Spy for Hire
Darkwood Flash Fiction #2
“Do you understand the terms of your assignment?” Senator Adrán’s haughty expression was the perfect match for his imperious tone.
Daenag Sarko kept his expression carefully neutral. He was a career glausadan b’haile — a listener-in-secret — and well-versed in dealing with the arrogant attitudes of those who paid for his services.
“Yes, of course,” he replied smoothly, with a carefully-cultivated nod. Senators like Lor Adrán — the Assembly’s Public Relations spokesperson — could be won over by subtle signs of deference. Hence Daenag’s calculated nod. “It’s a natural extension of this afternoon’s exercise at the Alternative Energy Research Center.”
Adrán watched him closely. “Ah, yes, you visited AERC today, didn’t you?” The Senator’s question was rhetorical and Daenag knew better than to respond. “Do you have anything to add to Meyrad’s report?”
Again, those watchful, calculating eyes.
“Nothing beyond what Meyrad’s already told you,” Daenag replied, clasping his hands behind his back. He elected to focus on the bare facts. “The researchers on the second floor are compartmentalized; they have no idea or interest in what’s being done with their work.” He dared a casual shrug. “I’ve been there a number of times, and become acquainted with several of them. I haven’t heard any suspicions about the project. No guarded inquiries. No whispers around the water cooler. As for the project itself …”
“Go on,” Adrán said when Daenag hesitated. “What do you think of the project?”
A nervous spasm shot up Daenag’s spine. Be careful. “The project remains unknown to me, sir.” He caught the shrewd look Adrán shot his way and dared to confront the older man’s suspicions. “I’m a seasoned glausadan. You don’t last long in this profession if you can’t follow the rules.”
Or keep a secret, he added silently.
Adrán’s probing gaze was unchanged. “Are the warehouse employees as disengaged as the researchers?”
Daenag was prepared for the question. “All proper non-disclosure protocols are consistently followed.” He hesitated again and Adrán was swift to pounce — just as Daenag had hoped.
“But there’s something else. What did you pick up on, Sarko? Disloyalty?”
“No, sir.” Daenag shook his head, exhaling slowly. “Fear.”
He left the word dangling between them for a deliberate moment. “The harnesses and safety protocols are strictly adhered to, but it appears to be common knowledge that some scientists will never return to their former jobs.” He schooled himself to meet the Senator’s gaze without flinching. “The project remains unknown to me,” he repeated firmly. “But I can tell when people are scared.”
The door to Adrán’s office opened to admit Tehl Meyrad, the Senator’s most recently-hired consultant. Daenag considered himself an expert at finding connections with people — it came with the job — but there was something about Meyrad that put his nerves on edge.
Also blatantly obvious: Meyrad had no use for him, either.
“It’s time for the interview.” Meyrad came straight to the point. “Channel Five News is waiting in the office next to the press room. It’s that hotshot reporter of theirs — R’chelle Darlos — and her cameraman.”
“Jacotan Beltrus,” Daenag said quietly. He caught Meyrad’s irritated glance. “They’re my assignment; learning their names is just common sense.”
Senator Adrán cleared his throat. “Let’s not keep Channel Five waiting.”
Meyrad pivoted on his heel and left the office. Adrán turned at the door to favor Daenag with an imperious glare. “R’chelle Darlos and her Left Hand are your most important assignment. Don’t screw this up, Sarko.”
Daenag allowed himself a confident smile. “Don’t worry, Senator. You’ve hired the best.”
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