The meeting place, a small deli off Broadway, was not of his choosing. And it troubled him that he was here at all. But he required no further proof of the extent to which John Dalton would go.
Both men were dressed in business attire: the agent’s suit a severe shade of brown; Blair’s navy blue.
The restaurant was half empty. And Blair could understand why. The dark tiled floor was badly in need of a scrub. The general atmosphere suggested sanitary codes were not exactly being obeyed.
Dalton had that same cold look in his eye, Blair noticed. The one that said, Don’t mess with me.
Blair waited as the man selected a chicken salad sandwich and Coke. He didn’t order anything for himself. Not that he wasn’t hungry. He simply wasn’t comfortable around Dalton; didn’t like him, did not want to share a meal with him.
“So, how was your Monday morning?” the agent asked. “Anything exciting happen?”
Blair didn’t want his look to kill, he wished he could just do it with his hands. “My Monday was fine,” he said, playing along. “But boring,” he quickly added. “How was yours?”
“Oh, the usual.” A half-grin.
So much for an apology, Blair figured. “The usual, huh?” he said. “I’ll bet.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it implies, John. Don’t you have something to tell me?”
“My, you’re an edgy cuss, aren’t you?”
Once more he observed the agent’s slight accent, his choice of words.
“But I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses,” Dalton continued. “This trip won’t take up much of your time.”
“You keep saying that.”
“It happens to be the truth.”
Dalton’s Coke and sandwich arrived, the fries piled high.
While he ate, the agent took an airline ticket from his briefcase. “First class transportation on El Al,” he said. “Paid in full by Uncle Sam.”
“Very generous of you.”
“It is. We could have sent you coach.”
“Oh, yeah? And I could have refused to go. What are the details, John?”
“Man, you always in this much of a hurry?”
Only when I’m talking to you, he didn’t say.
Dalton finally started to explain: “Hillel Electronics use SDF as their prime manufacturing source for the mini DVDs that will work with Cyber-tech. However…”
“Huh?” Blair interrupted, surprised. “How do you know about Cyber-tech?”
“What do you mean, how do I know?”
“C’mon, John. Our gaming system has been kept under wraps. No one outside of a few select people are even aware of its existence. So how did you find out?”
“Oh … we have ways.”
Blair detested the man’s smugness.
The agent paused, but not for long. “We have known for some time that SDF is poisoned from within. Most of the profit they earn is diverted to an old Palestinian ally who’s turned renegade. This is a man not only bent on the destruction of the Jewish State, but of the United States as well. He will stop at nothing. The recent bombing in Paris? That was him. The machine-gunning in the restaurant in London? The gunboat attack in Amsterdam? This person has much in the way of resources and nothing in the way of fear.”
Dalton took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, and wiped his lips with a napkin. “While we have known about SDF,” he continued, “we have not been able to act against them. This is why we need you to convince your friend, Jeremy, that it would be in everyone’s interest if he talked Hillel into switching production of the mini DVDs from SDF to a company called On Time Electronics. Losing an order this size will hurt SDF. If we stop their inflow of cash, we will have a far better chance of ending their operation.”
Again, Blair had a problem accepting the agent’s argument. “What if Jeremy is not convinced?” he asked.
Dalton gave a small shake of his head. “If he gives you a hard time, tell him your bank has done a thorough search and has come up with some questionable dealings. No matter what, you will not mention the truth to Jeremy. While he is aware of the SDF connection to terrorism, we do not want him to know that we know. This is very important, Blair. You will simply tell Jeremy that your bank insists on a change being made.”
Blair hesitated, then stood from the table, leaving the airplane ticket behind.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
Finally, a reaction out of him. “Back to my office,” he said.
“You can keep it.”
“Blair—”
“No, I’m serious. Keep it. Or better still, try handing it over to the next patsy you find.”
“You’re not a patsy,” the agent said, standing himself. “We desperately need your cooperation. By working with us this one time, you’ll be helping America rid the world of a potential terrorist threat.”
Blair recognized a disingenuous speech when he heard one. And it was troubling to know that the man still unnerved him. Dare I call his bluff? he wondered. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, going for it. “You pay for all the damages and I’ll take this trip for you.”
“What damages?”
He started walking away.
“Wait. Hold on a second.”
He turned back.
“It’s a deal.”
“Huh?”
“We’ll do as you ask.”
Blair couldn’t believe the agent’s compliance, and still without uttering an apology. “I want everything replaced,” he said. “The furniture and the books.”
“Done.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Dalton said. “And don’t forget the ten thousand dollars I said we would give you for your trouble.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Fine.” He held up the airline ticket.
Blair snatched it out of his hand.