Spy vs Spy

302.

I answer the in-room land-line with a sheepish, "Yes?"

The hotel security night manager informs me that there is some type of electronic interference coming from the general location of the penthouse floor and further, that he has been instructed to update me promptly and directly if any anomalies occur. I soften my tone and thank him for his efforts, asking if there is anything else I should know.

"No sir, outside of that it is business as usual."

Saunders, still sitting on the giant bed and sipping her sparkling water, asks about the call.

"Hotel security checking in with a report from upstairs about electronic interference of some kind, nothing to be concerned about, but we will alert the surveillance team asap, but, where were we?"

"You were considering taking me off the case and sending me home to visit my sickly mother in Lenexa," she says, adding, "but please don't."

"Give me two good reasons," I play along trying to lighten the situational payload.

"One: I am fine and ready to go, and two, my Mother, rest her soul, died when I as in High School," she tells me with a disposition crafted of gold.

"Alright, we are so close, if we can make it through the next two days I am very confident we'll have enough damming media, as evidence, to accomplish the objective."

"What is your gut feeling about Goldson? If you think he is on to you, what is his game?" I ask.

"I think he has a jones for the game, the juice, he want's to play the part of a mafia boss and outsmart us at our own game. I think he is playing us as much as we are playing him, literally spy vs spy," she explains calmly.

"Do you feel confident, and does Davis, that he has sufficient motivation to pitch - and sell - the deal to Hartaugh?"

"Yes, thats the payoff, the win, he needs Hartaugh for the political cover and continuity of cash flow. Davis has been vigilant in drilling that point. They're already in bed together, so now it's the greed game, how much, how big and for how long? Think of it like oil, a commodity. They are intrigued by the software creating both supply and demand, however artificially," she answers, "But does that answer your question?"

"Not sure. It seems like we're dancing on the edge of the razor. This isn't the cops and robbers chasing each other around in fast cars like the old days. We need to stay awake and let them dig their own graves, which is my hope they do with all haste," I speculate, pacing the tiled floor, "We can't push the envelope any more than we already have. Let's be patient and let them play it out."

"Right," Saunders immediately replies.

"But the deal is this: Should you find yourself in a situation where your shoulder starts yelling instead of simply whispering, I am pulling you out. Clear?"

"Clear as cut crystal boss."

"Do not return to the party. Go get some sleep. I think we'll see Goldson's play here sooner rather than later."

She stands, undecided as to which character to play; Bess would hug but Saunders would salute, she extends a fist at chest level and says, "Thanks."

"Thank YOU."