The heavy silence in the old room was finally broken by a tiny 'clink' sound as a crystal clear ice cube shifted in a short, heavy glass. Massive velvet curtains blocked all outside light to the room. A huge mahogany desk lived in an oasis of soft yellow light that emanated from dark green lamps. The world beyond was darkness and the pale, overweight man sitting behind the desk looked as if he had lived his entire life in that tiny realm.
A single leather-bound chair faced the monolithic slab of old wood. A much younger, slimmer man sat in the chair, his hand around a thick glass of honey hued whiskey. A second ice cube shifted in the drink and the man sighed, lifting the glass to his lips. With a practiced gesture, the young man took his cell phone from his inside pocket, woke it to check the time and then replaced it.
"I can either continue along the steady path to becoming horribly drunk," the young man said. "Or you could actually tell me why I'm here. Sir."
A minute passed. Two minutes. Finally, as if he bore the weight of the world upon his bald head, the old man slowly looked up.
"Ah, Williams. So glad you could make it. I have something for you." The old man's glasses hung from the tip of his nose, as if a raindrop pausing before its fall. Robert Williams, III stared at the other man's glasses. He willed them to either fall or for the old man to push them back into proper place. The blatant disregard for both physics and order were beginning to drive him mad.
"Oh? It must be important if you've pulled me away from Santiago. You realize I've blown my cover, don't you? Three years of work to have your assistant very publicly tap me on the shoulder. All of that work, gone. You'll be lucky if you can engineer an excuse for my sudden absence and then replace me with another agent. I'd been so close that I'd almost forgotten how to speak English."
"Very important and very time sensitive. We had no choice. Something will be done with Santiago but it is no longer your concern. Tell me, Williams, do you follow politics?"
Robert blinked. "Foreign or domestic?"
"Domestic in this case."
"No, neither, actually," Robert answered. "Well, beyond the case files and the bits I pick up in passing from the news or conversations. I'm fairly certain I know who the president is but much beyond that doesn't interest me."
The old man harrumphed. "Pity. There is a young woman, a new senator, making waves in the community. Large waves. She was recently appointed as head of an internal investigation against Senator Bowman."
"Ah," Robert smiled. "I've actually heard of Senator Bowman. Corruption investigation, yes? Accepting money from some oil company and something about a massive pipeline explosion in... Kansas wasn't it?"
"So you do pay attention. Yes. The explosion was two years ago and was what caused the food riots. They still haven't fully recovered. The investigation eventually came knocking on Bowman's door and
that
turned over some... unfortunate stones. The junior senator, Ms. O'Neal, has previous experience with Bowman and so was named to the committee. Our research shows that she'll be the guiding vote. As deep as Senator Bowman's pockets are, he won't survive this if it goes badly."
"And, so?" Robert asked. "Am I to seduce this Senator O'Neal and convince her to vote on Bowman's behalf?"
The old man's laugher was deep and surprisingly rich. He held his large stomach as it shook. "Oh, oh my dear boy. I'm afraid your storied charms would do naught here. The gossip around the community is that Ms. O'Neal prefers her partners to be, well, less cocky, shall we say." The man wiped sudden sweat from his heavy jowls while chuckling at his joke.
"Surely you don't mean for me to kill her, then? It would seem to be a bad idea given-"
"No," the man interrupted. "No, certainly not. We've already ran simulations with that particular scenario but every single one of them ended with Bowman in jail. Every single one."
Another ice cube shifted in Robert's nearly empty glass. "I don't like these kinds of guessing games, sir. Do I break into her house to find something to use against her? To discredit her?"
The two men stared at one another through the dim lighting. Without a word, the older man opened a drawer in his desk. From the drawer, he withdrew a small black case. Robert cocked his head. The case seemed to absorb the pale lighting and was barely larger than a credit card.
"The contents of this case cost half of Senator Bowman's entire, prodigious wealth. It is untested and rather unique. And, possibly unable to be duplicated. The lead chemist behind the project recently had an unfortunate accident when we discovered, too late, that he had a gambling addiction. We all know where that can lead in these situations. The rest of his team, biologists and geneticists, were only a small part of the whole and are unable to do much on their own. Sadly."
The old man pressed his wrinkled thumb against the top of the case. It opened with a tiny, enthusiastic electronic pop. With surprising gentleness, he withdrew a micro cylinder. Robert could see a pale golden liquid inside the container. His sharp eyes picked out nearly invisible specks suspended within the mixture.
"What is it?" Robert asked.
"They never came up with a name for it and it's untested."
