Chapter 5

“Reporting live from Boulder, Colorado this is Sarah Brickett,” the lithe, blonde reporter says into the camera. “As you can see behind me, the Boulder Hydro Dam has been destroyed. The National Guard has been called in to help find victims in the town below. At approximately four-thirty this morning, just after shift change, the dam suffered an explosion.

One Hundred and thirty-three workers are confirmed dead, several are still missing. The death toll for the town below is still uncertain. This is the fifth power plant in a line of mysterious explosions, as the FBI is calling it. As you can see behind me, member of the newly separated Terrestrial Defense Force are investigating. In this reporter’s opinion, this mystery is not just some random explosions or terrorist attacks, but the works of the equally mysterious Goji.

This is Sarah Brickett reporting, back to you.”

Samantha and Spencer are headed to a small outdoor café located in a popular tourist section of the city. Maykov finally contacted them this morning asking to meet them. She didn’t give an excuse to her lack of contact, and though he may be angry about the assignment, she at least sticks with their cover. They round a corner that opens to a huge plaza. The place is packed with both locals and tourists. The café is conveniently placed on the street where they turn on.

Maykov is already waiting with impatience written all over her face. When she notices them, she forces a smile onto her face. “How are you enjoying your vacation, Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly?”

“Very well, Miss Maykov,” Sam answers, keeping her eyes on the woman versus the rest of those around them. That would be Spencer’s job.

After the two agents settle in their seats, Maykov drops the cover. The plaza is noisy enough to not have to worry about any eavesdroppers. “It is my task to assist you,” she explains. “So what is it that I can do for you?”

Spencer dismisses the woman’s attitude. “We need a lead,” he says. “This is a big country and time is not really on our side.”

Maykov doesn’t betray her feelings physically. Instead, she presents herself as a willing and happy your guide to the two foreigners. “I can go through some of my contacts and see who I can find to assist you. It may be a couple of days before I can find anything out though.”

“We don’t have a few days to wait,” Sam says, raising her voice higher than she intended to.

A grin forms on Maykov’s face in that moment. “I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Give me a couple of hours. I have a contact that will be able to assist you and maybe provide you with some information. Meet me back here in two hours.” The woman, without another word, gets up and leaves the two. She walks in the opposite direction that they arrived from.

“Wow, she suddenly seems to be in a better mood,” Spencer remarks.

“Yeah, a little too friendly,” Sam agrees.

“Will you two be dining with us today?” a waiter suddenly asks.

“Sure,” Sam offers, unfazed by the waiter’s appearance. “We’ll have two coffees.”

“Very well,” the man says with a curt nod. “The gentleman over there,” he points to a man sitting alone several tables over, “asked me to give you this.” He produces a small, folded piece of paper.

Spencer takes the note. The waiter leaves to get their coffee. “What does it say?” Sam asks, looking at Spencer and then back to where the man is sitting, but she finds the seat empty. “He’s gone.”

Spencer looks up at his partner. “He was here before we arrived and left just before the waiter came over,” he informs her. “He wants to meet us. He says that he has some information that we may be interested in.”

“That’s can’t be Maykov already,” Sam remarks.

“Yeah, I doubt it,” Spencer agrees. “I’m concerned about the man knowing us, but not us knowing him.”

Spencer and Sam hail a taxi and they go to the address printed on the note. The taxi takes them a few miles away to more or less the edge of the city and to a degraded neighborhood, dropping them off in front of an abandoned building.

“Well, here we are,” Sam says grimly.

“Be on your guard,” Spencer warns. “This feels fishy.”

“It smells fishy,” Sam says, making a sour face.

“Fishy is a nice way to put it,” the man says, matching her expression.

They make it to the door without incident. Because the area around them is pretty rundown, the two agents almost expect some kind of attack from somewhere. But none comes.

“Here goes nothing,” Spencer says, pulling out his gun. Sam follows suit. If there was one thing that Maykov did against her foul attitude was use Interpol to provide the two agents with weapons. He reaches out to knock on the door, but it opens just before he has the opportunity to do so.

In the doorway, a man dressed in rags stands before them. “Come in. Come in,” he says, eyes dropped toward the ground.

Glancing over his shoulder, Spencer slowly puts away his gun and ushers his partner in. Sam keeps her gun out, but hidden away just enough to not alarm the seemingly homeless man.

“Glad you could come,” the owner of the house says cheerily. “I have some information for you.” He rubs his hands together and continues, “If the price is right.”

“Who do you think we are?” Spencer asks, not recognizing the man behind the rags and dirty face. The man he saw at the café was well dressed and had nowhere near the look of the disheveled man before him. But what’s more important is whether his and Sam’s cover has been blown or if it was even in place at all. If this is the case then is opens up a whole new way for things to play out.

“You’re Senior Agent Reeds and Senior Agent Roberts,” the man says assuredly. “Yes, yes, I know all about you. Come. Come.”

Both agents become hyperaware. Spencer’s gun is set in his holster in way that will make it easy to draw while Samantha’s is still drawn, ready to be aimed and fired. And entering a house unknown to them may not be the smartest idea, but sometimes chances have to be taken in order to move forward.

“I don’t like this, Spence,” Sam whispers.

“Neither do I,” he says quickly over his shoulder.

They follow the homeless man into a large room with a high vaulted ceiling. There is paper and dust all over. There are broken floor boards and holes in the walls. The house looks like it was once a very nice place to live that just sudden fell apart from disuse and neglect.

“Sit. Sit. Yes, sit,” the man mumbles on while he takes a seat of his own on one of the three wooden chairs set in the center of the room.

Spencer and Sam take seats themselves, both ready for the moment that danger does finally strike. “So what can you help with?” Spencer asks with a profound growing impatience.

“Money, money,” the man mutters, holding out his hand toward the pair. “Money first.”

With a nod from Spencer, Sam produces a few twenties and hands them over to the outstretched hand. The homeless man takes them and giggles. “Mmm, American. Yes, yes, much better than Russian money.”

“Information ... now...” Spencer demands.

“Yes, yes, information. You shall have information,” the man continues with the same giggle. Then his tone suddenly changes. “You must leave. Leave now and not come back.”

“Leave?” Samantha asks serenely. “We just got here.”

“This, this is the only warning you’ll get,” the man warns with his giggle once again. “Yes, yes, the only one.”

“Alright, enough of this shit,” Spencer says, standing up and shoving the chair back away from him. The legs of it screech across the wooden floor. He rushes the man, grabbing him by his coat lapel and lifts him off the floor and into the wall. “Why did you bring us here?” the agent demands of him.