Chapter 21

“Your report?”

I don’t like talking on the phone. I feel like it’s a needless risk, but at times it is needed. I just have to be careful what I say.

I grew up in an era where tapping someone’s phone was a simple matter. Anyone could tap a landline with two alligator clips and a headset. Meanwhile, cellphones have gone from bricks the size of my thigh to things barely larger than an old-fashioned cigarette case, and because of that, I distrust the electronic gadgets in an inherent, primal way that cannot be explained away. And with technology comes more and more ways to exploit it for eavesdropping.

But my contact uses them casually, carelessly. I’m not sure if it’s a condemnation of the man or the times we live in. Probably both.

“My friend says that he’s distracted for sure,” my contact says gleefully. “Reports from Japan show that he spent time with her every day, sometimes just minutes, other times much longer.” The man’s disdain for Goldstone’s action is obvious. “He’s due to come back in two days.”

“Here’s what I want you to do,” I command, leaning back in my black leather club chair and letting my operative know what I need. It’s nothing too complicated, mostly taking guts, timing, and a little bit of work . . . nothing he will be unfamiliar with

Of course, what my operative will do with the results... ah, now that is the crux of the matter. The simple, beautiful blow to Goldstone’s reign over Roseboro.

If discovered, it’s at least a firing offense, if not a felony.

And my operative is not exactly someone trained in the methods of the CIA. So the risk is real, but calculated.

But the operative hates the Golden Boy nearly as much as I do... and hate makes a man ignore the risks easily. Still, a more prudent man would wonder if I was using him. A truly cautious operative would consider every angle of the possible repercussions, but this man is blind, malleable.

Just the right kind of operative.

“Sir, no offense, but this could be dangerous. There’s no way I’ll be able to hide my presence on the security cameras if someone suspects and checks.”

Not stupid... just malleable. “But you are capable of forging the time and date stamps on your work, correct?”

“Of course, sir. If anyone even checks.”

I can feel his hesitation, even through the buzzing line.

“Remember, the prize is often left unclaimed because victory favors those willing to take the risks to grasp it.” I pause, letting the words sink in until they’re pregnant, roiling in this man’s brain, festering until they’re a pimple ready to burst. Only then do I squeeze. “So, what kind of man are you?”

The release is immediate, poisonous, and just what I desire. “I’ll call you when the job is done.”