Four
The next morning, I was scheduled to check in with my contact in Intelligence. It was the same procedure every time. Stay at your safe house until your job is done. Wait for the right time. Call Intelligence to get your next assignment. Always call from a landline. Be sure that no one is listening.
I’d call and the woman who answered would sound like the receptionist from any one of a million companies. When she answered the call, I’d ask three successive operators for three different individuals. I would be transferred to the next operator after each request. As far as I could tell, none of the people that I asked to speak with actually existed. It was all just a code. The list of individuals would be given to me at the end of my previous call. I learned early on to memorize the names and to never write them down. If we forgot the names, we’d be cut off from Intelligence and on our own until someone from Intelligence found us. After going through the procedure, I was connected to my contact.
“Hey, Matt,” I said when his familiar voice finally picked up the line. There were lots of Intelligence guys named Matt. For a long time, I wasn’t sure why this was. I’d find out soon enough.
“How’s it going, Joe?” Matt replied. He’d been my contact for over five years. “You teach the kiddies how to survive in the real world?”
“I did what I could.”
“You ready for your next job?”
“No,” I replied.
Matt started laughing. He thought that I was kidding. He kept talking. “I’ve got a mark for you in Montreal. This one’s important. It’s been earmarked especially for you. Apparently, someone upstairs has noticed your work.”
“I’m not kidding, Matt,” I said. “I’m not ready. I need a break. No more bodies. Not for a couple of days. No more blood. Just a few days and I can come back.”
“Seriously?” Five years and I had never asked Matt for a break before. He owed me. “What do you want me to do?”
“Can the Montreal job wait?” I asked.
Matt paused for a minute. I could hear papers shuffling on his end of the line. I didn’t have a clue what he was up to. “How long do you need?” he finally asked. Matt was a good guy. He watched out for his operatives. I imagined that this would take some fancy footwork on his part.
“I can call you in five days. I’ll get the details from you then.”
“Where you going?” Matt asked. I couldn’t tell him. I wasn’t supposed to be scheduling unapproved time hanging out with other soldiers. It wasn’t protocol. It was dangerous.
“Away” was all I said to him. Sandy beaches, warm water, no death.
“Five days,” Matt repeated, thinking to himself, trying to figure out how he was going to pull this off. “Don’t fuck me here. I’ll figure out a way to delay this one for you, but you better be ready to go in five days.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
“Michael Bullock. Dan Donovan. Pamela O’Donnell.” The names came through the receiver like Matt was speaking in Morse code. I immediately committed each name to memory. “Be careful, Joe.”
“Thanks again, Matt.” With that, Matt hung up. I booked a flight with my next call. I had no intention of letting him down. The thing is, intentions are a bitch.