course of their investigation—they’re human—and I would endeavor to find out what these violations were, I would invert the investigation and collapse it in the process. I made my mind up then and there to confide in Stafford. I hadn’t seen him since my first meeting with Carter, he was away on a business trip, but I would see him tonight and there I would lay it out for him. If nothing else, the man was a brilliant planner; hence the source of his “staggering fortune.” If in fact he was a criminal, especially on the scale the FBI thought he was, then he was a brilliant evader of the authorities as well. Still, I was surprised by the lax state of the measures of personal security he took in regard to his affairs—though evidently the FBI thought him a tough nut to crack.
After the last meeting with Carter I decided to wipe the hard drive of any computers I had stored my diary on. I now only stored it in a very well hidden spot online. The document itself is heavily encrypted and there would be no traces on any of my machines of having accessed it—nor even of how to access it. I did this all in the event of any foolish attempt by the FBI to detain me or confiscate my devices. I was prepared for any eventuality. In the course of the afternoon I formulated a plan for dealing with Special Agent Glenn Carter and his ilk.
>
Sophia Durant’s Diary
November 5, Eleuthera Island, Bahamas
I saunter up to Stafford’s bedroom a few minutes past nine o’clock. I wear a hooded robe over the Gorean attire of a camisk. I look forward to a night of sensual adventure as well as discussing the approaching net of the FBI.
In the room I find the waterfalls and fountains flowing and the grandmaster of deception himself robed, sitting at the end of the bed with a chalice of wine. He picks up a second chalice off an end table and hands it to me. I swallow the contents of the chalice and hand it back to him. Then I untie the neck of the robe and let it fall to the floor. I turn around and walk the length of the room, hips forward, as though I’m on the catwalk. At the end of the stroll I look at him before I take a bow. He smiles at me and removes his robe to reveal the fact that he’s wearing nothing underneath.
Chapter 15
Sophia Durant’s Diary (continued)
He stands up, chiseled abs glistening in the light, and walks forward. I back away with an inviting smile. I glance down. His cock throbs and bounces slightly with every step, fully erect. I can feel the sticky juice flowing down my inner thigh. He could glide it in at any moment and it would feel smooth and comfortable. Not to mention, ecstatic. I lust after it. Before I know it I hit a wall behind. I lean my head back against it. He leans in and puts one finger to my wet labia. He runs the finger between the lips, round the clit and to the hole. He puts his fingertip inside. Then he takes it out and touches my inner thighs.
“You’ve missed me, kajira.”
“You’re my kajira.” I smile.