The Invisible Spy
Author: Dana Claymore
He sees you but you won't see him . . . until it's too late.
Available in .mobi for Kindle, .epub for NOOK and most other e-readers, and .pdf.
The Invisible Spy
His reputation did not precede him.
A bespoke tuxedo was not laid out for him in the suite of a five-star hotel, nor did a sultry vixen await him in bed at the end of a planet-saving mission, silken undergarments strewn across the floor—a foretelling of the reward he was sure to collect.
He detested the taste of champagne and was not very Bond-like in any respect. Yet when he completed an assignment he surely felt every bit as fulfilled as the iconic character who routinely pushed the likes of Auric Goldfinger from the windows of private jets.
His chin did not jut.
His eyes did not pierce nor did he possess a tiger-muscled physique capable of obliterating a woman's resolve.
He was not a ladies man per se but there were definite benefits for a man who had forsaken the institutions of family and marriage to serve the greater good.
He was simply there, like the old reliable chair you flopped into to take off your shoes at the end of an exhausting day, ignored but indispensable.
Jetlag coursed through his veins like a dose of Xanax as he sat in his small room after arriving from the Far East. He wanted to get a head start on the official report he would have to file documenting every move he’d made and every cent he'd spent. He enjoyed challenging himself. Like beating the arrival time on an automobile navigation system, he made habit of writing the bulk of his report and later filling in the few blanks—completing his assignment in less time than had been allotted. He admitted that it was a cocky practice but he rarely underestimated his opponent. It gave him a mental edge and in his line of work there was nothing more valuable. Afterward, there'd be a few days holiday with no accounting to anyone for anything.
There was a twelve-hour time difference from Japan to New York—seven hundred and twenty little minutes kicking his ass one-by-one, but with the report mostly complete the gauntlet, so to speak, had been thrown down. He was out the door minutes later eager to engage his target and complete the assignment.
He was just a few blocks from the karaoke place he planned to canvass first, a place where he'd been told he might spot his target. It was a place where a hundred dollar bill bought a small bottle of Chivas Regal and a little privacy to do his recon work while brain-rattled businessmen sang long loved favorites like "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." They’d attempted to go home with women too blitzed to care about whom they woke up next to. It was a place beyond the confines of his claustrophobic room where he would be among the living, if only for a short while.
The waitress had a small snag in her tights at the knee of a well-turned leg and looked the way he thought an after-hours waitress should look. She was a skinny Punjabi gal with blazing dark eyes and just enough meat on her bones to tempt the opposite sex. To his eye she appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, about his age, maybe slightly older, experienced, still capable of getting the job done.
"You look tired," she said as she placed a coaster and cocktail napkin on the small circular table. "Weary."
“Don't tired and weary mean the same thing?”
She shrugged. “Long day?”
“And yet you ended up here?”
“It's close by. More importantly, you’re still open and serving drinks. I'm here … you're here. What more do I need?”
“We're only open another hour.”
“An hour is all I need,” he said amusing himself with the beat-the-GPS gambit he'd become so fond of.
“We'd better get to it then. What can I get you?” she asked.
“Bottle of Chivas.”
“I guess you've been here before.”
“Once or twice. Never saw you here though.”