Corporate 2.0

After a late lunch and a trip by Pen’s apartment, the pair returned to Scotch’s or Corporate 2.0 as the spy had christened it. He did a walk through of the apartment upon entering leaving Pen in the kitchen while he checked all of the other rooms.

The kitchen was immaculate. Apparently the housekeeper had stopped by. Groceries had been delivered as well. According to the housekeeper’s notes only the perishables had been put away as requested by the resident. Her note listed everything that had been done ending with a post script reminding the resident to text the agreed upon number the next time her services were required.

Scotch found Pen opening his cabinets, studying his storage method. He enjoyed watching as she would pick up an item that she had retrieved from the shopping bag and carefully contemplate where it should go slowly putting it into place.

“You don’t have to be so specific you know.” He said.

Pen stopped what she was doing. She turned to find him standing in the entry grinning. “Isn’t specificity important to a spy? How are you going to know if someone has been in your apartment rigging bombs or traps or whatever it is spies do to each other if there isn’t specificity in your placement of any and all items?”

“A place for everything and everything in its place, is that what you’re asking?”

“Yes.”

Scotch nodded in recognition. “A bit of tape over the crack between the door and the frame to alarm the hero that someone has been there, that sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“When a spy takes on a mission he doesn’t know what he will find when he reaches his destination. He may feast like a king or starve like a peasant.”

“O—kay.”

Scotch continued. “One may never know when entering the abode of a fellow spy is a chance to have a badly needed snack.”

Pen raised a brow.

“My colleagues and I prefer not to dally in the food stores of a fellow spy for it could some day lead to our own end.

“Honor among thieves?” She asked.

“No there is no honor among thieves. Spies. There is plenty of honor among us. The men on Whistle are another story completely.”

Pen put his espresso into the cabinet. She looked at the clock it was four pm. “It’s still early why don’t you go get some sleep. I can monitor things for a bit. I’m sure things won’t get interesting before nine.”

Scotch agreed. “Let me get you set up.” He led the way through the master bedroom, his hidden room was already open. “I opened things up when I did the walk through.” Scotch announced answering Pen’s question before she could ask it.

Pen sat down in front of the computer.

“Whistle is over here. Monitoring is taking place on the other screen. If you encounter anything inappropriate, reply to the message with this.” Scotch took control of the mouse and clicked on an icon on the desktop. “Just copy and paste it into the message box. Then block the sender of the inappropriate message.”

Pen nodded.

Scotch crossed the room and poured a finger of amber liquid into a tumbler. Raising it to his mouth, he deposited the liquid down his throat. The spy closed his eyes.

“Am I that difficult to be around?” Pen teased.

“That was to counteract the espresso I drank after lunch.” He held up the empty tumbler. “See no refill.”

“If you are tired enough coffee will not keep you awake; if you are awake enough nothing will put you to sleep.” Pen said.

“I’m having trouble placing that one. Who said it?”

“Brittany “The Pen” Abercrombie with the help of Ken Jefferson Sr. I described the discovery, my daddy helped coin the phrase.”

Scotch looked at Pen. “What is your father like?”

“He was a charismatic man with a huge heart and a no-nonsense way of looking at life. Daddy was the perfect ambassador for a painfully shy daughter.”

“Daddy? Isn’t that a Southern phrase? I thought that you were raised in New York.”

“I was.” Pen turned to face Scotch. One corner of her mouth turned up into a small smile. “Daddy used to say that the first time a child called him ‘Daddy,’ melted his heart. Well, he insisted that he refused to give that title up without a fight.”

Scotch nodded. “It sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was. One of the best.” Pen agreed, turning the chair and returning her attention to the monitors in front of her.

“Mind the boys.” Scotch instructed. “Don’t hesitate to discipline them if they act up.”

“I won’t.”

“See you at nine.”

“See you at nine.”

A few minutes later, Scotch felt a push on the back of his shoulder.

“Scotch.”

A stronger push.

“Scotch.”

He ignored it.

“On with it, get up then!” Pen ordered.

Scotch opened one eye then the other. Pen was standing next to the bed holding a cup of espresso. “What was that supposed to be?”

“I was trying to wake you up, like your mother might have.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It was my British accent.” She explained.

“It was horrible.” He said as he accepted the cup.

“I’m a scientist not a linguist.”

Scotch raised the cup to his lips and sipped. He took a bigger sip. “This is really good. What did you do to it?”

“Chemist. Cooking is chemistry.”

“What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“I was supposed to relieve you at nine.”

“You’ve been up for days. I was going to let you sleep all night but there’s been a development.”

“Already?”

“I had to come and get you. I’m going to be in over my head soon. This next part requires a spy.”

Scotch looked at his robe laying on the end of the bed. “I need to put something on. Do you mind?” He pointed to the robe.

Pen looked at the robe then paled. “Oh yes. Of course.” The spy in training stepped away from the bed and turned around.

“What’s going on?” Scotch asked as he put the espresso down and picked up the robe.

“I’ve found someone who may know what McKinney had been working on before he was killed.”

“What’s his name?” Scotch asked as he stood and put on the robe.

“Her name is Mata Hari.”

Scotch sat down on the bed. “You can turn around now.”

Pen turned around.

He shook his head. “She is not a credible lead.”

“How do you know, you haven’t seen her whistles. You haven’t spoken with her.”

“Mata Hari? It’s a red herring. It might be a very good one. A red herring nonetheless.”

“As a scientist, I thought you could have ruled something so obvious out on your own.”

“I was on the verge of dropping her like a hot potato until she offered to introduce McKinney to Casanova.”

Scotch grinned, a laugh escaped. “Casanova? She offered up Casanova and you can’t see through that? He was legendary for his charisma, questionable endeavors, and seduction of women.”

“He was also a spy.”