by David Kersey
NSA agent Rick Anglemeyer sat in his car, waiting. Another agent would be arriving soon. The parking lot of the East St. Louis Travel Lodge had deteriorated from the past winter’s snow and ice. Trash littered the area, papers and discarded items from people who didn’t give a damn blew in the twenty mile per hour gusts that signaled a storm was approaching. Rough area, high crime, floozy hangout, drug ridden, homicides, gang turf. He didn’t like being here. Anglemeyer had already talked with the motel clerk. Rakesh Singh was registered and in room 211, which room he could plainly see through his windshield. No sign of activity in the room, no lights turned on that he could tell.
Jim Earnshaw pulled in next to the unmarked, yet unmistakably government, Ford Taurus. He quickly jumped inside the NSA agent’s vehicle. “Let’s get this over with before we get drenched.”
The two knocked on the room 211 door. No answer. Knocked harder, no answer again. Agent Earnshaw obtained a duplicate credit card type key from the clerk. The two agents entered the room. Unoccupied. No sign of Singh. They’d been duped.
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