“Director Wells,” Grange said, holding the cell phone to his ear, “there is a situation.”
“What kind of situation?” Wells’s voice was mellow with alcohol-softened consonants. Grange imagined the DNI lounging about in his sprawling mansion sporting a smoking jacket and house slippers with a brandy in hand.
“James Hayward and Sam Jameson are heading to your office building at this moment,” Grange said. He said it as though it were a fact. Grange didn’t have firsthand knowledge, but he knew it would only be a matter of time—his use of his own cell phone guaranteed it.
A long pause. “I don’t understand,” Wells said.
“They’re driving a white delivery van.”
“Hayward and Jameson? How—”
“You understand the implications, do you not?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
“You know how to reach me if you need assistance.” With that, Grange ended the call.
It was an art form, to create a situation where the mark’s own nature compelled him to do your bidding without your ever having to stoop to the level of articulating your wishes. It was rarely easy to accomplish, but Grange was as adept as anyone.
Grange placed his cell phone back inside the manila envelope and put it in one of Wells’s desk drawers. He left the phone powered on. He leaned back in Wells’s opulent leather chair and propped his feet on top of the desk. He looked at the photos on the wall of Wells smiling next to various political luminaries. The desk placard read: Alexander Wells, Director of National Intelligence. Grange smiled. Not for long.
There was plenty of work left to do—perhaps even the hardest work still lay ahead—but he liked his odds. He was a student of human nature, and he knew that context and cognition went hand-in-glove. He began the last manipulation he had planned for the evening. He did this by simply changing his clothes.
Grange checked one last time to ensure the van’s cargo had been deployed properly inside the building. Satisfied, he left Wells’s twelfth-floor office and rode the elevator to the lobby. There, he had a brief exchange with the security guard. After the exchange, the security guard left for the evening.
Grange settled into a chair, put his feet up on the desk, and waited.