It was the short men that caused all the trouble in the world.
Done right, the world would never know what those in Matt's profession did. The media may report of arrests of suspected terrorists planning to bomb an Embassy or an Airport, but you never read about how that arrest came to about. It was always a tip or "We learned of such and such." Never did they recount the story of the spy who infiltrated the cell, gained their favor and then pulled the double cross in a harrowing and dangerous gambit for love of country and duty.
Though the spies of the world preferred it that way. At least the good ones. They knew what they had done and that was all that matter. Spies tended to not like pomp and circumstance. They did not like public affirmation. For the sole purpose of doing so burned their identity and made it impossible for them to do it again. Matt
was the same way. He did not like recognition and his reports were vague in all the right places and they were almost always filed after the job was done. Progress reports were never something he was a fan of. It was his secretive nature. "I'll have the usual Jared."
Matt said, as he slipped into the coffee stand that sat a few block away from the Trask building. His tiny, yet athletic frame making the climb up the various stacks of cups and containers to reach the top and stand on the counter but out of sight from Jared's customers.
Jared Bolts had been pushing this cart to this spot for many years. Peddling his pretentious coffees and pastries to Manhattan's business population for years. He and Matt went back a few years. Jared used to be known as Anton Kornovsky. The accountant to the Skianova Crime family based out in San Diego. The man was an accounting genius, and if not for being flipped by Matt and placed into Witness protection, the RICO case against the Skianova family would have never happened. "Two drops of caramel macchiato coming up."
Jared said with a chuckle as he grabbed the eye dropper and dropped two drops into one of Matt's Tiny "I Love New York" mugs. ::Has our friend been by yet this morning?::
Matt thought as he sipped at his hot coffee and huddled in behind the register. Jared gave a shake of his head as he continued to serve his customers. Matt glanced at his watch, she would be arriving soon, and sure enough, a few minutes later he heard the same thing he had been hearing for the last two weeks. "Caffe Misto please."
Matt grinned at the sound.
Caitlin Emery. 27 years old. Single. She would have a designed purse that cost what most make in a week slung over her right shoulder. She would be dressed in a business skirt. No pant suits for her. Classy and business appropriate, yet sexy all in the same breathe. She stopped by Jared's cart every morning on her way to work at Trask. The Executive Assistant to a man by the name of Malcolm, one of the Vice Presidents. She was also Matt's mark for the last few weeks. He had been through every square inch of her house. He knew more about her than she knew about herself, and today she was his way in. ::Next to the steamer is a small vile. Looks like it's empty. Open the lid and dump it in.::
Matt thought to Jared as he began to move into position. Most people may have questioned Matt on what it was, but Jared was a former accountant for a family of Bratva. He was a little lax in the conscience category.
After the usual banter and paying for her coffee, Caitlin turned to leave and did what she always did. Paused just off to the side to take that first sip. Matt loved how habitual people could be, using that moment to hop from the counter and into Caitlin's over sized designer purse. He only had a few blocks to go so no time to doddle. Matt sat to work pulling out her iPhone and connecting his phone to it through Blutooth. Letting his device crack her password so he could sift through it. Though Matt being Matt, he multitasked by sending some texts
to Betsy while he waited for Caitlin to make it to her top floor office. "Good Morning Ms. Emery."
Matt recognized the old gruff voice of one of the Trask Industries security guards. His name was Thomas. Early 50's Catholic man with 6 children and a parochial education to pay for. He was an honorable man who needed both this job, and his weekend painting gig. "Mam, since the rally we are searching bags. Can you set you bag down here please?"
Matt's eyes shot open wide. He did not recognize this voice. It had to be someone new to the detail. He sounded young and eager. He also sounded like a rules lawyer who was bound and determined to do his job down to the letter. "Excuse me?"
Caitlin said, while Matt glanced around for somewhere to hide, or something to hide in. "That really isn't necessary."
She said, Matt could feel her pulling her purse further up onto her should. "Yes it is mam. Rules are rules."
It would not be the first time Matt had gotten busted trying to sneak into a building by a random search of someone purse, but this mission was way more important than those others. This one was crucial. Matt gathered his things and prepared for the worst...