"I'm sorry," Robert said. "Did you say 'untested'? You're giving me something that I'm supposed to, what? Feed her? Inject into her? Whatever I'm supposed to do and you don't know whether it'll do anything at all?"
The old man shrugged. "The project lead... died before creating additional batches for testing. His notes are incomprehensible and incomplete. This is all we have. Theoretically, it should work."
"Theoretically." Robert deadpanned.
"It's not our job to make it work. It's our job to deliver it and walk away. Our client pays whether it does what was intended or whether it does nothing more than give her a minor headache."
"And?" Robert asked. "What is it supposed to do?"
"It," the old man cleared his throat. "It is supposed to make her insatiable. Sexually. Unable to hold back her libido, she will, sooner or later, disgrace herself. We'll have camera teams following her discretely until it takes effect. Ideally, we'll catch her with another woman or multiple women and that may be enough to discredit her. She's never made her orientation public and shies away from the question when asked. The news companies would be in a frenzy and, at a minimum, she'd be made to step down due to the distractions caused."
"Surely there's a more simple way? Bowman is incredibly wealthy and this overly complicated plan seems cartoonish. Why not just fabricate something or dig into her past? There has to be something there. Everyone has their dirty little secret."
"Perhaps. Senator O'Neal is surprisingly clean. She's clever, smart and scrupulous. A dangerous combination for a man like Senator Bowman. We've yet to find anything strong enough to break her. However, even if we had, I suspect Bowman would rather this method. There's history between the two. For some reason, Ms. O'Neal has made a strong effort to bring Bowman down. And the man himself has given her plenty of ammunition, unfortunately."
Robert rolled his shoulders. "Childish. But, we still get paid?"
"Oh yes. Regardless of the outcome."
"All right. What do I need to do?"
The old man smiled widely, his misshapen, nicotine yellow teeth appearing darker in the low light.
-
Robert adjusted his tie as he stepped through the heavy doors of the hotel bar. He looked down his body for the third time that evening in order to ensure his tuxedo was immaculate. Satisfied, he stepped fully into the bar. Light music played from a live piano in the corner and muted conversations filled the room with a low level hum. Robert surveyed the area, eyeing every single woman. His eye lingered on a few of the more attractive ones before continuing. Finally, he found Ms. O'Neal sitting at the bar. She had a champagne flute on the reflective wood of the bar and a small notepad next to it. She wore a cream colored blouse and a short black skirt. Her medium length brown hair was held up by two black lacquered sticks.
Well,
Robert thought.
Perhaps this won't be as boring as I thought. She's not as unattractive as her dossier makes her seem.
He made his way to the bar, smiling at random women while threading his way through the various tables.
The bartender appeared as soon as Robert stood next to Senator O'Neal's stool. The woman glanced up at Robert before bending back over her notebook. Her neat handwriting filled the entire page but the lighting was too dim to make anything out.
"Whiskey. Neat." Robert sat and stared in the distance. Mentally, he ran through various options on how to deliver the solution. From the notes, the chemical was easily deployed; it would work ingested, through skin contact or inhaled. Finally, he decided the glass of champagne presented a perfect opportunity. The color matched the liquid from the vial and should mask whatever taste it had. Hopefully.
Robert looked over at Senator O'Neal. "Usually when people come to a bar, they come to escape work." He nodded at her notebook for emphasis.
Senator Samantha O'Neal (R-KS) looked sideways at Robert. "I don't really have a typical job; I can't ever really just put it all away."
"Ah," Robert nodded. "Let me guess - CEO? That's me, too. Small electronics company. Although I mostly herd cats and sign checks. Well, and come to nice hotel bars to relax. I'm in town for a sales meeting. Mostly I'm just here to nod my head while my product managers talk their talk."
The slim woman next to him turned back to her notebook. "No, not a CEO. It hardly matters, however."
A sudden burst of laughter gave Robert the perfect opportunity to perform another quick survey of the room. The darkened overhead lights were naturally to his benefit. One other person sat at the far end of the bar, a middle-aged man well on his way to being drunk. The rest of the tables were set far from the bar and most of the people were facing away from him. Only the bartender remained a threat. However, the young man's attention was elsewhere as he kept glancing at the ornate clock set among the array of liquor bottles lining the bar shelves.
Perfect,
Robert thought. He reached into his pocket to palm the small vial.
Now, how to do it?
The senator's glass of champagne was still nearly full and she didn't seem tipsy so he assumed it was her first glass. He would only need an excuse to reach over her glass and... He smiled to himself as an idea struck.
"Excuse me, bartender?" Robert asked.
